An Extraordinary Act of Love: My Dad, Mowing My Mom’s Lawn, Even 28 Years After Their Divorce.
Behold, a poignant tableau unfolds – my father, tending to the verdant expanse of my mother’s lawn, a symphony of co-parenting echoing across 28 years of estrangement. My mother, with knees weighed by the burdens of time, and my stepfather, a distant silhouette in a town away. A curious inquiry from my younger siblings, ‘Why does your father attend to our mother’s garden?’ A simple response flowed like lyrical poetry, ‘Because she yearned for aid, and he sensed her inability to traverse this terrain, so he did.’ This, dear friends, is the artistry of co-parenting.
Fortunate am I, nestled in the embrace of four parental figures, each orchestrating a harmonious dance of mutual respect. In the twilight of the day, the paramount lesson reverberates – to impart upon progeny, even those in the autumn of their 32nd year, the essence of kindness and the delicate artistry of familial love, no matter its origination.
In awe, my father stands humbled by the multitude who bear witness to this vignette. With a candid declaration, ‘I am no saint,’ he yearns to convey a simple truth – that one need not embody the sanctity of a Lenten pastor; rather, in the mosaic of life, let us all choose kindness, an enduring brushstroke upon the canvas of our shared humanity.
