A Bittersweet Symphony, That's Life

I became a husband and father in my early twenties, when I graduated from Dalhousie University with a master’s degree in the classics. I didn’t pause often for self reflection in those days, but at some point, I realized that no matter how close we came to creating the family home we had imagined as newlyweds, nothing about ourselves had changed. A

Almost a decade later, I began to write the story of what had happened to me after my marriage ended.


Odysseus sat down again, and Telemachus threw his arms
around his great father, sobbing uncontrollably
as the deep desire for tears welled up in both.
They cried out, shrilling cries, pulsing sharper
than birds of prey — eagles, vultures with hooked claws —
When farmers plunder their nest of young too young to fly.

The love of father and child, and the pain brought on by their separation, is immediate, instinctive, like that of wild birds in the field. I read those words when I was preparing to teach a section on The Odyssey in the Great Books program at St. Thomas University, and the day I read it I emailed the passage to my father and told him how afraid I was that I might lose my children if they ended up living with their mom somewhere far away from me.

I was afraid that my own mid-life odyssey as a man of pain might bring down upon me the great unspoken fear that all parents hold deep in their hearts: that their children will be lost to them before they are old enough to fly.

Staying together for the sake of the children might make sense for some people and indeed might be the most reasonable solution for many troubled marriages. In my case, I would have either had to be dishonest about my feelings or had to pursue happiness outside the marriage and live some kind of parallel life. I would never presume to question someone who made such a choice, but the simple fact is I couldn’t do it. This doesn’t make me a better man. It just makes me who I am.

I tried to push my fears about the future to the back of my mind and to accept that I could control only the events within my reach. The best thing, the only thing, I could do for us was to make our new home as peaceful and safe and loving as it could be. I tried to cook good meals and keep the house clean and be present for my children when they needed me.

I reminded myself every day that all I could control was how I conducted myself, which was with as much patience and calm as I could bring to a house filled with two teenage girls and a preteen boy. I had my hands full. All of my energy went into keeping the household running smoothly. Many days I settled for just keeping it running.

My experience is that of a particular man in a singular place and time, and I can’t offer universal answers to questions about love and marriage. What I can offer is my little picture, my report back from the road of second chances."