First, at the beginning of August -- Tuesday, August 2, to be exact -- I separated from my husband. If you've been reading this blog, you'll realize that this was nothing sudden or hasty. I'd been struggling with the marriage since even before our first child was born, and once he was born our difficulties became even more clear. In my view, we (especially I) tried and tried. We spent thousands on three different marriage counselors over the course of 4 years. I left him several times and then came back to him, each time hoping that things would change for the better. I pored over books, from Dr. Phil to The Verbally Abusive Relationship (which I disfigured with numerous underlines and exclamation points) to Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay. And over and over and over. I tried to be extremely clear to my husband about my concerns and what I thought I needed to have happen to make things work. I tried to listen to his concerns. I gave him examples of what I thought wasn't working (I handed him, in writing, a verbatim transcript of him telling me how horrible I was and how much I hated him and his people), and also gave him examples of what might work. I took us to parenting classes and paid for trips to Serbia. But, after years of trying and then more of avoiding him and of struggling with my own decision, I finally realized that I just couldn't see how it could ever work. So, then I worked on how to get out. During the process, I mourned our marriage and our hopes and our possibilities. I dealt with guilt and fear of many, many things, both realistic and less so. I had support from many wonderful people, and I have to say that although I'm not sure how God works--and that Footprints poem that enchanted some of my high school friends never really grabbed me emotionally--perhaps God made His/Her presence felt in the widely varied support and resources I was blessed with. In any case, I finally changed the locks on August 2, and a whole new chapter began.
It was kind of hard, but, given what happened just about a month after that, my feelings about the separation are kind of muted now. The kids and I stayed with my parents for a few days, then we returned home. My husband refused to see the kids, saying he was too upset. The third week of August, we headed up to the beach, and of course B was very upset about that. I felt guilty, and I remember one morning taking part in a yoga class -- my parents watched the kids -- and crying through half of it, feeling sad that my ex wasn't there, and just working through it all. (Afterward the teacher said I had a "beautiful practice," and I remember feeling kind of guilty about that, because I don't really practice yoga as much as I should or could.) We had a good time with my parents, my dad took my son fishing a few times, and we went out to a couple of bayside restaurants. At one point, we heard about an earthquake, but it must have happened when we were at the beach. Then we learned that a hurricane was coming, and my parents decided to drive their boat across the bay and park it in the safer waters near Bayshore. As they were loading their bags onto the boat, I took photos of them from the pier. I stayed at the beach with the kids, hosted some friends, and we all left early as part of a pre-hurricane evacuation. As we took the ferry across the bay on a beautiful Friday evening with almost flat waters and a gorgeous sunset, I remember my friend saying that it's always deceptively calm before a hurricane.
And when the hurricane did hit, the kids and I were much further west, staying at a storybook bed and breakfast near Lancaster, PA. I sent photos to my parents of the kids with kittens and ponies and chickens.
We went to an ice cream factory and watched the storm on CNN. Then we headed home, to find branches in the yard but little damage. The kids started school that Tuesday, and I have a photo of them, dressed in colorful clothes, shouldering their backpacks, my middle daughter squinting into the sun with a gaptoothed smile, my other two kids smiling broadly into the camera.
And then, on September 1, my father died suddenly, traumatically, and because of that and the events that followed, that photo seems like it's from another world. I got a call from my mom that morning, in which she started off by saying, "Very sad news..." And I don't remember her exact words after that, except it was something like, "Dad died." I don't think I got it at first, because I remember asking, "My dad?" And then I was rushing off to Suburban Hospital (on the way I got ticketed on Cedar Lane by one of those speed cameras), to find my mom in the emergency room with my dad's body on a guerney. And she was saying things like, "Feel him, he's still warm," and she was being friendly and appreciative to the nurses and others who helped us. He had gone out for a walk and had gotten stung by a bee, and we later learned -- weeks later, after the Medical Examiner finished with him -- that he died of an allergic reaction to a bee sting.
So, it was crazy, and my mom, my brother, and I worked hard to deal with the bureaucracy and organize a memorial gathering for him a week later. We were all in over our heads, and it was clear, upon hindsight, that we were all strung out in our own ways. So, it's not surprising that soon after he arrived, my brother and I had a huge, screaming fight, and since then he has not wanted to reconcile with me.
I blogged about some of the issues my brother and I have had, but I later deleted the post, becaues I thought it shared a little too much. It's enough to say that we did have issues, which may even have been festering a bit. I felt like I couldn't approach him about my concerns without being steamrolled, so I didn't have the best feelings about him. Still, he was family, and I had even named him and his wife guardians in my will. I guess I figured that whatever had happened between us would either pass or perhaps we would address it in the future. Instead, in the mischegoss stemming from my dad's death, things just blew up. He had no patience with my kids' presence at my mom's house (even with a babysitter, who was there on the second day), and no thought of compassion for my situation as a newly separated mom of three. On my part, I had no patience for any criticism from him, which I experienced as overbearing and inappropriate. Maybe we just have different ideas of what family should be like...perhaps I'm hoping for a big, warm, accepting group, with kids running around underfoot and everyone pitching in. That's not the kind of house I was raised in, though, so it shouldn't be surprising that my brother reacted the way he did.
Anyway, after my brother and I had our screaming fight, I remember calling my pastor and crying to her over the phone. On the day of the public memorial gathering, horror of horrors, my babysitter didn't show up, and a wonderful woman down the street from my mom watched the kids. And then that evening, before we left, I asked my brother if he wanted to go to dinner and talk about things. He said, well, let me check to see if I'm doing anything with my friends. I said, Josh, does that mean no? And he said, yes, that means no. So, that was that. I arranged for my son to get together with him before he left, but it was so yucky and unpleasant for me...he wouldn't even come into my house to greet my daughter, and she felt awful. I did try to reconcile one more time, though, by arranging for my 2 older kids and I to go down to Houston for his wife's baby shower in November. Unfortunately, just before we were to go down there, my cousin in Seattle passed away, and of course I flew out there for her funeral instead. So, once again, that was that.
And then, later in November, my mother decided that my brother would be the one to help her with her finances, and I wouldn't be involved because Josh didn't feel comfortable meeting with the lawyer in my presence. In addition, I learned from my mom that Josh thinks this estrangement will be a long-term thing. This left me, as the Brits say, gobsmacked. My mom tried to justify it by saying my dad had wanted Josh to help with three accounts because he had given him the passwords, but when I pieced it together I realized that it was a lot more than that and I had definitely been misled over time. Just a couple of weeks earlier, I had asked my mom if she wanted me to come when she met with a financial advisor, and she had seemed kind of put off. My mom refused to talk to me about it, and even when I said we could avoid all of the emotional stuff and laid it out that I have some really good knowledge in this area, she still refused to budge. So...you can say it's sexist, which it is. You can say she's a creature of the 50s and needs a man to take care of her, which she does. You can say it's not a big deal since it's just the finances, which can also be argued. But it's indicative of a broader pattern. The long and short of it is, given these facts and many other details I haven't mentioned, that my mom just doesn't want to be close to me at this point. I guess I had hoped that with my dad gone, she could spend more time with us and I could provide her with a lot of support. But instead, it's like she was there one day and gone the next.
I know she's grieving, she's flailing, and she's struggling to live on her own for the first time ever in her 74 years. Still, it's crazy hard for me, being estranged from my husband, trying to move forward with separation, trying to get my work done and get a good rating at work,working hard to give my kids the healthiest atmosphere possible, and trying to keep up with the craziness of being a suburban mom. Given that I'm already being estranged from my brother and his wife and feeling really really sad about not being close to them when they're about to have their first child, as well as facing the possibility of losing the love of my wondeful in-laws, who are really important to the kids, you'd hope enough would be enough. But at the same time, I have to face the fact that my mom is just not here for me now. Even with the kids, she's very limited in what she can give them in terms of facetime. I don't know if that's what she wants, or if that's all she feels she can give right now. So...
I feel like when people say "fallout," I really know what they mean now. When I was younger, my good friend Karen and I used to describe some disastrous relationships as "crash and burns." I would describe what's happened over the past few months as nuclear ("all of this, gone..." as they said in The Terminator), although I know of course there are many many many people in the world who have experienced much much much worse, and I've even worked with some of them in Croatia. I mean, I have my health -- thank God -- my kids, my job, lots and lots of wonderful friends, and even a congregation that brought me meal after meal when this all happened. It's just been very hard, to feel like my family of origin isn't there anymore. If they say crisis brings opportunity, now is my opportunity to a) grow and draw upon my strength, b) gain a better perspective on my childhood and family of origin, and c) grow my own garden, as they say (wishing I could use a different metaphor, though, due to my non-green thumb, but that's the one that's out there...maybe something to do with building, although I can also picture myself bashing myself in the thumb with a hammer).
In any case, it feels SO GOOD to write this all down. Although I'll link to it on Facebook, I'm going to try to block it from anyone who might share it with my sister-in-law (who is a wonderful, intelligent, and loving person, but also a hard person) and my STBX. I'm not even sure I can think of New Years resolutions now, but I did post something on Facebook about wanting to maintain an outlook that everything can be an educational experience. I guess the other thing is faith...that if you keep having the energy to move forward, there are unknown unknowns out there that could be good in ways you never anticipated. And although I feel very alone at times, I know that, on the one hand, I'm not, because I have so many great friends and extended family members, as well as the many people I've never met who have experienced similar feelings. And on the other hand, as someone said in a book I read as a kid, in the long run, we're all alone. And if we're all alone, then maybe, strangely, that brings us all together in some sense.
In any case, the world is now divided into before and after for me, with a huge gaping chasm in between. I feel like I can see the kestrels in Harry Potter, and that will have repurcussions in my thoughts, actions and feelings from here on out. I have more to write, but enough for now. Thanks for listening.
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