“Well, it’s a lot to ask of any man to be a stepfather to FIVE children!” my ex-mother-in-law pointed out with a bit of spin when I told her of the demise of my recent and meaningful heart-and-soul-connection. She said it as though I had been the one to leave the marriage. As if I had been unfaithful, and left, and now was surprised at where I found myself: a single parent of five children. She said it as one implying that I was a fool to imagine a man would ever be crazy enough to sign up for joining my life, my clan, my particular brand of loco. I don’t believe she meant to sound malicious, and I don’t believe her statement in the way she said it. I think she is not evolved in some areas, and so I take a deep breath, hum a few Christmas carols, and move on.

My children? Yes, they make me crazy- often. I mutter epithets under my breath some most days. And they make me wildly aware of things I would never know were they not in my life, everyday. It would be a lucky, lucky man to be stepfather to my five children. I believe that in my deepest places. I know it to be true. And that there is no man in that position (despite a couple of wonderfully close possibilities over the years) yet is just a testimony to the fact that he will be a very special, quite handpicked-by-the-Universe man.

Sometimes I imagine where in life I would be if I did not have my children. I fancy myself living as a journalist in London, or teaching in a university overseas, or as a National Geographic photographer. (My fantasy life is vivid!) I come back down to earth with a start when I realize: I have only developed my fearless side because of my children. They are imperative to the process of moving me from a place of mostly fear, to a place of willingness to push past the fear and run into life with open arms. My children- in a very tangible way- have been my salvation, and not simply because my marriage ended.

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What if the thing we cared about the most suddenly disappeared- would we know who we were still?

My children.

My best friend’s (the interior designer) sight.

The runner’s legs.

The pianist’s finger.

It’s a staggering thought. What defines me? How do I define myself? What is Most Important to me? Who would I be if I lost this? Would I be able to hold on to the lessons I have learned from having it? Would I remember it’s always darkest before dawn?

Of course I’m thinking of loss as we move into the holiday season, mourning a relationship lost and some dreams I’d created around that (such a dream-spinner am I…) and him. I’ve had loss of health in some small ways with my back and hernia (yet to be resolved)- I am not able to do what I want to do with my body. I’m experiencing financial loss (like many of us) with rising prices, a car that needs some expensive work, and Christmas gifts waiting to be purchased for children who only have shiny, innocent expectations. Can I learn the lessons? Can I hold on to who I am and not forget just because there are things I cannot do right now? Some days…

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There are fifty-four days ’til 2008. Tonight I called the children for dinner- three times. The fourth time, I simply said, “D-I-N-N-E-R!” My second-grader came into the kitchen. “WHY are you spelling, Mommy?” I looked into her sea-green eyes. “Gimme a kiss, girly-whirly,” I sing-songed into her hair. “K-I-S-S!” she sang back, as she ran off to wash her hands. 2007, let me live you out with all my ability and courage and belief.