Letting Go

When I was a little girl, my parents divorced. I was three and a half... not quiet four. It was long after my third birthday, because I remember my dad being there at home when I threw my bottle in the garbage, because three year old girls are too big to drink a baby bottle. He found me out later when I went garbage picking and washed it out and filled it up with milk... he wasn't too upset... thought it was funny. I digress- I know I wasn't four yet, because I was four when my brother Johnny was shot to death it the other room of our house during an argument with my sister's boyfriend. We lived in Loveland Park Ohio at that time... after the divorce. It was after we moved from Detroit to Loveland Park and then on to Modesto California that the first memorable sorrow relative to my parents' divorce came to me.

My dad followed us to Modesto, California, to be near his children. He had a niece and her family nearby in Sunnyvale, so it worked for him on a couple fronts. At any rate, my dad came to take us (my brother Philip, sister Iva and me) to visit him at his apartment. He had a small studio in San Francisco. It was so cool. I remember being fascinated at the little kitchenette. The city was amazing to me, as a child, as well. I guess San Francisco is fascinating anyway...

My dad brought us home to Modesto and our apartment after a weekend with him. I didn't want him to leave. I told him I wanted him to come home. I cried uncontrollably. I begged him please, please, please to not leave me. I missed him. I wanted to be with him. He was my daddy. No matter what had happened between him and my mother or anyone else, I loved him and wanted to have him every day. I couldn't breathe. I felt desperate. Then something happened that changed me to this day. A knife appeared, slicing my spirit and forever scarring me: My dad knelt down beside me and hugged me tight. He told me I was hurting him. He said it hurt him too much to see me cry like that. He told me to stop crying, because if I didn't, he wouldn't be able to come see me anymore.

I couldn't stop crying. I cried worse. He cried. Then my mom came out of the apartment and took me inside. I was nearly hysterical. I believed in that moment that I would never see my dad again, because I couldn't stop crying and he said he wouldn't come back if I didn't.

I understand his intentions, though he obviously knew NOTHING about child psychology. Regardless, he hurt me in such a way that I've never managed to heal completely from that.

I love easily, but I also stand ready for rejection, which I know, in my deepest of hearts, is coming. If my own father, who obviously loved me to the point of tears at my sadness; if he could turn away from me then who would stay? If there is so stability in my own home (as a child' mind thinks) then where is there a safe haven? Why is my wanting of my daddy (manifest by tears of sorrow for parting) enough to drive him away from me? To make him say he'll never come back?

As a child, I was devastated by this. As I grew, I had a lot of hang-ups (still do haha :) As a 42 year old mother of 9 children of my own, I realize a couple of very important lessons learned from this experience:

Firstly- our words and actions profoundly impact the growth and development of our children, so we should be very careful about what we say to them and how we treat them, focusing special care when we, ourselves are unhappy, exhausted, or otherwise depressed. Something said in moments of weakness or sadness may roll off our tongues and into the heart of a child to do him harm not easily undone.

Secondly- Divorce is not just about parents; a given, right? There are cases in which divorce is necessary. Unfortunately, there are those who violate sacred trust; hurt family members, molest them emotionally or physically. In these cases, such as in the instance of my own family of origin, divorce is necessary to protect the innocent. However, when a child's home is torn apart by divorce (and the turmoil preceding the same) it is imperative the adults focus special care and effort to love and support the child who doesn't have the advantage of years and wisdom, insight and experience to self-comfort. A child doesn't see the whole picture. He only sees his home is gone, his daddy is gone and his life, as he knew it, is over. He doesn't see anything beautiful in the future, or that things will get better. He only sees that, whereas he once was happy, now he is sad and lonely... and is powerless to change a thing.

In my family of origin, divorce really would have been better implemented about four years before I was born, when all of the wickedness came to light. For whatever reasons I won't go into now, my mother waited. I guess she wanted to give it her very best effort. I guess she didn't know that no matter what one spouse does, you can't change the other spouse. We are all agents unto ourselves. True, it does make it easier to be good and sweet to someone who treats you the same way, but it doesn't always work out that way. There is mental illness in the world, there are behavioral disorders, there are even physical conditions that alter mood and behavior to some extent... not to say that poor treatment of a spouse is ever, under any circumstances acceptable. And, parents have a responsibility to model healthy behavior for their children, as well... not just to treat each other appropriately. In my family of origin, it was the treatment of children in particular that was completely unacceptable. Strange, though, if I had been in a position to counsel my own mother back in 1964, I would have strongly encouraged her to remove her children from potential danger... and if she had followed my counsel, I would never have been born. I guess that just goes to show that sometimes good can come from rotten circumstances... if my life has been good at all... and I have to say, I at least am grateful for it :)

I'm left with the impression that, even though sometimes things go wrong...sometimes people do bad or hurtful things...I have hope, that with time and with practice in looking for the positive in negative situations, we can take something painful and grow something good from it. I haven't figured out how to minimize the scaring into nothingness, but maybe that's part of how we remember what brought us to the point at which we stand.

We are each the culmination of our life's experiences, are we not? If it weren't for the pleasures and the pain of this life, we would never grow to meet our full potential as spiritual beings having this mortal experience. As the tree trunk gains strength by swaying in the wind, so does our mind and our spirit gain strength through experiencing pains and sorrows.

It is difficult to let go. Even when my dad was pushing me away toward my mother, and as my mother took me into the apartment, I clung to my dad's leg and then struggled to free myself from my mother's grasp so I could return to him who was rejecting me. I understand the whole scenario now, and how it looked to those adults. However, the poetry of the whole thing wasn't fully appreciated by them, or me, at the time. If my father hadn't rejected me, I would have stayed with him forever. There is too deep a thread in this for me to discuss in depth on a blog page, but suffice it to say I have issues... haha. If I'm not rejected, I will stay and be whatever is needed to be allowed to stay. If I'm rejected, well... I expected that anyway. Sort of sick, I know... but that's me.

I guess that's why it's been so hard for me to leave Texas to come here to Colorado. Daniel has work here and a family needs to be together... so here we are. After living in Texas the greater part of 30 years, it's been tough. I feel like I have one foot on the dock and one in the boat. There are so many people I didn't want to leave. It has been painful for me. People who wish I would stay, people who love me, people who are sad to see me go: these people make it so difficult because I don't know how to move on... I don't feel like I really want to make new friends. I want to run back and cling to the legs of my old friends.

I've never let go on my own before. My dad was taken away against my will...his death was difficult for me, as well. My brother was shot to death in the other room from where I was. My sister was killed by a drunk driver. My mother died suddenly. My daughter stopped breathing in the middle of the night... Not to complain, but to illustrate my unwilling partings in life. I've only had people wrenched away from me... Maybe I'm not so different than anyone else. I don't know. I only know myself and that I don't know how to reconcile a final good-bye.

I continue to feel a sense of denial... like this is not the end of anything I want to keep. Where is my mother to drag me away?