My daughter, granddaughter, and ex-wife are vacationing today near the beautiful dunes of Cape Cod. Emma, as she always does and as we walked together yearly, sent me a photo of the Provincetown dunes.
This was a precious spot for me.
We would walk on the dunes together, leave messages in the sand, and come back every summer to see if they were still there. I don’t think we ever found one, but it was one of the most beautiful rituals in my life, a gift to a loving father.
(Photo by Emma Span)
Now she goes there with Robin, her daughter. Her mother goes as well.
I know I won’t ever go back there—I just can’t—but I am grateful to be so gently reminded of it.
Emma and Robin have taken up this ritual, and every summer, Emma sends me a photo of the dunes where we walk.
I love these photos; it is kind of her to send them, but it hurts. I haven’t been there with her since the divorce.
I went to the Cape once with Maria after we got married 14 years ago, but it was uncomfortable for both of us and painful for me. I haven’t been back since, and there is no going back.
I was married to Paula, a very good person and excellent writer, for 35 years; the decision to move away and end the marriage was brutal, and I will always regret the pain it caused others and me.
I must also be honest: I have never been happier or more in love than I am now. I understood at the time of the divorce, which turned out to be a complex process that lasted five years, that there would always be pain, and that is true.
There is also joy and happiness. I regret the hurt, but I don’t ever regret the decision. Divorce hurts.
Paula and I went to the Cape for nearly 25 years, and Emma came just about every year of her life and still goes. It is a significant place for Paula, Emma, and Robin, as it was for me and Emma.
There is no place for me now; my heart and life have moved on. But every year, when Emma sends me one of those beautiful pictures that she takes, I still feel the pain and sorrow. I left a good chunk of my life behind, too.
I can never regret a relationship that produced Emma.
But I think I would love the Cape less now.
It is bristling with McMansions and traffic, the incredible art community is gone, and large parts of the Cape have become suburban and overcrowded.
Thoreau would never recognize his walk up Route 6. Provincetown has lost its fishing and artistic charm, taken over by wealthy people who live in condos, which have replaced most single homes.
The streets are overrun and filled with BMWs, but not fishermen now. But Emma’s beautiful photos are a strong connection for me, and I appreciate them. The fabled fishing fleet and the artists and writers are gone.
Life is full of crisis and mystery.
I am grateful that Paula, Robin, and Emma can enjoy the cape in their way; it doesn’t need to be mine. The good news is that we are all happy and engaged in our new lives. It was always challenging, and I was in so much distress then.
For years, the pain has been at the forefront of my heart and soul, but it has receded. Life goes on, and I have found the life I was meant to live with the person I was meant to be within the place I belong, doing what I love.
I believe that this is life itself.
It is never perfect or without pain, but there is always love, joy, and beauty if you have the strength and courage to go out and find it.
