Single mom, setting sail

As a single mother, I seek role models in books, the press, and films. While I often feel inspired by the company I keep through such vigilance, I as often perceive that there's something missing in the presentation, something that doesn't correspond to my situation.

I related to movie character Erin Brockovich's irked response to the wide-eyed suitor, George: Her prickly delivery of her various numbers of identification, from bank account to telephone, betokened her absolute denial that there could ever be a man for her again. But I could not relate to the actuality of George. No kind hippie has swung the fore end of his Harley onto my front lawn (or rather, into the lobby of my apartment building) with an eventual offer of child care, while I got out and pursued a glamorously dangerous career in legal investigation.

I neither look nor dress like Julia Roberts, who played Erin Brockovich in the movie, and this may explain why there's no George in my life. But I am more inclined to think this is linked to my state of mind during the years of separation and litigation that followed my husband's departure.

I had never felt so despairing, so unconfident, so unappealing and incapable in my life. Certainly this self-image could not have been credibly revealed in a character like Erin Brockovich, dressed in next-to-nothing for the office. Search I did, however, the length of the film, for a person like me. I felt vindicated when I learned that the actual George in the actual Erin Brockovich's life was suing her for a portion of the proceeds from the legal case she helped win.

"Ah ha!" said I. A similar thing had happened in my divorce case.

Cut to the bookshelf: As I began a summer's worth of preparation to teach American Literature to high school students, I remembered that Hester Prynne, in "The Scarlet Letter," was a single mother. She appeared in an unwelcoming New England town with a baby and no husband.

While this script is absurd for our times, the feelings Nathaniel Hawthorne suggests for Miss Prynne are not unlike some I've felt myself: that no matter who you are, single-parenting separates you from the mainstream. Rising statistics aside, you feel alone, often unsupported and afraid that, having broken with the most desirable state for parenting (two parents, one home), you may forever struggle.

The road is bound to be harder just by virtue of the fact that the only pair of parental hands attending to your children's needs are yours. It can feel, even minus the stigma of the "A" Hester wears on her chest, like undeserved punishment.

It can also be unnerving: There have been times when I have felt as grim as Hester, sure that the married, stable world would rather set me apart and fret for me from afar than try to understand the seemingly endless, unforgiving future I have chosen by not staying with my husband.

In other literary representation of single parenting, there can be a sexy element that eludes me. Being alone has always been sexy, I suppose. "The French Lieutenant's Woman" (I'm thinking of the Meryl Streep version) stood on a cliff in a billowing cape, her knowing looks imparting romantic knowledge of solitude and tragedy that the average Joe or Josephine couldn't hope to understand.

I've read articles about divorced mothers and fathers that make the work of raising kids alone sound positively jolly, rife with support-group inspiration and camaraderie among the single. I've read about career women who would rather not have the hassle of compromise with another adult.

I've read about two-daddy, two-mommy, two-unmarried-parent households that work as seamlessly as "nuclear" family households work, and I've read that there are no clear indications alternative families fare any worse than their "normal" counterparts. These portraits of success have an appeal separate from the sexy, all-alone-but-highly-functional-in-your-face single moms and dads.

But they have a similar effect on me: They aren't me. They aren't us. On strong days, I am calm and grateful. On weak days, I am heartbroken for my children and myself that the marriage I wanted so much to be our way of life didn't work out.

This is my story: Three years out of my life as part of a couple, I am only just seeing light again, realizing that change doesn't have to be destructive, that life can go on in new ways that can bring moments of grace. It has taken these years for me to reclaim joy in my several roles - as a mother, writer, and teacher. It has taken as long for me to drop the combative stance of a person in litigation, fearing the next moment will be worse.

I entirely forgot that "perfect love casteth out fear," or at least I exempted myself from its comforting government, as I went through the several phases of divorcing a man I once deeply loved. People who suddenly find themselves without the other parent of their children can feel they've tumbled into a loveless sea, and, gasping for air, they forget that there is air. A marriage is largely built on faith, and when that faith is shaken, faith in other things is shaken, too.

Recently, I took my daughters on our first vacation as a family without a father. We flew to the Dominican Republic and immersed ourselves in every joyous opportunity to be had. I knew during this week that we had overcome something profoundly disturbing, that we were as righted as the sailboats we watched from the small beach near the hotel.

It occurred to me that while the joy that's possible after suffering may be no different from the joy felt at any other time, there's an intensity that can only come from a sincere gratefulness for a force beyond us, that "perfect love" to which we must learn to cling in our darkest moments as well as our calm ones. The girls and I made new friends during our adventure, friends I know we'll see again because they happened along at this time of discovery.

"Mommy," my 8-year-old said to me on our way home, "I've never had so much fun in my life."

I came home rested, a state I felt I could barely recognize, and I resolved when I saw my ex-husband again - when he came to pick up the girls for the weekend - that I would see why I married him nearly 13 years ago. I saw good in him again, because I'd seen it in myself.

Leo Tolstoy said, in his opening line of "Anna Karenina," "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." How I loved that novel, and yet how relieved I am to see beyond the division it implies. I see the world of families as more of a continuum now. Ours isn't in one unhappy camp while the two-parent families are more likely to be in a happy one. There are so many different types of families, but they share one thing - the hope of survival intact.

As my family of three establishes itself, I see that we are happy. We go forth less afraid now, minus the roar, love filling our tentative sails.

Elizabeth Richards is a high-school English teacher and novelist. Her latest book is 'Rescue' (Simon & Schuster).