February 1st will forever be ruined for me. Today is the day when my parents begin the divorce process. I know I’m 30 and out of the home, but my heart is broken. I feel about 6 years old on the inside. I’m scared about what the future of my family looks like. I’m hurt and disappointed in my mom and dad. But more than anything, my heart hurts.
I’ve known this day was coming but still a small part of me held onto hope for the miraculous. I’m forever an optimist and it even surprises me sometimes. I still believed that reconciliation was possible even after 6 years of separation and many years before when they needed to be separated. At this very moment, I believe if they wanted to be married to each other, they could be.
Belief dies inside reality. Each of them wants to go their own way or is unable to bend for the other. The fissure became a crack. The crack became a split. The split will become two halves broken and separated from each other. Each piece maintains broken parts of the other while missing parts of the whole.
My family started broken: his kids and one of hers. I’m the only ours in my family. And now we will be forever broken. Outside of my choice, I will now have to choose. Choose who I see on what holiday. Choose who I invite where. Choose a schedule that includes separate times in separate homes for separate holidays. There won’t be any more family gatherings where all are included. Us will once again be them. Where two became one, there will be one being two. I’ll be in two households for every occasion. Forever broken. Forever with someone/something missing. I’m a statistic.
Why can’t there be forgiveness?
Why is “I’m sorry” harder to say than “goodbye”?
Why does “I’m right” trump “I love you”?
The realness of today flooded me Monday. In chorale practice, all of a sudden the realization of my family tree breaking sent a shard so deep in my heart I almost fainted. Most people think that marriage is between the two of them, but it really isn’t. There are children and grandchildren sitting on the branches that marriage created. People find shade and hope in that tree. Other smaller, weaker branches get broken when divorce happens.
If love is a battlefield, then divorce is a vulture feeding on the carcasses of the dead and wounded.
Children, regardless of age, are the casualties of divorce. My brothers and their families are affected. Their loyalties are torn. I was the glue. The only one vested in both. The implosion of their relationship has sent out shrapnel, and now I am walking wounded in my parents’ war.
I get that not all marriages are like this. I get that there are those who communicate, respect one another, love one another, enjoy one another, but I’m not living in that family. I’m living in this one. I want a home. I want a family that is whole. I wanted ONE Christmas. Today signifies the death of that dream too. Today signifies the death of many hopes and dreams, and February 1st has become a casualty of divorce too.
I could list details and blame, but why feed the vulture? All I desire is for a glimpse of hope in the wreckage that love can bloom in all of this death. I’m squeezing all the faith I can muster into walking in peace through this day and the subsequent days to follow.
Yea though I walk through the valley of the Shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.
I believe in love. Not out of what I’ve seen but in focusing on Him who is unseen.
I honor marriage. Not as in examples I’ve witnessed but because my spirit bears witness to a covenant that is deeper than a marriage certificate and beyond the reach of court systems and lawyers.
In spite of all that I’ve lived through, I lay my hope in a bridegroom (either here or in heaven) who walks through marriage with sober reflection of eternal vows.
I can’t walk through this without being hit. It is war after all. Marriage was never intended to be conditional or temporal. I recognize I’m wounded. Lord, allow those wounds to become scars; remembrances of war yet without pain or infection.
Lord I want to be a tree planted by your river; a tree with deep roots and leaves of healing.
Not every lost battle signifies the outcome of the war.
Not everything broken dies.
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2 comments:
I'm so sorry, C. I don't know what words of comfort to give you that would genuinely comfort you. Just know that if you need an ear or a shoulder, I'm here for you. I hope God answers your prayers. I'll be praying for you too. Love you.
Oh, Christen... I had no idea. You have every right to cry & scream & cry some more.
May our God restore your soul as only He can and heal your wounds. I know you're leaning on Him HARD. Praying for you.
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