Singing My Him Song

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I dedicate this book to

Siobhan, Malachy, Nina, Conor, and Cormac, my children.

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This was sacred business, which made my brain whirl and my legs go rickety—and there was still Linda, and the unresolved matter of the divorce. Or unresolved for me, anyway. It was well resolved for Linda; she was divorcing me.

Divorce is an odd thing, but so is marriage for that matter. Although you are generally present at your own wedding there is a certain unreality to the whole goings-on. There you are, having reached the age of reason, standing up in front of two to a couple of hundred friends, relatives, and neighbors, making promises to love, honor, and cherish, to have, to hold, to cleave flesh to flesh, till death do you part. A bloody tall order to ask of a twosome who in most cases have only known each other for a short period. The sort of commitment that if you are asked to make to a member of your own family, or a childhood companion, someone you knew and loved your whole life, your immediate response would be, “Not on your Nellie.”

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