Some questions need more soothing than answers

​I imagine the hardest part about divorce is different for everyone. For me, among all the hard parts, the hardest part will always be - by far - answering the internal question, what have I done to my kids?

The question gets planted even before you divorce. There's such a cultural emphasis put on two parents in the home. I helped create that emphasis over the years. And in spite of my own situation, I do still believe that's in the best interest of kids.

At least until it's not.

And that's the questionable part, isn't it? When does it become not? A lot of people have an answer for that, when in the grand scheme of things there really isn't one. It's always a best guess.

But I do know some people believe there is an answer. I certainly had voices in my ear after my divorce suggesting I'd done great damage to my kids in leaving. And when you're already wrestling with those questions, those suggestions do great damage to you, the dad.

I've also been fortunate to have many voices since my divorce telling me I'm doing great as a dad. Mainly because those voices see how well the boys are doing. I mean, I myself see that.

But for some reason, that's a question that is never going to go away. What have I done to my kids?

No counsel. No affirmations. No quiet can quiet that question.

But every once in awhile there is sweet relief. And one thing that particular question loves, maybe it constantly begs for it, is sweet relief.

Elliott and I were talking about the baseball playoffs Sunday. It was a strange conversation, because in spite of us both being big sports fans, we never talk much about baseball.

Elliott said the only baseball players I know are the ones we met when we went to that Washington Nationals camp when I was a kid. He was smiling.

I thought about that for a second. That was a long time ago. And yet, there he was, recalling it fondly.

Monday morning, I found the picture we took that day of him tossing the ball with Ryan Zimmerman. I texted Elliott the picture while he was at school. I thanked him for the memory. I told him it was good for my heart that he remembered it.

Elliott doesn't know the full extent to which it was good. Our kids don't know many of the questions that haunt us.

And they don't need to.

Yet, out of the blue, it is often our kids who unknowingly bring us the most soothing answers to those questions. They bring us memories that seem, at least in the moment, unscathed by decisions we can convince ourselves our decisions had destroyed those very memories.

There are some questions in life that never go away. I'm convinced of that. Probably because for some questions that are no answers that bring complete certainty to effectively kill the question.

But as we move on, the questions get quieter.

They come at you with less vengeance. With less frequency.

And then every once in awhile your kid shows up and tosses you a memory, a very precious and timely memory, that offers you the most certainty you'll ever get a chance to catch.

In the end, for this dad, who's spent hours playing catch with his boys, that might be the best game of catch ever.

It's certainly the most healing one.