A-Ha

I recently finished reading Dave King's book The Ha-Ha. It's the story of a Vietnam veteran, Howie, who has a head injury such that he has lost the capacity to speak. Howie hasn't lost his intelligence and has found a way to communicate, though even he recognizes that it's substandard. He has a job and home, but his life is without color. He's living, but he isn't sure why. In the story, which Howie narrates, he suddenly has the opportunity to revise his life. Howie's new world is filled with the complexities of the deep human interaction that is required when he takes on the temporary care of a friend's 9 year old son, Ryan.

With the boy in his life, Howie finds both the joy that has been missing but also the prospect of pain and hurt that is involved when you love someone. It's a great story, in part because Howie is so funny and so human. You ache for him to be able to communicate with the world in the way that he can communicate with you, the reader.

As the mother of a 7 year old, I found the 9 year old Ryan compelling. Unlike Howie, I didn't wonder at the joys and frustrations of living with a child. I know these things first hand. And when Ryan returned to his own home, I felt so sad for Howie, who is pained by the loss. I thought about how I would feel if my son no longer lived with me.

I realize that is one of the things that makes me so sad about my break-up with Lisa. As angry as I still am at the disintegration of our family, I loved her and much of my sadness is wrapped up in my knowledge of life with a child that she is now missing. I can't fathom what it must be like to love a child and not be able to see him every day. To grow more distant from him, from his likes and dislikes and from his experiences. I am so sad for her that she doesn't get to see and hear him every day. There are times when I wish with all of my heart that I could make it better or easier for her.

My a-ha moment came when I realized that Lisa quite willingly chose this for herself. When she walked out, she knew that she would never again pack J.T.'s lunchbox, hear him talk about his favorite part of the day, or tuck him into his bed, let alone see him on Christmas morning. Did she know it might hurt? Does she hurt? I now realize that she probably doesn't hurt because she is so distant and removed from her emotions. So although I know what she is missing and I know what my son is missing in her departure from his life, I see more clearly that she doesn't know what she has lost. And though I am sad for her, she probably isn't sad for herself. She never appreciated what she had when she had it and so she cannot know what she has lost.

But I know and I am so deeply sad for her.