In 2008, when Liam was 11 and Tati was 10, Gabrielle and I took the two kids with us on a visit to Switzerland. My nephew came along as well. This was my first trip back after having in 2003 left a terrible marriage in a departure followed by 11 (count them) emergency injunctions filed against me in both Swiss and U.S. courts. At one point my passport was seized by the authorities and at another point my bank account was completely emptied.
Actually, I had returned to Switzerland for a couple of days in 2004 for what I had thought would be a divorce hearing, but what turned out to be a courtroom harangue by Liam’s father during which he claimed that he did not wish to divorce me, ever. The harangue also detailed my evil motivations and my evil nature; he pounded the big wooden table in the courtroom to emphasize every point. The court was stunned, but in that moment, there was nothing either the court or I could do to advance matters legally. I returned to the United States, although not before I had provoked a terrible rift with my favorite aunt. That rift is a separate story. Suffice it to say here that on the plane home I sat in tears for the entire transatlantic crossing. I neither ate nor read nor slept. I just cried. Even the flight attendants left me alone.
Even though international legal maneuverings had eventually led to a divorce in 2006, when we arrived with the kids in 2008, the first news I had upon reaching Swiss soil was that an emergency order had been filed and that I had to appear in court a couple days hence. This assault has a certain hilarity now (though perhaps a slightly hysterical hilarity), but at the time I can say that, even before I opened the official summons delivered to my uncle’s house, the heaviness, terror and dread characterizing my ten year marriage descended upon me again like a ton of bricks.
Somehow, however, the five of us managed to have a wonderful visit, go on fabulous outings, and see relatives, including my uncle who died of cancer later that same year. Liam and Tati put on amazing plays for the adults in the evenings. Despite Gabrielle’s worries, Tati did not fall down a mountain into an alpine cataract. We enjoyed the long Northern twilights. We visited castles. We walked in the beautiful countryside. We cooked delicious food. We even breached the invisible border to German-speaking Switzerland. “Why would you want to go there?” asked my relatives, but the internet had shown Gabrielle some wonderful caves and waterfalls.
In that era, Liam was extremely fond of Chicken Soup for the Soul and had brought several volumes with him. In quiet moments, he and Tati compulsively read those heartstring-pulling tales. We would look over and see both children sitting on the couch, completely engulfed in tears. “We’re having a sad fest,” they explained.
What a concept! Tati’s grandmother, who does drama with children in the guise of a school speech-language-pathologist, later adopted the concept into a very successful and popular acting exercise in which the kids sat on the stage couch with little booklets that prompted sob-fests or sing-fests or mad-fests or happy-fests or…? The list of possibilities was long and made even longer by the students who enthusiastically produced little booklets each devoted to a certain kind of fest.
Liam refused to do high school graduation, either sparing me a long boring ceremony or depriving me of a maternal right to such a ceremony. I’m not sure which. I myself never attended graduations, so why should he have to do so? But we did attend a friend’s home school graduation ceremony held in a church. It was unbelievably moving, each kid’s parents giving slide-shows and little speeches chronicling the homeschool experience and handing their child a diploma. I was on the verge of tears the entire time. The very last in the alphabet were my friends. Their retrospective slide show included Liam as well starting from age two or so. Yes, it was a complete and unabashed sob-fest. Luckily Joe had brought plenty of Kleenex in his back pocket.
What an amazing story. I think we all have "fests" but don't recognize them as such. Thank you for sharing your story. The photo is a great picture of sadness. Well done, my friend!
Amazing combination of image and story
thank you for sharing
I know all about fests too - rather than sad fest we call it tissue fest or sob fest but the result is the same.
Sometimes I just cry because I miss both of my parents. In a way it just feels good. It sounds to me like you had earned the right to cry from coast to coast. A powerful story and a powerful picture.
Thanks for sharing.....I think all of us have his own cross. After losing 2 children 1983 and 2008 and a husband with Alzheimers....I think every bodies cross just differ. May the good days lay ahead!
August 8th, 2015
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thank you for sharing
I know all about fests too - rather than sad fest we call it tissue fest or sob fest but the result is the same.