Revisionist History: Owning My Own
(published with permission from https://jewdicious.substack.com/
This may be one of the most difficult columns I have ever written, and it may be the most honest.
A little background. In 1987, after eight years of marriage, I left…No, I walked out — and moved into Manhattan, leaving a wonderful wife and a four-year-old daughter behind in New Jersey. I remember the day. I was driving to the Loew’s Glenpointe Hotel in Teaneck to pick up a car. My daughter cried. And still, I left.
During those years of divorce and subsequent remarriage, I would drive out to Long Island to see my daughter’s recitals, leaving work early, and getting home to NYC at midnight. That is what I did, because that’s what dads do. People praised me as a great father. Maybe, but I cannot dismiss the pain I inflicted on others.
Sometimes I candy-coat my life and buy into the ‘great dad’ image — but it is not without its huge misgivings and selfishness. I may have been unhappy and gotten married young, but it seemed too easy.
Please understand, this past week I celebrated 33 years of marriage to a most special and amazing partner. Truly, the love of my life.
But what is missing is the daughter I left behind.
She would have been 42 this coming November, and a woman whom both my current wife and former wife would have given anything to have in our lives. But we were not so lucky. My daughter Erica died at the age of 18.
A bit harsh to read? Imagine how harsh it is to live.
Each year, both on Erica’s birth date and the date of her passing, I post comments and heartwarming videos (click here to see more of Erica). I recall speaking to my former mother-in-law, saying: “If only…” To which she replied: “You can’t do that. Life happens.” Even my former wife says: “Erica was someone who took a different path and lived the life she wanted. She was you… and she was me.”
I did the best I could and sometimes I could have done better. I would have bought her a pony and put it in the backyard if she wanted one. But being a divorced dad, I didn’t quite understand the correct way to set boundaries. I felt guilty for having left, and while my life today is full, there is a scab that I pick at every day.
It's that ‘what if’? We can ‘what if’ ourselves until the day we die.
Perhaps, instead, we accept our foibles and our choices. And live with them.
Perhaps we reject the temptation to create a history that sounds nice – but doesn’t reveal the pain, the misgivings, the love. The love we had, and the love we lost.
Revisionist history? Creating it may delay a bit the personal pain we know is lurking underneath. But when we remove those special effects from the real storyline — therein lies our true freedom.
Brilliant. Loving oneself means loving the warts and all. It’s hard work. Every day. We’re all a work in progress ❤️
Your genuine approach to life is remarkable. Thank you.