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First Person – archive

Single but not alone

by Diane Payne

Not too long ago, I was at my dad’s funeral, surrounded by relatives I hadn’t seen in years. It seemed like just about every aunt came up to me and made a comment similar to this: ‘What are you going to do when Ania leaves for college? You’ll be devastated. It’s only ever been just the two of you.’ Then the sad, sympathetic look, the shake of the head, and the awkward break in our conversation.

Perhaps they just remembered that my mother has been dead for ages, and now my dad, so in their eyes I’m somewhat of an orphan – especially since I’ve never married and there are no in-laws in my life. I’m sure they weren’t trying to make me feel like a lonely spinster, even though after the first of the aunts made that comment to me, I certainly started feeling like one. I’m not sure what they expected me to say about this future predicament. Did they think I’d break down in tears? Beg them for a solution to prevent Ania from growing up and leaving home? Maybe they were just hoping I’d say something about things being less difficult, and that I’d pursue romance with more diligence now that I realised I was approaching some major solitude in my life.

Ania’s fifteen. She has a couple more years of school ahead of her before she graduates.  In another year, she may start hearing from colleges, if she does well on the ACT [[]US assessment tests]. When she’s a senior, I’m sure she’ll start thinking seriously about college. Today the idea of college doesn’t interest her much. Maybe she doesn’t romanticise over college since both her father and I are professors, and our campuses are rather small and don’t excite her much.

Mother love

I’ve always been a single mother. Her father is married and lives in a different state – they have periodic visits, so it’s unlikely he faces this kind of empty next questioning. He’s originally from India and spends his summer visiting family there. He’s used to distance. Next year he’s taking his sabbatical in India.

I, on the other hand, rarely leave town without Ania. If I have to attend a weekend conference in the state, I tend to bring Ania along. Historically, I have planned my vacations around her. Last year I visited an old friend in Alaska while Ania was visiting relatives in India. We certainly have our moments apart; we’re not completely inseparable.

Dating disappointments

Friends berate me for not dating. They say I let my daughter run my life. Our dogs and cats also run our life – though, unless they’ve helped pet sit, they rarely mention that aspect of my life. I live in a small town where I seldom meet people, and even more rare are single men. Perhaps if Ania and I were still living in Arizona, I’d have a more active romantic life ... but it wasn’t so very romantic when we left for this job in Arkansas. True, there were at least a few romantic adventures. Not only do I now live in a dry town, but my sexual life has completely dried up also. And it’s true that Ania is jealous of men.  She likes it just being the two of us.

Oddly enough, there was a time when I thought I might start dating around now, assuming that Ania would also be dating. Ania’s probably as relieved that I’m not dating, as I am that she’s not dating. Her time is approaching. My time has passed.

Back in Arizona when I did have those few dates, the main thing I noticed was that dating left me with even less time for myself. After Ania went to bed, there was a man waiting for his turn with my attention. Raising a child was much more demanding when Ania was young and, at night, all I had the energy for was putting on my pyjamas and reading a book. If I was dating I knew, at the very least, that I was expected to talk – a task that can be physically draining after teaching all day. Within minutes, my fingers were moved to his head and he’d hope I’d rub my fingers through his hair – one more nurturing task beckoned while I quietly conjured up fantasies about my own needs being met. Sitting on the couch with my hand forced upon the suitor’s head, I’d have evil thoughts about objects I’d like to put in his hair. There was nothing romantic about this experience.

Sometimes I look at my married friends with envy, believing that partnership would make life a little easier, if I could just get over those hurdles that would land me in a satisfying relationship. Other than my need for solitude, the other problem I face with dating is that Ania only appears to like the men I’m dating when I’m not around and she can have them to herself. Years ago, I’d hear the man crying out, ‘She just kicked me’. Even the bravest and kindest men left disheartened, figuring there was no place for them because Ania and I are so close. One part of me hoped the man would not give up so quickly, while the other part was secretly relieved that this emotional conflict would be gone, even though I knew I’d miss the affection.
                      
Long ago, a man wrote me an email after reading one of my stories on the internet. It was a complimentary letter, and also filled with endless questions. I responded. And replied back. Then it dawned on me that I had more of a social life with men through email than in real life. Some of these men lived close enough for us to actually rendezvous in the nearest town for a movie. When something along those lines was suggested, though, I quit responding and disappeared. After typing all those missives, the idea of having a real live conversation seemed way too direct. Realising that I have made such an awkward social transformation in my life has left me feeling rather hopeless. In the old days before becoming a mother, I had an active social life that involved romance. Now, before anything could possibly happen between a man and me, I conjure up all the possible things that could go wrong, and then decide to not  bother doing anything.

A simple life

It’s true. Ania and I are very close. We’ve always been a pair. There has never been a third person who has lived in our home. In many ways, our lives seem uncomplicated. I suppose in other ways, we may seem rather dull. Ania enjoys visiting friends with siblings and watching them fight. Sometimes she’s even intrigued by the parents who fight. Our house is quiet. Her friends enjoy coming here to our house so they can get away from all the squabbling.

There is nothing I can do to brace myself for when Ania leaves home. It will happen and I won’t know how my life will change until it does. No need to seek counselling or join single’s clubs just yet. I’ll miss our daily walks, though. All our life we’ve been walkers. We’ve always had dogs, and when we lived in Arizona, we spent a lot of time hiking.  Now we simply walk the dogs.

Wishful walking

When I was a teenager my goal was to walk the entire Lake Michigan shore – a goal I’ve never completed. In the summer, when Ania and I visit Michigan, we spend the day walking along the beach, and I try to describe what it looks like in the winter when it’s frozen with icebergs. But words fail to portray this mystery – it has to be seen, walked upon to be fully appreciated.

When we returned to Michigan for my father’s funeral this past February, the lake was still frozen. Every day I’d walk along the icebergs with my niece, nephew and Ania. Now Ania and I are planning a couple of summer trips on new beaches. One day she’ll want to plan her trips with lovers, not her mother. But, until that happens, I’ll remain appreciative of the time we have together now.

When Ania was much younger and we were on a walk, even if it was her first time on a new trail, she treated it as if she had been there hundreds of times before, conjuring up stories about amazing events that occurred while she was with the dogs, racing up ahead to point out a particular cave that was involved in the story, then miraculously discovering some kind of bush to prove that this is just the cave she was talking about, the one in Dogga Land, a place she created.

Now she talks about school, friends, books and music. No more imaginary places. Life has become too real. When Ania stays home to do homework or is busy with band, and I walk the dogs alone, neighbours always ask, ‘Where’s your daughter?’ I suspect the neighbours will notice when Ania’s off to college, and hopefully they won’t ask me about her whereabouts right away, because I’m sure it will take me time to adjust, even though I get the feeling my aunts may believe I never will. They don’t know me well enough. Or, I suppose it’s possible I don’t know myself well enough.

Simple things

This is my life. I’m used to being home when Ania returns from school, to not being involved in romance, to making myself available for Ania. I don’t believe I’ve made unusual sacrifices. In many ways, I’ve avoided having a more active social life to keep my life simpler. I consider myself fortunate. I don’t regret the years Ania was an infant and I was unable to work, and Ania stood with me by the mailbox waiting for our food stamps to arrive. I’m glad I could be home with her while she was so young, even though we did live in poverty. I have no regrets about remaining single. And I don’t believe Ania and I will grow distant even when we may live miles apart.

She’s always been an only child and I’ve always been a single parent. One develops an intimate bond under such circumstances. Our lives may change, but I have faith we’ll always remain connected. I’ll be walking the dogs alone more often, and Ania will start dating, and then move to a dorm. But I’ll always be here for her. And she’ll be there for me. That’s what happens after years of being so close.