Walk On

In the dreams, I am wandering through a strange city. Somewhere, someone who cares about me is waiting for me. A sense of urgency about reaching the destination keeps my feet moving. Always, it is my own momentum propelling me forward.

Around me surges a throng of people. It is alternately summer steam and winter slush. I turn a corner, and my way is suddenly even more obscure. The street grid gives way to a maze of town homes lining looping, inescapable cul-de-sacs. The people disappear. The homes have no numbers, the street signs are blank. I walk on, aiming for vaguely familiar buildings whose facades morph into something foreign once I near them.

In the dreams, I have no map. Someone is still waiting, yet I also know no one is trying to find me. I have to get there on my own.

I keep walking.

- - -

Tomorrow, Tee and  I will sit down to carve out a parenting plan. So far, this document contains 26 points and runs to a dozen single-spaced pages. In it, we outline our plans for sharing custody of our son. How will we organize time and finances? How will we resolve conflicts? What will be our means of communication, and what values will guide our decisions?

When parents split up, they have a choice to make about how to proceed. So far, Tee and I have agreed to keep our differences out of court. Our tight finances should probably take more of the credit than our cool tempers. We continue to talk with relative calm. Somehow, we are managing to hammer out the details of our future while we breathe through the pull to re-visit the past.

As hard as this task is in the short term, allowing our son to have two homes and two equally responsible parents seems to be the best we can offer in these sad circumstances. We aim to proceed without a battle and to show the state (and each other and our little boy) that we really do intend to co-parent. This means we have to draft the blueprint of our new life. Our parenting agreement is the place for us to develop plans of action for every educational and medical decision, every holiday, every move, every new partner, and every catastrophe.

This is only one of many miles to cover in the slog across the convoluted landscape of Divorce City. Once we have written out our parenting agreement, we have to tackle the 70 pages of legal paperwork the Commonwealth of Virginia requires us to file.

Tomorrow, I will proceed with care down another unfamiliar street. I have no map, but I believe a table is set and a door is open across town. Someone and something await my arrival. I may not know the most direct route, but I keep walking. My trusty feet will guide me.