Alone and Together Under the Night Sky

My youngest son returned from his class trip to Mexico today. Late this afternoon, into early evening, I sat with him and his brother and we talked -- for hours.

Sometimes, with teenagers, it can seem like your time is characterized by long periods of silence punctuated by grunts.

Not this time. Both boys were talkative, and I stayed longer than I'd planned, not wanting to break the spell.

The older recalled his trip to the same small town a year ago, when he was an 8th-grader. The younger one had his own unique take on the place, the people, the experience.

Two young people comparing notes. One older man listening, interjecting a question now and then.

As I sat with my boys in their bedroom in the attic of their Mom's house, my eyes drifted around to the photos, books, awards, toys, clothes, and furniture around us.

It is a nice room, and they both mentioned how much they like it there. They have no room at my house; rather there is a small bedroom they used to share with their sister but they've long since outgrown it, and it was never very nice to begin with.

Now, when they spend the night with me, they sleep on our large couches in the living room.

Spending time with my kids in their mothers' houses has always provoked a certain kind of protectiveness inside me. I used to spend much such time with my older kids at their Mom's.

What was different about that experience was that I had also lived there, for a while, in the first years after we bought the place.

But this house, for my second set of kids, is a place where I have never slept, never lived.

Part of a parent's feelings about trying to protect his children are tied to being close to them. So, when they live separately from you, a kind of ache opens in your heart that can never be healed.

I tend to examine the places closely when I visit, seeking to reassure myself that they are safe there. No one in the entire extended families feels as I do, I know, this is just my thing, my fate.

In an odd way, my life as a father has been a very lonely journey. Much of the time I have spent apart from my kids, thinking about them, talking about them to friends, girlfriends.

It isn't fair, I know. No one really can understand my need. Or if they perceive it fully, it can only make them sad as well.

Still, the warmth of the moments with my kids remain as I return to my own house alone. It is nice, as on this occasion, when someone very special is waiting here for me, too.

It is in fact critical to my mental health.

I'm not sure I am cut out to live alone. More and more I am realizing this -- something that probably is obvious to others, if not always to me. On the other hand, as a good friend said, "you are not alone when someone is thinking of you."

Thinking about one another.

Then, those moments together remain something that lingers long after we have separated once again -- all of us. Friends and family and lovers -- each scattering ultimately to different corners of our worlds.

Being alone isn't necessarily being lonely. Being together isn't necessarily not being lonely.

Being connected is all...

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