Happy

I've heard that the hard times in life reveal the truest friends - they stick with you through it. Once again, I am pleasantly overwhelmed by the presence of great people in my life. Last night, I cooked a huge meal of chicken legs & breasts, broccoli, rice... a huge meal. I invited friends over on a whim, and the conversation was good, the laughter unending and the comradery revealing. Our kids all played together, happily. At one point I stepped outside onto my porch, looked up at the sky and said, "Thank you!" I don't know how I got to be so lucky to have the friends I have.

Last week, I got another letter and card in the mail from a friend that has sent me a either a card, a cd, a poem, or a letter at least twice a month since the separation. I spent an hour and a half on the phone with another friend of mine last week and we talked and giggled like we were in the third grade! I'm in two book clubs with amazing women! The first book club has been together for six years, the second one I just joined, and damn, both of them have great people - so caring and funny and intelligent. Then I have my college roommates - lifelong friends whether we talk or not; so supportive. And my best friend in the whole world from law school lives inside my heart like he owns it! On top of this, I have coworkers from years ago that are now my best friends - they are staples in my life and I don't know what I'd do without them. And my family... my parents, brothers, sister and all my sister-in-laws and brother-in-law... my best friends. Whenever my sister calls me, she has something to say that makes me laugh so hard and then I am buoyant!

I am blessed. How did I get to be so lucky? How will I ever repay them?

I guess they know how much I love them. I obviously don't say it to them all the time, but they must know, right? For those of you who haven't heard it from me lately, Thank you. I love you.

Tippy Toes

The demarcation of love and hate is thin - cobweb thin and I am balancing on the wisp of it. The line between anger and understanding: thin. Between hope and despair: thin. Between opportunity and regret: thin.

Am I being forced to stand on the those thin lines to build character? To perservere so that I may build character?

My character was just fine! I awoke every morning, drank my cup of black coffee, swallowed my vitamins, greeted my children with hugs and breakfast and my husband with a kiss. I sorted through the mundane features of my life with ease; without depression; without ulterior motives. My biggest mistake was waiting for my character to reach the heart of my husband, for his sight of me to become clearer, for my promises to him and my children to be felt.

The house was clean, dinner was on the table, my nights were spent folding laundry, reviewing contracts for the company or sitting on the sofa, my hand always near the hand of his. I'd peer into his eyes for that recognition, and I'd shrug my shoulders when it didn't come - blaming it on the pressures of his job. I sat, wordless, apprehensive to push the envelope toward a greater intimacy because I didn't want to add more stress to his already stressful life.

One of my best friends (you might know him, Bruce) once said to me, "I can't tell my courage from my desperation." Praise the Lord, that's exactly how I feel. It is how I have been feeling since all this began!

Is it courageous to want to know why, why, why (!) the dreams, promises and security were left on the bathroom floor instead of thrown into the washer for a good cleaning? Is it desperate of me to wonder why (or how) someone can be embedded into the guts of my future, and then gone? Hello in the morning, good-bye in the evening. Am I still wondering about this - flabbergasted by the abruptness of it - because I am desperate? Am I desperate because my pride has been mutilated? Am I desperate, or courageous, when I cry and ask for answers. I am sorry. Is he?

Will knowing the answer to that question build my character any more than it is being forced to be built?

Who in the hell invented divorce anyway? I'd like to strangle the man (or woman, whatever). On the day we were married, we promised each other. We said, "divorce is not an option." Ho hum, that promise has taken the hand of every other promise and run away, never to be found again.

Regret, hate, despair - these things leave such a bitter taste in my mouth, yet I can't get past them right now.

Love, hope, opportunity and understanding - oh. Character. Yep, rebuilding it, with a wee bit more distrust, a harder heart and a desperate courage that will see me through to the end of this.

As soon as I can open my eyes again, I'll look up at the horizon and do what I intended to do with this blog - give hope. But first I have to wash and dry my character - wring out the soil, scrub the stains and disembowel my projected future from what it is now.

Break

As one might surmise after reading a few of my blog posts, I am no expert on marriage. As for divorce, I cannot even take a baby step toward understanding it. One of these days, I know that I'll wake up and the hurt won't hurt so much, the pain will be just a memory. Yet, I wonder if I'll always feel sorry for the man who left me behind. Not sorry because he lost such a great catch (although he did!), but because he lost hope in the longevity of the marriage. The day of my marriage was the happiest of my life. It was the first time I made a decision and felt with every part of me that it was the right choice. I am close to 100% positive that he felt the same way. What changed?

At the altar, we stood together, holding hands, smiling. We stepped into our first home, holding hands, smiling. We bought our second house, giggling and giddy, holding hands. We talked about having a baby, and we created one (holding hands, smiling, among other things...). The addition of the baby threw us for a loop - we were prepared, but we didn't know. We still held hands and smiled. How could you not? P was beautiful and happy and a mirror image of our dreams. Then, God blesses us with news of T. It was a surprise, but we went with it, making dreams come true by starting a major reconstruction project on the house. I remember standing outside, watching the construction workers, my belly burgeoning, my butt just as big, holding his hand and saying, "I'm happy. Life is good." A short time after that, I couldn't find his hand anymore, and he couldn't find mine, and our smiles were just memories that we clung to in hopes that one day, we'd get them back.

I still have hope. Not that my marriage will work out. It's over. I've accepted that and there is no reluctance anymore. There was, for a long time, there was. But now, I'm good with the future. I clung to my hope for a long time and I believe in marriage. I always will. But he's different. He lost his hope in the marriage, in me and in the longevity of it - the promise of a deeper love. The "promised land" is defined in the dictionary as 'the realization of hopes.' A promise is defined as a "guarantee for engagement", or in other words, something that you just can't break. A "broken promise" is defined in the dictionary of Carrie, as a pain so deep, a memory so surreal, a severed tendon of dreams...

I feel sorry for him because he lost his patience in getting to the promised land. It was within his reach, and he didn't reach for the hand that I held out to him so that we could walk together, smiling. One day, I pray he finds the hand of something or someone that will show him the path to the promised land, and in so doing, he'll understand the pain so deep, the memory so surreal, the severed tendon of dreams... and never, ever do it again.

Counting

What is the point of having this blog if I am afraid to acknowledge the negative emotions? I sat here for the past thirty minutes thinking that I simply couldn't write today because I am so unbelievably disheartened and this blog is about hope! How can I write about hope when I can barely keep my eyes dry? And why today? Why the sadness today? I'm not even PMS-ing!

Divorce sucks. I don't believe in it. I never have. Is this an admission of my heart's longing? Absolutely not. I have accepted this divorce and if I'm honest, I am better off and actually looking forward to signing on the dotted line because the true colors I am seeing, aren't making a rainbow, if you know what I mean. They are colors that I never expected to see.

I am writing today because I need to write today. I need to list those blessings I have in my life because damn if I am going to spend the next six hours before bed wallowing. No way.

I am blessed:

1) My kids are healthy and happy and Paige's teacher told me today that she has never seen closer siblings than Paige and Tony. I am doing my job!
2) I have a good job and I'm good at it.
3) Friends! Oh my, do I have friends, and they are good at it.
4) My parents are, without a doubt, the best parents around. My sister and brothers are my best friends, and my parents made it that way by being honest and humbling and loving each other through thick and the thinnest of thin.
5) My dogs stink, but they love their mommy.
6) I believe in God. I believe in miracles. I believe in angels. I believe that my faith is the strongest it has ever been and I know it is building more strength every day.

Does anything else really matter?

No more wallowing. I feel better. I do. However, I think a nice, strong, stiff shot of Bruce will pull me entirely out of this funk. Or maybe I'll just give the dogs a bath.

Asked and Answered

Recently I went home to Buffalo to visit my family. Before I left, my mother handed me a card with a picture of St. Therese on it, and a prayer on the back. She said that it was the saint she prayed to when she needed guidance and help. I was familiar with the prayer and thanked her for giving me something I could carry in my pocket. The story behind the prayer is that you say it, meditatively, and when you see a rose you will know that it has been heard and will be answered.

This morning I sat my children down for breakfast with a bowl of Trix (the round, multicolored cereal) and ran upstairs to get their clothes together for school. While I was sorting through outfits, searching for socks, color coordinated shirts and tops, I thought of the St. Therese card. I thought of it and I recited the prayer, meditatively. When I finished, the first thought that came to mind was whether or not I would see a rose today, and where. It was raining outside something terrible and I knew I wasn't going many places. Maybe I'd see it at the school when I dropped the kids off, maybe I'd see it in my Deacon's office when I went to see him for a little spiritual 'pick me up', maybe I wouldn't see it at all today.

Remnants of the thought were still wisping around my mind when I came downstairs with a handful of clothes for the kids. The first thing I heard from my son was, "Look Mommy, a rose." On his spoon was a clump of that multicolored cereal, and he saw a rose. And when I looked, I found it to be the most beautiful rose I'd ever seen.

Onward

Quiet and darkness was forced upon me last night. The high winds downed a couple trees and caused the electricity to go out. I was forced to call him and ask that he keep the kids over night and bring them to school this morning since it wasn't clear when the electricity would return. I spoke with Paige and Tony and assured them that I indeed missed them and would pick them up early from school. It was 7 pm and I had the entire night before me, with nothing to do but sit in darkness.

I pulled every candle from their hiding places throughout the house and brought them all up to my bedroom. I lit every one and was blessed with the wavering light as I sat on the mattress in my bedroom and pulled out my notebook, writing down thoughts and de-stressing after a long, long weekend. After writing, I closed my eyes but sleep evaded me. I said a quiet prayer that the electricity would return so I could watch the Grammy's and thereby, pass the time. But the electricity did not return. After some time, I drifted into a sound sleep. I awoke at 5am, refreshed and solid. When I opened my eyes, I realized that a good night's sleep after this terrible weekend was all that I needed. I thanked God for holding off on returning the electricity.

The morning has given me a sense of peace again. The stresses of this life shall be overcome. The elongated whoosh of migrating birds over my head as I stared at the rising sun reminded me that life moves forward, and my sister's words after she found out she had breast cancer came to me in a rush: "The only way to go is forward." The silent encouragement of my friends and family, the not-so-silent advice of my parents, the happiness on my children's faces, the enormity of God's ever-changing canvas and this feeling inside, all of these things, are the ingredients for love. I am surrounded, cushioned and cuddled up beside it.

In light of my last post, this is much, much better. The sadness still exists, even as I write this, I cry, but this too shall pass. We all have to just keep moving forward and one day, I'll take the hands of all my great support and return the gesture in kind.

Never the Same

Change. The dynamic, ever-changing world in which we live. I am standing on the edge of a cliff, my arms open wide and I am about to take the plunge into the pool of a thousand others. I will be a divorcee.

I can't help but think of the episode of Happy Days, when Richie and Ralph befriended a divorcee' and they thought she was beautiful (kept peeking in her windows) and the episode centered upon the taboo surrounding divorce. It turned out, she was just a beautiful woman who had a marriage that didn't work out, nothing more, nothing less. She didn't have any kids, she had more of a chance for the heart-pounding, soul-consuming, ultimate love that single woman have. (Or maybe not. I doubt that the line is drawn at whether or not you've birthed a child, or two, or more).

My point in this diatribe is that this episode of Happy Days is stuck in my head. I probably haven't seen it in twenty years, but I can still see this woman's face and Richie and Ralph's lustful gazes! And I know why I still remember this episode. It's because I've always thought of divorce as taboo. Always shaking my head at the failure of marriage, blaming not one partner, but both. Always preaching that communication is key, that the failure of a marriage is the failure of the people joined together.

I do declare that I'm beginning to change my mind. Ultimately, I am being forced to do so. After all, I am one of the statistics now, one part of the failure of the marriage and I am ashamed sometimes because I still hold onto those old beliefs. I am ashamed because it is not what I wanted for my life, and I am disappointed that it is occurring. I am angry that it came to this point. I am flapping my arms, leaning backwards to avoid taking that plunge because oh, well, because divorce is bad! There I said it. It's bad and I am judging other people who have divorced, and I am judging myself. How did I fail? This is the question that has plagued me lately. How in the heck did I fail at something that was the number one, most important, top-of-my-lifelong-goals-list, how did I fail?

And these thoughts come to me. And then I laugh. Two of my closest friends (excellent, excellent people) are divorced and the divorces weren't failures. They were blessings! These people are alive now, pursuing life and goals and dreams... and they are excellent, excellent people! One of these wise friends recently told me that the marriage failed but it is not a reflection of myself - I did what I could to save it and to the dismay of my family and friends who know the "whole story", I'd probably keep trying if he wanted to try. I'd keep trying because of the demons that hand-feed me the preconceived notions - see paragraph one). Maybe. Anyway, he said that I wasn't rejected by my spouse because of something I did, I wasn't rejected at all. My spouse simply rejected the commitment to the marriage. [And yeah, that's another belief I have. Commitment - man, it's the number one virtue - a covenant not only to the one you married, but a covenant to God. Jeez. Huge, all encompassing, ever-lasting repercussions on that one]. This advice helped - a lot. Yet, because of who I am, I still have difficulty choking it down. The Pastor at my kids' school said I'm going to need a little therapy to get over this feeling, and a little therapy to get over the myriad of trust issues. Ya think?

I am in repair and I realize that change is inevitable. Change of attitude, change in belief, change in how I view the world.

There are unchangeable things, and changeable things. My opinions on divorce? Definitely moving toward a new understanding. I'm not there yet, but one day. The reparations on myself will take me there. Until then, I'll settle for being a beautiful divorcee, taboo and all.