I have been off of work since
last Friday. It has been a marathon since the minute I got into the
car. I do not get time at home very
often and when I do, I am determined to
make the most of every minute. Those minutes will not come around again and each
picture makes me painfully aware that my children are marching towards the next stage of life. It is the stage where I will cease to
be the coolest person on the planet and couch time watching movies will
suddenly become more important to me than it is to them. It is a
parental right of passage to watch them grow, but I am determined to
suck every moment out of the time that I do get. In the past
four days we have attended a church BBQ, feasted on warm cinnamon buns for
breakfast, made Christmas snowflakes, watched Disney movies while eating pasta
wrapped under blankets, and had dinner with Pop Pop. The kids are nearly dizzy with the change in
our typical routine. Their laughter has
filled the apartment with warmth and love.
We have enjoyed every moment while trying to suppress the gnawing ache that begins sometime around the holiday
season and will not dissipate until the last present has been opened and New
Year's resolutions are firmly in place.
Holidays are bittersweet in our home. I believe this is true for any parent that
has navigated the muddy waters of the custody system. From the moment of conception, the holidays become something we do for our
children. We cook the dishes that they
like, decorate with the ornaments that they are attached to, and organize parties intended to foster their joy. Celebrations
cease to be about us. We are busy,
overwhelmed, and often stressed throughout the holiday season. However, when
we finally collapse into a chair and take a look at all the happy and satiated
faces that surround us, we would not trade a minute of our efforts. From that joy, we receive our sustenance. Sleep seems to matter less than the delighted
giggle of a child as they tear into a gift or discover that the simple sugar
cookie has a chocolate filling. When you “ share” your children in a divorce, no one
gives you a handbook that explains how to have a holiday without that joy. Lawyers
congratulate you on reaching a satisfactory settlement. Their livelihood depends
on your desperate grab for your share of the pie in a divorce. The best interest of the children often
falls by the wayside in the face of interrogatories and other things that force
you to recall only the worst things about your former partner. They
do not tell you to prepare yourself because the first time your kids drive away
at Christmas time you will feel like your heart is being ripped out of your
chest. 50% of the holidays are
never going to feel like enough. They don’t tell you that learning to celebrate
the holiday without your children present is the emotional equivalent of learning
to walk a second time.
I am sitting here writing
this and trying to pretend that Wednesday will not come. It is not my year to have my kids for
Thanksgiving. Last year I had them for
our family reunion. My Ex and I have
mastered the art of playing fair in a joint effort to ease the pain of divorce
for the children that we share. I am
grateful that they are thriving in a situation that had the potential to rip
them to pieces, but tomorrow will not be any easier. On the outside, I will smile and laugh. I will hug them and tell them that I can’t wait to seem them
on Friday. I will tell them to eat
plenty of turkey because I know their dad and step-mother can cook. I will tell them to say hello to their Nana
for me and assure them that I have a place to celebrate. On the outside, I will do all those things
because it is what they need but on the inside I will break. I will mourn internally over the fact that it
will be someone else’s hands that craft the pies and make the macaroni and
cheese. I will rail against the
injustice of a system that thinks they can possibly survive away from me. On the inside, it will feel like my heart is
in pieces and I will want to go upstairs and hide under a blanket until my
house rings with laughter again. That is not what I will do. Instead, I will go upstairs and make
casseroles and apple dump cake. I will
lay out Christmas decorations to put up when they return on Friday. I will say a silent prayer for my sweet
husband who contends with an absence much more permanent than my own this time
of year. I am a helpless bystander on his journey most days. Only God, time, and his indomitable spirit
will be able to ease the ache that family court has left in his heart. I will remember the pies baked with love
every Thanksgiving and packed up to be eaten outside of my mother’s embrace and
the construction paper Christmas tree on the wall of my father’s first post
divorce apartment and bless my parents for their efforts. I did not understand the significance of these
gestures than the way that I do now. I
will put one foot in front of the other and march forward in the face of the
pain. Five years into my post divorce
existence, I have learned to do this without faltering. My struggles are no longer external and obvious
to anyone that sees me. We will continue to construct our new normal, full of
marathon days of fun and holiday compromises.
If I do it right, my children will only ever think about the time that
we do have together and never stop to contemplate our moments apart.
Making Memories:
No comments:
Post a Comment