Two years, four months

I am divorced.

According to the email from my lawyer, while I sat in the surgical waiting room with my sweet girl on Friday, a judge was declaring my marriage officially dissolved.

So, I've been divorced for three days without knowing it.

And I'm not finished sorting through the emotions that come with all of it.

But here's what I know so far:

Exactly two years, four months since he unwillingly moved out, he finally signed the papers that declare we are no longer a union.

It's been a long, torturous, exhilarating, learning curved, bumpy ass road.  Yet, I sit trying to sort out if I have moved an inch at all.

I hate it and I love it all at once.  I'm not ready to say happy though.  Can I be happy that a promise I made was broken?  Can I be glad for burning down the house my children knew?  Can I be anything more than numb to what should be the top of the roller coaster?

Do I want to go back?  Not at all.  Behind me is dirty and dark and blindingly lonely.

Do I want to keep moving this way?  Not really.  This road is unsure and terrifying and shockingly still lonely.

So, at least for awhile, I need to sit still and try to breathe.  Make some decisions that aren't life changing.  Close some doors I shouldn't have opened.  Let go of some desires I'll never be able to quench.  Drink some wine and calm some floods.

One thing is certain.  Above all else, I am not the same person I was two years, four months, one day ago.  

For better or worse.  Richer or poorer.  In sickness and in health.  I'm officially on my own now.

Fairy godmother

I've talked a lot about my grandma.  She was the absolute beacon in my life.  I spent more time at her elbow than anyone else on earth.  And I credit her with getting me through the childhood I can remember.

But there was another rock of a woman that took me on before that.  There was a woman, not much older than my mother, who took me in and raised me through a childhood I can't (or won't) recall.  She had a perfect, beautiful family of her own; yet, she still found a place for me.  She loved an unlovable kid as though I deserved it.  And, she has always loved me... especially when I wasn't worthy.

I can only imagine the broken kid I was.  But this picture says it all - I was held together by love and generosity and beauty.  Included in a family for the first time, I got glimpses of how it should be.

I remember watching her love and being dumbfounded by the depth.

I sat at her table and felt nothing but acceptance.

She was the mother I needed and the aunt I treasured.

She took me to get my first pair of glasses when no one else would.

She bought me the first bra that actually fit.

She took the time to braid my hair and didn't mind that I just loved the feel of her hands.

I watched how she carried herself and pretended to be her, but didn't have the confidence to show anyone my act.

More than my actual godmother, I swear she is my bippity boppity boo, magic wand and all, Fairy Godmother.

She cried at my wedding like I was her own.  And, although no one is as important to her as her actual children, she has never made me feel less than.

She has welcomed me into her home every summer since I was a kid.  And, now that I bring the girls, I get to watch her turn the spotlight on them in a way only she can.  They absolutely light up in her presence, and I can only nod in agreement.

She is magic.

I wouldn't have made it without her, and anyone who watched knows that.

She is generosity and honesty and a true example of a lady.

My fairy godmother, my aunt, my friend, and the woman I can point to and say, "girls, follow her lead."

Thank you.

I love you.

We love you.

Always.

It's ugly out there

Anyone who knows me knows that I mind my own business.  Always.  I don't involve myself in other people's lives, I'm strictly a by invitation only kind of person.  I keep my head down (literally) and move through the public blissfully ignorant of what's going on around me.  And I like it like that.  A lot.

So, to pull me into your life, you either have to be tall, dark & tattooed OR a raging fool who absolutely requires a reality check.

The lady at the store this morning wasn't really my type.

I heard this baby crying off and on the whole time I was there.  Then I caught up to them in the checkout line.  He stood, whimpering, rolling the cart inches back and forth.  Annoying?  Sure.  We've all been there.  Kids can work your last nerve.  Scratch that...kids seek out your last nerve, put a big red X on it, back up, take a running start, and break dance on your last nerve.  Every chance they get.  That's their job... Find your line and conga through it.  What is your job?  Well, in this case, it wasn't to almost dislocate his shoulder, spank him, and shove him back into the cart like the last cheez whiz can you're cramming into your overflowing trash can.  Cue the boy crying again.

I stood in the line next to hers, raised my eyebrow at her, and decided to see where this was going.

She left a couple of minutes before me, as it takes longer to weigh produce than it does to scan cans of sloppy joe mix.

In the parking lot, I find that she has removed his diaper and is spanking him through the van door.

Nope.

I've been told I'm intimidating.  Let's see...

Yep.

Look.  Everyone has a breaking point.  Everyone has bad days.  I haven't slept more than an hour at a time in almost a week.  I was nursing my venti macchiato as if it were keeping me upright at the moment this boy came into my life.  I get that.  Truly.  Kids are hard.  

Suck it the f*^% up.  If you have to remove a diaper to put your hands on a person, that's a good sign you shouldn't.  You outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds, so you had more than three people sizes up on your son, also a good sign you should keep your hands to yourself.  And, when confronted by this stranger in the parking lot, you backed down faster than you could replace his diaper - a definite sign that you shouldn't be laying a finger on that kid.

Anytime you need a reminder, feel free to replay our interaction over again in your head.  Meanwhile, give that baby a nap and redraw your breaking point.

I'm going back to my own, quiet world.  Please don't make me come out again, it's ugly out there.

Not a typical Friday night

5:24pm Facebook post "first kid-free weekend in months that I have no plans...this could be very bad."

5:27pm I call their father to give instructions on what kind of board Eva needs to complete the science project we did this week.  Phone call lasts 3 minutes, 18 seconds.  A long and excruciating time to talk to the person you least admire.  He won't put the girls on the phone but tells me they'll call me later.  I have no idea where they are, but it's loud in the background.  I assume it's someplace wildly amusing and germy that serves roller dogs and/or taquitos (a word spell check still refuses to accept as a word, despite how many times I complain about these "meals" in writing.)

I wash the dishes from their lunchboxes and go to change into workout clothes.  It's Insanity time!

5:49pm Maya calls.  "Hi mama!"  "Hello, love."  "Um, mama, Eva hurt herself bad at soccer."  "What do you mean, love?"  'Bad' to Maya could mean anything from a broken nail to disembowelment.  "She hurt herself". "Mami, put Papi on the phone please." In the background, I can hear him say, 'didn't need to call her, I've got it'.... "Sarah, Eva broke her wrist."  "WHAT?!  Where are you?"  "Taking her to Shawnee Mission".  Frantically hang up and stick other leg back into jeans.

6:12pm a crazy lady storms the emergency room.  Side note:  The drive should've taken 45 minutes.  I definitely used up some karma points not getting pulled over as I Fast and Furioused my old, barely running car down the highway.

Two doctors came in and explained that she "really broke some bones".  They'd need to be reset, which they would put her out for.  Then they'd splint it, and I'd need to take her to an orthopedic surgeon in a couple days.

All she wanted was to lay her head in my hand.  So we did that until they put her out, she stared up at me with those big brown eyes while I promised my big ugly face would be the first she saw when she woke back up.  Then they made me back up and I wasn't allowed to touch her again until she woke up on her own.  

Now, I have watched four people hold her down and put twelve staples in the back of her skull when she busted her head open at the school playground.  I thought that was bad.  Watching two really large men reset bones in her arm - so much worse.  I had to focus on only her face.  Her sweet, little, unconscious face.  

Then the nurse and I sat and waited for her to wake up.

8:14pm 

I wasn't allowed to touch, but in her sleep she was reaching to my side of her bed.  Her mouth was silently mouthing "mama, mama, mama".  So, I put my hand on the rail near her hand.  Not touching her because they had warned that she could have no stimulus until she was alert.  But she grabbed on.  

And that was it for awhile.

Finally, she opened her eyes and smiled at me.  "Hi."

She will be alright, and I am so thankful of course.  Several lessons were learned, though I would have appreciated a different test.

1.  Don't Facebook post complaining about having no plans.  Checkmate, universe.

2.  Spell check is correct, taquitos are not real, I know this because I held the bag while she got those back out of her poor belly as soon as she was conscious.

3.  Do not let a seven year old give out emergency information.  Grown folk should always be the bearers of news.

4.  If you're driving the speed limit in the left lane of the highway, and a crazy lady pulls up behind you, just move over.  This isn't lesson in patience time, she will pass you on the right.  And, honking at her doesn't change that fact.

5.  Letting her hold your hand without holding it back is hard, but counts as not stimulating your unconscious child - so carry on.

6.  Kids will always screw up your plans, whether they are actual or non-plans.  Darn kids.

Any other way.

I sat in my car, inside my garage, trying to work up the will to come inside.

I'd have it another way.  Today.  Twice last week.  And, venturing a wild guess, at least one more time before this Friday hits.

Yes, I would absolutely have it any other way.

I know I'll get a lot of shaming.  A ton of private "how could you?!" messages.  My phone will blow up with you know you don't mean that's.  There will be plenty of complete strangers spouting all the reasons I'm a terrible person.  Lots of oh, you know you'd miss them!  

But if there's one thing I cannot be accused of - it's being a liar.  And, today, right now, in this moment, I would have it another way.

Every day is spent worrying and stressing and fighting and planning and scraping.  

How am I supposed to take one more freaking step?

Where am I going to come up with the money for it this time?

Stop the lying and the stealing and the nonsense!  Just act the way I've always raised you!

If I skip this meal, I can get them the better ___________.

And, I can't do it for one more second.  I cannot take one more step.  I can't.

I just need a breath.  One deep, cleansing, soul-freeing breath.  

I am drowning in an ocean of (mostly) my own making, and I cannot lie and say it's everything I ever wanted.  

I would rather make simple choices that won't make or break a person (or three).

I would love to be able to follow a dream rather than fake smile my way through another day.

I want to be free to make mistakes without dreading how it will effect everyone else.

I crave the idea of falling asleep without clutching fists and waking up without shaking off nightmares.

Those mothers - those beautiful, giving, nurturing, self-sacrificing mothers - who would have it no other way... They are not me.

I sat in my car inside the garage trying to work up the will to come inside my own house.  I listened to my youngest child knock on the car door, wondering what was going on.  And all I wanted, in those moments, was to back out of my garage, down the driveway, and straight to the nearest highway.

I would have it another way.  Not the best feeling I've ever put on paper, but certainly the truth.

Instead, I came inside.  Because that's what we do, right?  We carry on.  We suck it up.  We lie to ourselves.  We do it this way because this is the way we chose.

Because the alternative hurts them.  Because running isn't an option.  And that's why another way seems so glorious - it isn't really there.  There isn't actually any other way.

Oh, but if there was - in this moment - I would absolutely sign up.

Perspective

Our marriage made the world a better place.

I read these words months ago and have held them since.

Our marriage made the world a better place.

Not the easiest sentence for me, no matter how many times I write it.

Our marriage made the world a better place.

I still can't say it out loud.

Our marriage made the world a better place.

Our ugly, hard, barely recognizable marriage made this world a better place.

But it did.

It gave the world three reasons to shine.

Three impenetrable points of light.

Our marriage gave the world three better-than-us people.

Since I first read those words, I've hung them on my internal Wall Of Survival.  And I've stood staring at that sentence every time it got even worse.  Every time I couldn't see what those thirteen years accomplished, I pulled those words through me.  Every time I watched a replay of my "wasted" time, I tried to remember the reason behind it.

Our marriage made the world a better place.

A place more filled with giggles and brilliance.  A world more prone to kitchen dances and driveway soccer.  Our marriage made three people who make the sun shine brighter on my horizon than on any other.

We did that.

Together.

Through pain and indifference, anger and loss, struggle and darkness.

Our marriage made the world a better place.

And on this, the anniversary we weren't supposed to reach, I stand repeating those words as though they are the only thing keeping my feet solid.  As though they make this fight worth it.  Because they have to - getting to the other side has to be worth it.

Our marriage made the world a better place.

And, even if I can't say I'm grateful for it (yet?), I can say the thirteen years weren't wasted life.  They gave me the only love I've ever grown, and that is better than the place that came before.