Truth Marches On

I had two conversations with friends recently, both mothers, about the flack we take from other mothers who question our choices. I think it's because what I see you do that is different from what I do makes me doubt that what I do is right. Except I look at my kids, and even when I'm awful, they are great and they think I'm great. I do not advocate co-sleeping with a 10-year-old and a 12-year-old, because that can get weird, especially with non-parents. But I only have a bed big enough for three for so long, so when they ask to "slumber party" in my bed with me once every three months, I say yes. And I sleep horribly because Landen holds my hair and puts his knees in my back. What matters is that all these moments in a day where I think I am f***ing it up are obviously just me, because they WANT to be near me. So to all of us, it does not matter who likes what we do, as long as we are churning out people we think we'll be proud of one day.

The caption on this was "Long love the Kraken. Though she be mean, she is home."

 

One of the reasons it took me so long to write about this business of getting unmarried was that I kept having a very bad experience when I was forced to tell people in person about my beloved's departure. I have a blog, so obviously I like attention. I do not care for pity. The way people would say "aw, I'm soooo sorry" almost made me indignant, like I wanted to pretend that I WAS NOT sad or negatively affected so that I would not feel pitied. I now understand that I was rejecting a simple kindness and concern that few people have the comfortable words for.

 

I got mighty popular after "Don't Mean Dallas" went up. (Part of it must be being from a small town, where, and let's all be honest with each other here, people are just not interested to hear that you're doing well.) Not a one of you has made me feel pitied. Instead, you have told me that you are in this too or that you just finished it or that you hold your new husband and your new baby at night and that things do get better and it's okay if you get it very wrong the first time. I know many divorced women. I did not know many divorced YOUNG women. Now I do. Whether or not you have been in this particular trench yourself, your "drink more," "atta-girl," prayers, and visits have made me feel so much less lonely and abandoned, and I kick myself for not opening myself up to those gifts months ago.

 

Let me just say this: I think there are a thousand different ways to handle an unmarriage, and I know a lot of the people I now know are going through this are navigating this in different ways. I would never say that any of them are wrong, and you should not either. In the months I had been reading books about how to stay married and articles about how unlikely that is to happen and what to do when it does not, I did not follow a single piece of advice when it came to what to tell my children.

I did say from the day I accepted the potential of this disaster that I would not nod my head in agreement that we did everything we could and we just could not make it work.

 

That is not the truth. We could have done more. Two people participate in a creating a marriage and two people can trade off taking the sledgehammer to that son of a bitch. Now, our wedding ceremony lasted approximately eight minutes, and maybe that in itself should have been a red flag that we were not taking the time to nurture the important things. Somebody should have said we get the worse before we get the better, so just put on the damn helmet and keep showing up for the sh*tstorm.  Nobody said that, and they damn well should've. It is unfair to keep secret that it is not the first or even second year when capital crimes are seriously considered. It's when you get comfortable. The advice from my shrapnel-scarred heart to my cock-eyed optimist brain the next time I'm peering over this marital ledge will be "whatever you do, don't get comfortable, because you will get so busy being married that you forget to stay that way."

 

I did not want my boys to receive a message that "sometimes these things happen" and therefore are permissible. These things should not happen. Marital bonds should not be abandoned easily. No vows should be conveniently broken. This situation is unacceptable for a family still full of love. As our unluck would have it, this situation is also our reality. This is hard and it is calamitous and it should not be made to look easy. The message they get from this is everything.

 

These are not the boys you should lie to. Their father has been deployed twice and moved out of his home twice. Hurricane Katrina ate their house. They were not at all prepared for the death of their mother. Their mom's parents, whom they always lived down the street from, moved to Texas for work. They came under my full-time care, me having no idea what the f**k I was doing but too full of love not to be great at it. Last year, they had to change schools. I have known them for almost six years, and I have moved them three times. We will soon move for the fourth.

I am as atypical in parenting my children through divorce as I am parenting them through death. These two can handle the truth.

 

It seems to me that the worst thing you could do is fake your way into making something you never, ever want them to choose for themselves not look that bad. There is a space between putting a positive spin on everything and telling them the world is ending, and that's the sacred space I have insisted we hold when talking to the boys about this.

 

This is wrong. Families are supposed to stick together. People who love each other are supposed to be kind to each other, to support each other, and to take care of their relationship. We were wrong not to do that, and now we have plopped another pile of sh*t on you. A deal's a deal, and when you make a promise, you should keep it. It is not okay. This is not a decision we ever want you to make. We are flawed people and we have made a mistake for our family. Do not be like us. We have really screwed up. We are not okay. But we will all eventually BE okay. And we will work to make it okay for you and your brother.

 

I have learned how foolish we are if we think they are paying more attention to what we say than what we do. Even if the correct example cannot be set by action, it should be set by more than word. The boys have seen me cry, hard, sliding down a door after I've closed it, or in response to their love, bravery, or aptitude in understanding the failures here. They have seen me angry that we have to be sad or brave, and they've been sent upstairs so that I could rant at or about their dad. I have never betrayed him by talking smack about him to the boys or where they could hear me.  They've seen the full range of their dad's emotions as well. They have not seen the worst either of us has to offer, but we have made sure they have seen enough to truly understand the consequences of a failed marriage.

One of the Emilies told me years ago that her mom's best-received advice when her marriage was ending was to never say anything bad about the other parent to your children or let them hear you. I have read that a lot too. We do not say anything in an attempt to change the opinion the children hold of the other. I have told them that he is not a good husband, but they could not be more loved by any other man. He has told them that while I am funny, not fun, I am a great mother. While we did not get into the specifics of How This Happened with them, at ten and twelve, the full story will be revealed to them in pieces by the time they are grown. And if, along the way, we have been truthful, and not glossed over what a big, bloody, bullsh!t struggle this was, they will always remember what their scarred, weary parents looked like when the dust settled and bury their heads AND their hearts in their own families.

To answer you if you've asked if he reads these - he does. Sometimes he bitches. Sometimes he praises. But he never accuses me of not being truthful or asks me to change something that could cause a problem for him. There's something admirable about someone who can have the shameless truth written about him, and still be proud of the writer. So thanks for letting me keep shouting.