Strolling down from Arinsal town back to my lodging, I noticed a group walking in the same direction ahead of me, engrossed in each other, their heads occasionally lolling back in laughter. Since even my stroll is rapid, I quickly closed the distance between us and, from the varying heights and the balding pate of the tallest, surmised that that the quartet was comprised of two adolescent boys and two parents, the quintessential nuclear family. All four were holding hands and, as often happens when I clock a jovial familial scene, I was struck by a bolt of deep sadness and longing.
Save for the Catalan that they were speaking, the domestic idyll that I witnessed was little different from my own upbringing. Raised by two loving parents and with my adventurous and keen brother as compatriot and best friend, we had uncountable moments of joy, an almost unbelievable level of happy experiences, seemingly infinite little connections, our own inside jokes and codes of conduct, and an innate feeling of belonging and safety. No doubt, not every second was bliss – we had the petty squabbles and moody periods, especially in the teenage years, that typify any collection of people that spend inordinate amounts of time together. But there can be absolutely no question that I could not have had a better childhood.
Knowing deep in my heart and from an oddly early age that I wanted to continue that beautiful lineage, recreating that template was my intention, my dream. Circumstances that transpired in the interim have left this reverie fairly shattered, to my grave dismay. It is something with which I usually believe I have made my peace, but even years after the disintegration of my marriage, when I see a boisterous household at a restaurant table or kids and parents out for a bike ride, tears spring to my eyes, little drops of a grief with which I have not fully reckoned.
Of course, this despair is only mildly on my own behalf. Yes, I always envisioned myself as the patriarch of a rambunctious and numerous household, an equal matriarch by my side, committed jointly and fully to the hard work and ecstasy of tending to a brood. But, really, it is for Violet that my heart breaks, knowing that I have failed to secure the same background for her with which I was blessed. Tossed into a whirlpool that she did not create, but in which she is forced to swim, she is without a sibling, stuck with a single parent, and accordingly susceptible to a loneliness that crushes both of us.
Time being, at least to our collective belief, annoying linear, I cannot do anything to fix this situation, which makes it all the more odious. I hate nothing more than to be powerless. Instead, I have to acknowledge the grievous loss and its impact on both Violet and myself and not let it subsume me. In a way, the irreparability is freeing. If I could do something, I surely would, but since I cannot, I must refocus and give my utmost to those things that are under my control.
Having just spent a month living in and rambling around Barcelona, a concentrated time that augmented our already potent inseparability from living each day together at home, I am eternally grateful for the young woman that I have the great fortune to watch grow and laugh and adventure. It is a unique bond that we have, one that would be impossible to attain if my care was spread amongst a wolfpack of little Voborils. Surely, Violet wishes that my attention was less intense, that she could have a respite from my insane plots and from the undivided expectations thrust upon her. And yet, I know that she knows that I am hopelessly devoted to her, that she is the single apotheosis of my paternal instincts, which is both a heavy weight and a leavening reassurance.
It is distinctly possible that there are sets of overworked parents, mired in marital discord, who regard Violet’s and my easy affability, the depth of our connection, the openness of our communication, and feel the same envy that I feel when I watch a fully-formed family load a ski lift together. It is human to desire that which we do not have and it is axiomatic to this life that we cannot escape our humanity. So, while I will not ever fully overcome my heartache at the lack of a vibrant family unit for Violet and for me, I will never let that distract from the immense gratitude that fills me every morning when I gaze upon Violet’s face.