Lost Hallways

I had dinner the other night with some old friends. I guess you could say they were friends, even though I rarely speak to them. I use to gather with them, at a time in my life that was whole, and acceptable. I say this with sardonic tones because at that time of my life I was married, and playing by the rules. It seemed the logical thing to do was to have friends that looked the part, as well. We all sent our children to a private school, we drove the SUV’s that drank too much gas, and sat too many children: all equipped with airbags and television screens. We helped out at the annual school auction, and attended the Christmas Choir Program that usually would bring us to tears, as our little one’s gathered on stage, and sang with their hearts full of hope. Red and green sweaters adorned the risers, and matching mom and daughter dresses filled the aisles. It was a magical time, the early years of parenting, and we all believed our children were bound for glory. We were smug in our chatter of accomplishments, and awards that our children were receiving. Casual mention of the praise “Little Tyler, or McKenzie” received from the most loved teachers would float in the air. Happy to spend whatever it cost to make sure that Connor, or Jimmy, or Bailey was able to be “Principal for a Day” or that they received front row seats at the annual “Donkey Basketball” Extravaganza. We had no idea that years later, we’d gather around a small coffee table filled with wine, gourmet cheese, and sadness. We’d sit and divvy up the disappointments of body piercings, tattoos, sexual promiscuities, and lost innocence-wondering where we’d gone wrong. Still talking without listening. Sharing war stories; recognizing that some had fared better than others.
I sat there and listened to my old friends, as I began remembering the sadness of my divorce. I remembered the envy of leaving the school and being thrown into a different bracket. I was a working single mom, and I somehow didn’t belong. Private school was a luxury I no longer could entertain. I left my apron on the counter, and put on a suit and went to work. There were days that I grieved over the missed bake sales, and special birthday parties that my children would miss out on. Dropping my children off in a rush, and realizing that “Room Mom” and “the linger” in the hallways, that were adorned with the art work of our children, were no longer experiences I had time for. I was thrown into the world of derogatory statements, sideways glances, and global statistics. Things like “Broken Home”, “Single Mom”, and “60% of daughters from a divorced home are promiscuous, and suffer teen pregnancy” these were now my passageways. I no longer attended the end of the school carnivals, and most likely seemed altogether forgotten. One of the fathers at the dinner was kind enough to remind me of my forgottenness with his remark, “What are you doing here?” And I do remember feeling lost so much of the time, and believed that my path and mistakes of marrying the wrong man would become the burden my children would carry for the rest of their lives. At the time, I was so engrossed in this way of thinking; I was unable to let the shining light ahead of me peek through. What I didn’t know was that my strength, and willingness to let go of what I held so dear would be the key that released my girls and me into a new reality.

As I sipped my wine, and laughed and reminisced, I began to speak softly about my girls: their jobs, their schooling, and their lives. One of the dads turned to me and said, “Wow-I wish my daughter would do something like that.” I was surprised. I realized that all my worries had been false. The girls and I weren’t destined for doom. We took a different path, is all. We did what we needed to do.

Later that night I crawled into bed with my youngest and said “I am sorry I had to go to work. Sorry, I couldn’t help out in your classrooms more.” She looked at me surprised, and said “I hate moms like that!” then hugged me, “I love that you have a life outside of us, Mom. That you aren’t so wrapped up in us, and let us breathe.” I started to cry and said, “Really?” All this time I have been feeling guilty for nothing.

Choosing Life

I remember being in the Salt Lake City Airport. It was the summer of my divorce, and I had just lost a baby. She was twenty six weeks in utero, and I delivered her, but left the hospital breasts full, and hands empty. It was a low point, to say the least. Many well meaning friends would say trivial comments, “It’s for the best.” Stuff that let them off the hook, but made me feel sour. I would lie in my bed and wonder how hard it needed to get before it felt better. The girls and I were heading to our annual family trip to Montana. I was heavy hearted from my loss, and full of woe at the trek ahead. We brought our new kitten, our family lap dog, car seats, toy bags, purses. When I think back, I can’t remember a finger that was free to discipline or offer direction. We arrived at our gate, for our two hour lay-over. The girls scurried to let the cat out of the bag, play with the dog, and giggle/argue with one another. I stepped back and caught my breath. As I watched them play and love their animals, I thought how hard the last few months had been: fighting for my girls, carrying and losing a baby, defending myself to friends that wanted to choose sides. It was overwhelming and harder than I ever imagined a beginning of a journey to be, but in that moment, out of breath and empty inside, I believed that as hard as it was it was a lot easier than being in a marriage full of hate and anger. I knew in that small space, intercoms overhead and suitcases whizzing by, that whatever I had to defend was necessary for a new life.

Today is thirteen years forward. Again, we are packing up our things to head out to Montana. Our family lap dog is very old-he is partially blind and deaf, we have since lost the kitten to a stroke, and my girls are growing to be young women. I look back to the moment of exhaustion and ask myself if it was worth it after all? I have become more than I ever imagined for myself. My friendships are true, and the relationships I have built are deep and defended. My daughters are sure of themselves, and full of love and life. My oldest daughter finished her first year of college. She just emailed me from a volunteer trip to Thailand. She is helping to save the elephants and the abuse that they undergo. My younger daughter is in high school. She is funny, and has more friends than I can keep track of. Everywhere she goes people comment on her tender heart. I live in a new home, with neighbors who love us. We are surrounded by love and grace.

Choices in life aren’t always easy. It wasn’t easy to walk away from what I knew. It was hard to face a life alone, pregnant and young. I wondered often if I was doing the right thing; if my life would ever look different. The only way to have different is to do something different. I chose life, and I think from the results it was hard, but worth it.

Cave Dwellers

When my oldest daughter reached the age of "I'm smart and you're annoying!" I didn't really understand what was happening. I knew that others had warned me, and I had seen other mothers with their heads between their knees breathing into a bag while their badly dressed grungy teens stood above them oblivious. But I was young, holding my pigtailed little girls hands and shuffling off to get ice cream. I knew that whatever that mother's problem was-I would never be able to relate.

"Don't make today the day I lose my job! It would be horrible for you all to have to watch." I blurted this out in front of class to a student the other day. It's May and they're Seniors-if you are a teacher, I don't need more explanation than this. If you're not, then ignorance is bliss. I tell ya, teenagers can drive you to this point. Not the actual follow through (of course), but the thoughts..horrible extreme thoughts. And yet,I am amazed at my composure amongst over one hundered pubescent, pimple popping, Flaming Hot Cheetoh eating adolescents with the cloned argumentative spirit. I handle them like a quiet Prius, punching the gas, only when necessary. Then I come home. One Monster truck daughter with a glare and smug comment can send me over the edge. I have learned that breathing into a bag, saves lives-and not mothers! I realize the emotional connection and investment here. I get why I can disconnect to my students and not my own appendages. But when she smugly rolls her eyes as I am telling her about my day-it sends me reeling and all intellectual composure flies away.

My oldest survived which gives me hope. She is off to college and actually calls and misses her mother. She loves to come home and even said the other day that she didn't want to invite others to dinner when we meet because it wouldn't give us time to talk. This from a girl, who only a short few years ago, couldn't figure out why I was upset because she forgot my fortieth birthday. "You are selfish!" I think was the acid that rolled off her tongue. She was my Cave Dweller. She would hole herself up in her room, and I'd practically leave the food at the door. The sign of life from the dim hallway was that the crumbs would sometimes be left on the wood floor outside her bedroom. Cave Dweller immerged after a few years, a new creature-leaving the darkness behind.

So, I will venture on. My new journey with my fifteen year old, who chooses to not dwell in her cave, but dominate the rest of the house. I actually received a text the other night, as I was saying good-bye to friends who had visited. Behind the red blinking light was: "Could you all be quiet, I want to go to sleep!"

Recycling of the Heart

Okay so this week hasn't been great. A broken heart once again. Oh the trials of being a single mom, dating and trying to figure out life and love. Just when you think it's safe to go in the water, the love monsters roar and crush the heart. Sounds a little dramatic? Maybe, but it's not easy sailing. I have been divorced for about 13 years. People are amazed when I share this, but most of my friends that were divorced after me, are already remarried and divorced again. I like to think that I am the tortoise in the fable of love. Just plodding along, taking my time. I've dated plenty, had my heart tossed around again and again, but it all comes back to my girls and my solitary life. I can honestly say- and some may find it rigid- but my girls have never had to wake up to a strange man at our breakfast table, they haven't had to look over to see Romeo kissing their mother, holding her hand or any other uncomfortable moments that they might need to endure. My philosophy on this has always been that this is our home. They need to feel safe here. So far, so good. Unless he is a fiance or a husband-no need for the residual memories after he has gone.

This week, my girls have gotten to see their mama with another broken heart. I have been dating someone for the last ten months and felt like he could possibly have been a kindred spirit. He lived a plane ride away, divorced and raising his kids. He was living his life, and I was living mine. We'd fly off and meet for a weekend, connecting and experiencing life together. My girls are both older (high school and college) and his kids are with their mother every other weekend. I honestly, couldn't imagine a better set up. Neither one of us pressuring each other for more time, or to move...just enjoying the journey.

Last week he informed me it was too much. He was overwhelmed. Needed space. Of course this makes me laugh everytime-you can only imagine why this is funny. Space between three states isn't enough? There isn't another woman, there isn't a fight, no conflict...but here is what I understand about divorce.

Divorce is such a painful process. When I left my marriage, I wasn't sure who I was. I gave myself over completely to my spouse. I tried to be the perfect wife-failing in the eyes of my controlling husband. I battled my way through and finally had a moment of truth with myself. I needed to be free, and live my life that was given to me. I left and never looked back. What happened after was painful and enlightening. I learned about myself and my character and strength. I think for a long time I needed to nurture the girl that once was, and figure out who she was again. Anytime love knocked on my door, I ran away. Of course the "love" that rattled was different face knockers of controlling men wanting to save this damsel from the woes of single motherhood. All I wanted was an understanding ear, and someone to laugh with. I was riding my own white horse. Someone who truly understood me was hard to find. Most men, I found wanted ownership, and they wanted it quickly. I was anxious about anything moving too quick. Of course, my marriage started after only an eight month courtship and ended after 6 and a half dreadful years. Slow paced was the name of my new game. I didn't know that thirteen years was my pace, but I've been busy.

My heartbreak is solid. Cracked in many pieces. I feel like Humpty Dumpty. But my daughters have been tender. My youngest is unsure what to say. She sees me cry and is ignorant to the woes of love gone awry. I am thankful for her misunderstanding. I feel grateful that her heart is in tacked. She keeps checking on me, and wants reassurance that I will be okay. My older daughter calls from college nightly. She gives me love advice that is sweet, things like "He will realize how great you are and be sorry!" or "Don't call him, make him miss you...he needs to feel the void!" and my favorite, "I'll buy you a kitty!" She called the next day after her sage words and said, "Mama-it's hard to give you advice because it's all the things you have said to me." Her heart broke a year ago, and it was a painful event. I love that she has empathy now and can be tender. Recycled advice.

These are the lessons of life. We love and cry, heal and rejoice. Nothing is a promise, but what is good is the journey that I have ventured on with my daughters. We have learned about heartbreak together. We have learned about intimacy of the purest kind. I have protected and sheltered them from chaos, and yet they still see that their mother wants to have her heart held by another. Thirteen years, and still mosying along. Divorce isn't easy. It's a journey of the soul.