Most of you know that I am a child of a “broken” home. My parents separated when I was six (and my siblings were 4, 2, and 1 month old) and finalized the divorce about a year and a half later. As is the norm, neither the divorce or the circumstances surrounding it were pretty. Both of my parents were left horribly scarred and terribly hurt.
I love both my parents with all of my heart, let’s be perfectly clear on that. They are both AMAZING people who have led amazing lives and made myself and my siblings the people we are today. But, my parents were (and are), imperfect, as we all are. They both made some mistakes with us kids as we were growing up. Some of those mistakes left invisible scars on the hearts and lives of all of the children in my family. Some of those mistakes have affected us beyond my words to describe.
The last 21 years haven’t been easy. We’ve been luckier than some children of divorce, in that we know and speak to our Father and that at least our parents were able to be in the same room without killing each other. They were even able to be cordial, but everyone who knew them realized that it was quite forced. It was very, very clear that they did NOT like each other. The graduations, weddings and other occasions requiring their presence in the same state always caused sever stress among my siblings and myself. There was always that worry that all the bottled up anger and rage were going to suddenly emerge, that the weapons would be drawn and a battle of epic proportions would ensue.
I know many of you know the fear and pain of having two parents, whom you love, hate each other. It’s hard to describe the feelings to those who haven’t experienced it. You feel like a rubber band being pulled apart. Like you have to choose sides, or have to pick a favorite and stick with that parent in the looming struggles for power. It’s easy to only hear and believe one side of the story, especially when one parent has custody and the other is living far away (in our case, all the way across the world.). It’s easy to begin to resent the more absent parent, and in turn, feel as though they have begun to resent you. It’s just never . . . comfortable.
I am the oldest and therefore have more memories of my parents life together than the rest of my siblings, and I can only remember one or possibly two times when they were married and getting along. Most of my memories involving my parents together involve brief encounters in passing, forced kindness at joyous occasions, arguing, or being told stories of how one parent hurt the other. They tried to keep us from it, but I think their mutual disdain took over. It engulfed their lives and eventually all of ours.
This last weekend was another joyous occasion. My brother Sean, who is 25, was graduating from college and my other brother Patrick turned 21. The celebrations were taking place at my Father’s home in Pennsylvania, where both boys currently live. My Mom, of course, flew back east for the celebrations. This was a first for us . . . the first time my Mom was on Dad’s turf. Most of the other affairs over the years took place in Utah where we were raised, therefore Dad was always on Mom’s turf. All four of us kids prepared for the worst. I was the only one not attending, due to work conflicts, so three out of four were in preparations to keep the parental units as separated as possible to prevent any bloodshed.
There was no bloodshed. This weekend the prayers of four hurt, scared kids were answered after 21 years and our family was granted a miracle. That is the only way to describe it. Something changed in both of my parents and this weekend, for the first time in 21 years, they truly got along.
I wasn’t there to witness any of it, but I’ve heard numerous accounts of our family miracle. My Father invited my Mother to his home for dinner. They sat in the same room and reminisced about when they were married. They laughed, they poked fun at each other. They acted like they liked each other. My Mother offered gifts, chatted easily with my Step-Mother and seemed to have a truly wonderful time. This happened three days in a row. Dad invited Mom to go to the shooting range with him. THEY WERE IN THE SAME PLACE WITH LOADED WEAPONS, people. My Dad taught my Mom how to shoot a gun. Holy crap.
Then, on the last night my Mom was in town, Dad apparently volunteered to drive her to the place where she was staying. They got out of the car and then they embraced. With tears streaming down her face, Mom apologized for any wrongs she had committed against Dad over the years, and my Dad smiled and told her to be happy in her life.
They finally . . . just . . . let . . . go.
I cannot express to you how heavy a weight has been lifted from the shoulders of myself and my siblings. I cannot express the joy in my heart. I don’t think I knew how heavily all of this had weighed on us until it was finally over. No more awkward get togethers, no more talks of protecting one parent from another, no more begging them to just drop it and get over it already. It’s truly over, and we can finally breathe.
I beg those of you who are divorced and have children to try to get along with the Ex. I know how hard it must be, but I cannot express to you what a difference it would have made in the lives of my family members if my parents had attempted this reconciliation years ago. I beg those of you with families still intact to hold on for dear life and be grateful for your families. Never, ever take advantage of the gift you have been given.
I know that the Lord has had a hand in all of this. I know He has been watching over my family and slowly healing my parents hearts so that this could happen. I am forever grateful. I have never in my life felt such love for both of my parents as I do today. I have never heard my siblings voices filled with so much wonder and so much joy. I will go to sleep tonight with a smile on my face and a prayer of thanks in my heart. I have been praying for more Christmas Spirit and it has been granted ten fold. This might just be the best December ever.
