My Family, Minus Me

It's not that the idea came out of nowhere, it had been planned for months. It's not that their absence was a surprise. I'd offered him Spring Break, since I knew I couldn't afford to take them anywhere.  It's not even that I hadn't expected to be jealous or lonely or unhappy. It was just that I didn't expect to look at the first picture and see my "family", minus me.

Divorce quite naturally causes thousands of "lasts." Last time living together, last anniversary, last joint taxes, last "table for four," last family photos. There are a million more "firsts." First time living alone, first time mowing the lawn, first time you have to call or text to share a child's accomplishment, first solo road trip. Most of them you anticipate.

This one hit like a ton of bricks. This one knocked me off of my axis and threw me left of center. This one, I simply had not prepared myself for. I was happy for them, for their adventure, for their sun kissed faces and chlorine hair, for their laughter and silly stories. But, for the first time it was not first hand. I was not a witness. I was not a participant. This trip had no mommy. My "family" went on vacation and I watched from afar.

Perhaps in the grand scheme of the changes divorce brings, this one will one day pale in comparison. Perhaps I will look back and realize it was not as monumental as it felt at the time. Perhaps. At the time though, it felt like everything. It felt like a test, a living and breathing proof, more a marathon and less a sprint. Those six days were long for me. I kept busy and engaged with people I love to ease the knot in my stomach. I felt the heavy so deeply and tried to focus on the kids voices via phone and the few pictures they sent.

From the beginning, I've promised my kids we'd still be a "family," we'd just redefine what that meant. All along I assumed I'd know what that definition would be, how it would feel and what it would look like. But when my "family" went on vacation, I realized that control should have been categorized under "lasts." I am simply learning as I go, simply defining as it happens. WE are still a "family," but everything has changed.

What I've Learned About Friendship Amid Divorce

Friendship is so simple when we are small, two babies playing next to each other, aware of the other but not necessarily interacting. Then we get a bit bigger and we both like Cookie Monster and that's enough. Time goes on and we have more things in common and real interaction and even an argument over who got the bigger half of the cookie. We'd still pinkie swear that we are "bestest friends FOREVER!" In adolescence and tweendom parents are hyper focused on alienation and bullying. As the mom of two girls, I spend more time helping them navigate the complexities of friendship than math, science and history combined. 

Somehow though, we are taught to believe that we outgrow a lot of this. That as adults we've survived enough catty, backstabbing, gossiping hell for a lifetime. That we will settle into adult friendships with a calm and ease we've earned. And, for many, this is true. It is also true that by the time we are adults, we have learned and grown enough to foster healthy relationships and walk away from toxic ones. That we lived enough to know the difference.

But often, just when we feel settled, just when we bought the idea that it's not the quantity but the quality, that it's not the likeness but the differences as well - our world shifts. Whether the shift is slight or dramatic, it's enough to effect visible change in our lives.

When you make the decision to get divorced, it’s interesting who you choose to confide in at first. It's not always your closest friends, per se. It’s like a clown car of people who have the right strengths, views, open arms, who lack judgment and just make sense for some reason you can’t explain at all. And then it’s out and you wait for the gossip, for the condolence calls and for something you didn’t plan on – those you don’t hear from at all.

You realize that for some it’s a need to take sides – sides that don’t exist in your case. For others, it’s too much. Your choice makes them look harder at their own relationship and question, wonder and fear. That part hurts, but you are too tired to focus on it for long. The ones you really don’t count on though are the people who judge. Those who think you could have tried harder, pushed on for longer or simply that you should sacrifice everything and anything for your children. You resign yourself not to let that hurt – good luck with that.

As time goes on even the best of them move on with their lives. Your brave face is mistaken for a strength you don't actually own and often, you are alone. But, anyone who has been down this road knows that divorce is like a death and the mourning process is slow and seemingly endless.  In Judaism there are rules for mourning – Shiva, Shloshim, Kaddish, Yizkor and different lengths of time depending on who the deceased was. There are no rules for the end of your marriage, no specified time or tradition. It's physically, emotionally, financially and spiritually devastating.

Sometimes you wish the phone would ring and the friend on the other side would just be there to check in. There are days when asking for any more attention, support or love seems selfish and impossible. You hear about yourself through the grapevine and try to ignore the gossip or the accusations when you decide to share your journey is this very public sphere. You do your best to remind yourself that until you've walked this path it cannot be understood. You are grateful for those who never waver in their support and you make it your mission to be as good a friend. You remain committed to being "all in."

Often, new friendships form and you feel blessed for that, but you can't help but wonder. You thought you knew all of the changes you'd endure when your marriage was over, you'd considered each one carefully thousands of times. But this one - this wasn't on the list. That there would be friendships irrevocably changed or lost as part of the process. The list didn't consider the fragile and complex nature of female friendships, but it should have.

When it's over, but not done

Nobody tells you that when it's over, it's not done.

The table is big and oak and could likely tell quite the tales of what it's seen. The pens are new, and the papers are crisp and official. The judge is old and he talks and talks and talks. He goes on and on. Only after do you realize that while you can't even speak or look up for fear of the tears, the judge does this every week. It's not the end of his chapter that he is signing, witnessing and notarizing; it’s yours. It's not his partner, his family, his hopes or his dreams that he is declaring legally null and void, it's yours. So you decide not to hate him and instead to focus on breathing while he passes the papers around the room. You reply with the requested "yes" or "no" at the questions you are required to answer. You breathe evenly to keep your voice from cracking. And then, while you are focused on the inhale and exhale, on how the knot in the table looks like the knot in your stomach, everyone rises and shakes hands. And that's...it.

You knew that it wouldn't be easy and that you did not want what happened in this room to define the day. So, in advance you asked if you could have lunch together. Eating and drinking were always something you were so good at doing together. So you go and you eat and you drink. You eat off of each other’s plates because old habits die hard. You taste his drink because he insists and you've never been able to say no to him. You talk and you laugh and there are a few jabs but mostly it’s ok because you pretend that it's not what it is, that it's just lunch. Then it's over and you stand on the street realizing that it's the most bizarre goodbye ever. You hug and congratulate each other for getting through it without killing each other. Then when you climb in your car, alone, you finally realize that the foreign feeling you couldn't place is numb. You've moved past angry, past heartbroken, past remorse. You feel completely and utterly numb.

So you drive and you walk in the cold, waiting for feeling to return to your fingertips, your feet and your brain. You breathe and try to connect with the relief you thought you'd feel. You cry and try to reach the bottom you thought you'd already hit. None of that comes.

So you go home and you move on. You live and laugh and work and parent and love and only when it's quiet do you allow yourself to know that there's no such thing as over. You have mounds of paperwork and finances to wade through. You have calendars to plan and holidays to coordinate and children who want their "family" to be as present as before. You have friends who expect you to show up. You have new relationships that fill you with hope but need to be introduced and explained with care and sensitivity.

So you go on and everything has changed, but a few things have not. You still can't seem to communicate well, you still seem to argue and hurt each other as much as you help and need each other. You still seem to see everything differently and feel everything differently. But most of all for you, you still love and miss and cry sometimes, too. And he still seems to hate all of that about you.

You realize it will never be done. Instead, you start to try to figure out what the next part will look like. And you hope that you two can do this part better. That you'll get there with practice, with patience that neither of you own, with faith that is tested daily, with compassion you've never given each other, with humility you will both need, and, most of all, with a reminder that there was love there once, and maybe for you, always.

Drawing inspriation from...

I could lament about how long it's been since I posted or the why (how long do you have?), instead I will say that I am not ready to put pen to paper about all that is going on in my life right now (sometimes even the loud ones need quiet time) but there something I want to share.

I am a very lucky almost 40. I have led a rich life, full of some of the most amazing humans. In the last few weeks, I have thought on more than one occasion that several are also talented, raw and honest bloggers too.

The more I get wrapped up in the slog of day-to-day the less I am focused on what is real, what is lasting and what is important. My mantra has always been "if it won't fit on my headstone, it can't run my life."

I want to share here a few of them, some are very private, intimate and even difficult to read. Some are lighter but no less engaging and powerful. I am proud to say that each of these people has had an impact on my life in the last 40 years and I thank them for their inspiration.

Amy (my sleep away camp counselor) is one of the funniest people I've ever known, who is now dealing with one of the hardest things life can throw at you - when your child wants to die. https://wheresmypoolboy.wordpress.com/

Adam (my first boyfriend, in 6th grade) was always a kind and gentle soul. He's navigating the middle ground between family and career and writing for "Life of Dad."
http://www.lifeofdad.com/blog_post.php?pid=20012
http://www.lifeofdad.com/blog_post.php?pid=19955

Brit (a "newish" colleague) whose writing is beautiful and whose faith is inspiring. Reading her blog reminds me how much we gain when we focus not on what makes us different, but what makes us the same.
http://taminglions.org/

I am sure there are others I missed or don't know about. But for today, this is who is keeping me inspired.

Unconditional

When thoughts are at the tip of my fingers and I desperately need to put them down, I have no question about why I write. It's cathartic. It's the "why I share" that I am often asked to defend. I don't share it because I am a particularly good writer or because I profit in any way. I share because I am an avid reader. I read all day, every day. So much of what I read touches me, appalls me, moves me and often scares me. But, it reaches me. There are days I will read something and I will swear I must have written it or that the author must have a secret window to my soul. And it is that feeling of being understood, of being less alone, less afraid, that pushes me to share. It is not always easy or comfortable but it is always worth it.

My parents just left after an incredible 4 day weekend together. The first in my new house, the first with me alone with my kids. I am incredibly sad, but even more grateful. My parents are as "normal" as anyone else, but to me they are the epitome, the picture of unconditional love. I thought about writing them a letter in private, but realized that is simply not my way.

In life, there are very few people who can and will love us unconditionally. For me, that is my parents. I talk a lot about "who shows up" and "loving us when we are unlovable." In my almost 40 years, I can honestly say there has not been a single time that my parents were not there when I needed them. Physically, emotionally, financially - all of it. They have delivered tough love when I've been an idiot and been my soft place to land when my world was falling apart. They always show up. They always make their love known. There are no conditions to their love. They do not wait to be asked or invited. They do not back down in my defense and they do not lie when I am wrong. They are simply always there.

We fight, we are Jewish, loud, opinionated and human; of course we fight. They drive me crazy and I them. We are as imperfect as any family, with our skeletons, our insanity, our "ways" and our stupid jokes. But they are always there. They have taught me more than anyone else ever has about life, love and my own worth. They have shown by example what it means to be a family. They have cared for our sick, our elderly and our broken. They have rarely asked for help, but when they do it is always with a thread of regret at having to.

This weekend they helped turn my house into my home. My father worked tirelessly, for days, handing, drilling, nailing, screwing, measuring, but never complaining. All the while only concerned that we would not have accomplished everything on my list. He is my hero. He is a saint with endless patience, love and devotion. My mom never stopped planning, making lists and approving everything we did. She is my greatest advocate, my best critic and the voice in the back of my head. As a child there was little my parents did not sacrifice to give my brother and I everything we needed. The 12 year old brat I was never understood why I couldn't have everything I wanted too. Like all of the kids around me. As a parent, I get it and realize it was likely the most valuable lesson they taught us.

My greatest wish is that I am half the parent to my girls. That I sacrifice my needs for theirs when it makes sense. That I instill in them the same self worth, unconditional love and support I have and that I always show up. At the end of the day, that one act is all we need.

Wisdom Before 7am

This was the first thing I read this morning.

“Divorce is always good news. I know that sounds weird, but it's true because no good marriage has ever ended in divorce. That would be sad. If two people were married and ... they just had a great thing and then they got divorced, that would be really sad. But that has happened zero times." Comedian Louis C.K.

It was before 7am, the sun was not up and coffee had yet to be ingested. That might be why I questioned how much it resonated at first. It was sarcastic, harsh and yet…boldly and completely true.

Divorce is sad. We were (and sometimes still are) sad. Our children were (and sometimes still are) sad. Endings are often sad. One of the smartest women I’ve had the privilege of knowing, once said to me, “I got divorced once. It had a beginning, a middle and an end. The end was awesome.” And that’s it really, isn’t it? Once you’ve made the decision, then the hard part really becomes getting it done. Getting from the beginning to the end without being enemies, being the best parents and people that we can. But we fall down too. Divorce makes us forget that we were once married to this person, that we loved them. Divorce often overshadows the fact that we might actually feel OK on our own. We forget to see that we are actually growing, rediscovering, shedding negative self-images and even simply laughing more.

Divorce is sad but it needs an end. At some point it gets to be over. As you move closer to the end you realize so many things about yourself. I am stronger, more independent and more badass than I ever knew. This will likely be unpopular, but I AM A BETTER PARENT when parenting alone. I am more present. I am more patient. I am more grateful. I am both more and less rigid and flexible. I am more open. Quite simply, I am more me. I am also learning to be more open to constructive criticism from their dad when I fall down. Words that I’d have been too defensive to hear in the past, now resonate with truth and the need for change.

Divorce is sad but we don’t need to be forever. Our divorce will always be sad, but eventually all of us, we can be happy.

Basket (not bucket) List

It's like riding a bike, right? Except, I've never lived alone. I've never ridden this bike before. The tires seem thinner, the seat less worn, the handle bars harder to grip and the road longer. But there's a basket. I've never had a basket before. Always wanted one, but baskets seemed like something someone else had, that I coveted from afar.

This basket is woven, no obvious beginning or end. It was empty, so open to possibility. So I began to fill it with things I never even knew I'd need for my adventure. I began the ride and a list formed on the horizon. A list of "never befores" and "maybe I cans" and "why haven't I evers?"

1. Packing the car for a road trip as the only driver
2. Summer adventure with my kids
3. Driving in Manhattan
4. Mowing my lawn
5. Living alone
6. Choosing everything for my new home – paint, décor, furniture, set-up
7. Fixing and building things on my own instead of asking for help
8. Buying my first house alone
9. Asking amazing friends for help and support during surgery and recovery
10. Trusting my parents adult to adults
11. Creating circles of trust, support and community

And the list goes on, and the basket fills, and the journey is endless, and the ride gets easier as I go.