THE CO-PARENTING OPTION.

• Author: Kristjanson, Karen L.
• Position: LIFE IN AMERICA

I HEAVED MY SUITCASE into the back of my rusted Corolla and sank into the driver's seat. I was parked in the driveway of the suburban Winnipeg house where I had become the mother of two sons, then five and eight. On that November night, the curbs were edged with dusty snow, the brown lawns sullen and hard. On that night, I was leaving my home and my marriage of 15 years.

I backed onto the street and drove around the curve, crying so hard I could not see. As soon as I was out of sight of the house, I pulled over, sobbing, my head in my arms on the cold steering wheel. My sons, David and Steven, had known for a week that my husband John and I were separating, but this was the first tangible step to reshaping our family. I knew their dad would care well for them tonight. Still, it had taken every ounce of my resolve to kneel, look into their sad, bewildered faces, and hug them goodbye, saying, "I will see you tomorrow." Leaving the house was such a significant step, it felt unreal and desperate. After a few bleak minutes, I took a shaky breath, restarted the car, and drove slowly out of the neighborhood toward my temporary refuge.

The ship that had been my married life had foundered and I was throwing myself into black, cold water. I did not know how this next phase would work, just that our family life as it was could not continue.

In the previous year, I had realized that our marriage was frayed to the breaking point. Years of escalating arguments had led John and me to try counseling but, after three months, John stopped going. When I asked, "What is it that's not working for you?" he answered, "I just don't think it's going anywhere." It felt like I was standing on one side of a two-way mirror with John on the other side. He could see what I was experiencing, but my view of him was opaque, shielded. I felt more and more helpless, trying to peer through the glass--very lonely.

Finally, one sunny Saturday morning, sitting across from each other in our matching blue wing chairs, we had our first honest talk in years. I comprehended what I so had not wanted to see: John's commitment to our marriage was gone. As this horrifying realization sank in, I felt like I had been punched in the belly. I spent that day sitting, walking, staring into space, trying to rearrange my world. We carried on for the next weeks in an atmosphere charged with things unsaid as I gathered my nerve and looked at options. One thing was clear to me: while John would be...