Two things happened at about the same time in 1998. My mom died, and my wife Amy announced she was ready for a change.
Amy had been the at-home parent to our two kids for about eight years and was raring to return to the workplace. I’d been a newspaper reporter for about a decade and was raring to become the at-home parent.
It was a win-win situation, except for the part about my mom dying.
Actually, my mom’s death wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to me. She and I had been estranged ever since I fled our home at age 18. And I do mean fled.
When Amy and I started our family, in 1994, I was determined to give our kids the kind of childhood I never had. One that felt safe and supportive and fun and, above all, loving.
I like to think I gave them that.
Then Max and Mara grew up, and I found myself forcibly retired from the best job I’d ever had.
That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
Today, my wife is a high-powered business analyst at a high-powered investment firm, and at age 54, I’m still the at-home dad. Only I’m the only one at home.
This blog is my attempt to make sense of where I am and who I’ve become. Specifically, it’s a chronicle of the past year, and of the seismic changes that have left me profoundly shaken and unsure of everything I once believed in.
It’s a story of love and death, of derring-do and daring-don’t, and of the moon falling from the sky and the dark times to follow.
It begins in November 2015.