What Do You Do When Every Form Has Two Lines for Parents?

At my son's senior night for soccer, each senior fills out a form with his favorite Bible verse, how he serves, and his plans, and then walks out on the field with his parents while it's read aloud. When I walked out with my son, the announcer read his name and then said, "Son of Kate." Nothing else.

Afterward, a dad I'd been chatting with in the stands came over and asked, kindly, "Where is your husband?" That's how I ended up telling a near stranger that Tom had died. He'd been thinking I was a mom of eight who'd been left behind. It was awkward, and it was kind.

When my son came off the field, I asked why he hadn't included his dad. He said he didn't know what to do. I told him, "You still have a dad, and he was a good one. His name is worth mentioning. You're allowed."

I know single parents and divorced parents and the kids of both face these forms all the time. For us, it had been so many years of functioning as two that the two lines still catch me. A school form. A medical form. A sign-up for a field trip. A quiet little oh, right.

And it isn't only forms. It's planning the whole trip to a family wedding by myself, from the babysitters to the airport shuttle, and realizing how much Tom had quietly done. It's staying at the table while everyone else gets up to dance at a dear friend's wedding, glad for her and aching at the same time. It's a Christmas stocking I filled myself so the kids wouldn't notice, and a tea room where we used to sit together and open them.

If you know these moments, you aren't doing it wrong. You're carrying your children's joy and your own loss at once. Say his name when you can. You're never really a party of one.

Listen to the full episode: "Reservation for One" — Episode 13 of Mosaic: Beauty in Every Broken Piece.

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/reservation-for-one/id6784076332?i=1000793586215