When I was seven, the week after my First Communion, my mom moved out, my siblings were 4 and 6. My parents soon divorced and after a brief summer of living with my Mom, all three kids eventually lived with my Dad. He never remarried and was a single parent from that point forward. Mom soon remarried and had two more kids, she started a second family (who were amazing and still are), and since left that family remarried and has started a third. Throughout my childhood and adult life, we haven’t been very close. Sometimes one of us would put in the effort, but most of the time we wouldn’t.
I remember thinking at times at how much easier it would have been if she had died and couldn’t be there instead of choosing not to be there. It would be easier to explain why she wasn’t around when I needed her, both to myself and to others. Growing up was often difficult. Dad worked full-time and farmed full-time as well as being a single parent to three less than perfect kids. He tried so hard. Never once did he ever say anything bad about mom. Never. Although, sometimes, when we were being rotten, he would jokingly tell us that we could go live with our mom. In my eyes, the ultimate threat.
When my dad died in 2015, I truly felt parent less, because in all practical senses I was. His last act was to donate organs to others despite an awful battle with cancer. My mom sent condolences on Facebook and sent a flower arrangement to the funeral home for the three kids to share but it wasn’t the same as having Dad in our lives.
The school project
Fast forward a few years to when Eliza was probably in the second or third grade. She had a school project, a big one, one of those that a third-grader couldn’t really be expected to complete without their parent’s help. I’m not even 100% confident about what the project was, but it was the conversation afterward that stuck with me.
She came home after the whole class had presented and was telling me there was a kid in their class that didn’t do well. Their parents hadn’t helped them. She couldn’t believe how bad it looked. I had to sit her down and explain that not all houses had a mom and a dad and sometimes parents were stretched really thin and kids had to do things by themselves and grow up too quickly.
I told her that I was that kid who didn’t have my parents helping me with school projects. Sometimes an aunt or my grandma would step in and help (and they are/were wonderful) but most of the time I was on my own. When she had asked about my mom, I would tell Eliza her name, but that was it. It wasn’t made into a big thing. She would vaguely recognize her in a picture but didn’t realize that it was her grandma.
Prevention doesn’t always work.
When John and I were dating, I was sure that he was a solid, good guy. His parents were still married, his grandparents were married until widowed. I realize that this isn’t always an indication of how marriage will turn out, but it brought me comfort. John was committed. He made decisions and stuck with it for the long haul. He was with the same company his entire working career. John even used the same brand and type of toothpaste for his entire adult life. I was fairly confident that once he decided to commit, he was in for the long haul. I wanted to be sure that I didn’t have to go through the hardships of single parenting like my dad.
John and I had our disagreements and challenges but we were committed to making it work. I gave and he took, he gave and I took. We had a balance. I was never worried about him having an affair or us getting a divorce in our twelve years of marriage.
Unfortunately, the best-laid plans can be discarded by someone you don’t know deciding to shop online while driving. Seriously. When I first found out that John was killed I was terrified of being a single parent. I knew it sucked. Every day would be hard. We would make it through but money would be tight, patience running thin, and not the situation I had worked so hard for.
Being a single parent
I have one thing going for me that Dad didn’t have. I am able to honestly tell my kids that if their dad could be there, he would be. That he would have given anything in the world to watch them grow. I’m not quite sure though how Dad’s threat of going to live with my mom would go over with them.
Dad struggled. I’m struggling. Our struggles are similar but different in many ways. I feel as though my toolbox is bigger than Dads, I’m working from home most of the time, able to be home and make it to all of the school things. I’m not really involved in farming anymore at all, nothing is weather depended and the phrase “Make hay while the sun shines” applies more to mowing my grass and washing my car to actually making hay. Dad made it through and watching his determination and struggles, I have the confidence that we will too. It’s a journey that I wish I wasn’t on, but because I’m here, I’m going to do everything in my power to rock it.
After growing up in a single-parent home.
In the Blink of a Fly is led by Leah Fullenkamp. Leah is the mother of four young children. Their lives were tragically altered after a crash caused by distracted driving killed her husband and her children’s father. This website is the tale of them learning to live again and serves as a passion project to help prevent distracted driving and this tragedy from happening to someone else.
