A few days prior to writing this, I sat in the Presiding Judge’s courtroom at the Daley Center — waiting for a ruling on a three-month long relocation and custody trial. As I waited, I thought about my own personal experience with relocation. Eight years ago this month, my then-wife (also a divorce lawyer) and I divorced. By our mutual agreement, she returned to Texas with our son, who was four years old at the time. For the next year, I Skyped and FaceTimed daily and came to know every nook and cranny of Midway and Hobby airports, as they became frequently visited places in my life. Although this was several years prior to the pandemic, I fashioned my own version of remote working on Mondays and Fridays. After a year, the distance was taking its toll and I resigned my partner position at the law firm at which I had worked for 8 years and moved to Texas.

Ultimately, the three of us returned to Illinois about a year and a half later. Although we are still divorced, we are approaching almost a decade of coparenting. I know intimately what relocation means, both professionally and personally. It amuses me to observe the approach of lawyers who have never lived this issue, many of whom also have never divorced and some of whom have never had children. Personal experience enriches and informs one’s professional strategy and approaches, at least it has for me. In my career, I have represented or consulted on well over a dozen relocations to Texas, Arizona, Colorado, North Carolina, California, New York, Florida, Europe, Asia, and the Caribbean. I have been privileged to be admitted pro hac vice in other states to litigate on the issue with nationally prominent experts and attorneys. Just when I think I know this issue, inside and out – I am surprised.

As lawyers, we do not check our humanity at the door when we enter a courtroom. And in that cavernous courtroom, I found myself feeling a bit emotional. I knew deeply the verdict would mean in ways we never even talk about in Court. Unlike child support, spousal maintenance, property, and even custody – relocation is a zero-sum proposition in almost every instance. There is no way to “split the difference.” It is also all of those things because it means one parent will be on the proverbial outside, looking in.

In theory, relocation cases can be resolved by agreement. I have even mediated a small handful of cases where alternative dispute resolution allowed for crafting a less drastic and damaging result than that which litigation can yield. But this is rare. I do not begrudge anyone fighting that issue. I do know that walking that path myself has expanded and deepened my sense of compassion for the non-relocating parent. I also know that it has helped me hone a uniquely specific and calibrated approach to these cases that is grounded in the only thing that matters – the physical, psychological, intellectual and emotional wellbeing of the child(ren) involved.

In every closing argument I have made, whether fighting for or against relocation, I adopt a theme of restoration. At its core, and by my lights, a relocation should be granted (or denied) where that decision will also mean (on balance) more quantity and quality of the things that matter for kids – a restoration of opportunities, education, relationships, security, stability, support, and a chance to thrive. A decision on relocation is a gigantic one. For all the change it entails, either way, at a minimum it should be designed to restore, renew and redeem that which will benefit the children, directly or indirectly. Framed this way, the approach we take – personally or professionally – has a better chance of being the right one.

Attorney Brendan Hammer may be reached at [email protected] or 312.497.5619.