Emerging

Who wouldn't want such a handsome guy? Look at those stunning markings!

SMT (Single Male Turtle) seeks SFT for companionship and possibly something more down the road.
He enjoys long walks in the yard, slugs and terrorizing nosy kittens. Also pina coladas and walks in the rain He is not into health food, but enjoys the taste of champagne.
Call 555-231-KAME and leave a message after the tone.

Spring is coming, and Kame will soon come out of hibernation more permanently than he has before now. He has been teasing me with occasional forays out of his mulch and dips into his bathing pool. I know he's not finished with his long rest, because he hasn't started eating yet, but with every degree the temperatures rise, I hope he will soon emerge for the season.

Kame is not the only one who is in a transition phase. This blog started out as a record of the journey I was on, the attempt I was making to try to save my marriage. Two years later, the attempt has failed, but I am still here.

“She remembered the day vividly, for how can you forget the day your heart is broken? The funny thing about a broken heart is that it's not fatal. Though you wish in vain that it were, life continues on and you have no choice but to continue on with it.”
~Tracy Winegar

I have been continuing on, because really, what other choice do I have? Through frozen water pipes, a quadrupled electric bill that took three months and hours of fruitless and frustrating phone calls to sort out, no water for 3 days, no washing machine for 2 weeks... I have carried on. Through stubborn children and pets passing on, through financial and emotional crises.  Through the loss of a very dear friend, through the normal, and not-so-normal, ups and downs of every day life.

When I started this blog, I closed my first entry with a quote:

“I found a pen; another person found a scrap of paper; a third person, the words. “Dead End,” we wrote and left it on the side of the road for the next traveler to find and perhaps turn around in time.”
~For Sarah, by Annie Harmon

 I didn't know, when I shared those bleak words, that the road I was traveling down would turn out to be... not a dead-end, exactly, but certainly a detour, a deviation from the path I set for myself nearly 18 years ago on my wedding day. It was certainly not the road I wanted my children to travel. I wanted so much more for them, so much better... but life is not always what we choose. Sometimes, it takes us in directions we neither wanted nor expected and our only choice is to survive.

I am in the process of choosing some new paths to follow. College is a given. I will finish the course and earn my degree. I completed an associates last term and am on track for my bachelors. This is happening.
My career is the second fork I've taken in the road. Although I would prefer to write fiction, especially fiction for children, I am learning new skills to increase my value as a blogger and content provider. The market demands coding experience, so I am taking a class in basic HTML and CSS. I may never morph into a graphic designer, but I hope to at least gain a few valuable skills. And finally... This blog's focus will, indeed, it must, change. It will still be a chronicle of the journey, but now the journey has moved in a different direction and I, too, must move on.

It has been three years since I discovered my husband's affair. My marriage has been over for nearly two years, although neither of us was ready to admit it until a year ago when he told me he wanted a divorce. The final papers were signed two months ago. I am considering, just beginning to seriously entertain the idea, of re-joining the ranks of the truly single woman. I'm considering the possibility of dating again. Considering. Entertaining... cautiously sticking the very tip of my toe into the river, wondering if I dare step into the waters...

While I'm not ready to "jump right in" to dating at this point, I have allowed a male relationship or two to begin to grow into friendship, with very safe people. Both of my male friends are very happily married men, fully, completely and blissfully in love with their wives and their lives. I am learning, slowly, to interact with men as ... just me, without the filter of "I am a married woman" playing constantly through my mind. I recognize the change in myself and realize now that my insecurity up until this point when dealing with the opposite sex has been unhealthy.  I am also recognizing that I have a long way to go, emotionally and in healing, before I will be ready to enter into any kind of serious relationship. I also have my kids to think about. They will be my number-one consideration for quite a long time to come, and that puts any thought of a long-term commitment on hold for now.

So, when I say I'm considering dating again... What I mean is that I'm ready, after the maelstrom has finally begun to settle, to crack the door open just a hair and let a little sunshine in. I'm ready to meet new people. I'm ready to make friends. To open my heart to the possibility that one day, some day, I might meet someone special, someone who understands loyalty, commitment and honor. Someone who won't swoop in and "save" me from the difficulties, the frustrations and the day-to-day loneliness, but someone with whom I can laugh, someone who likes to read my stories and poems, someone who wants to know why I sleep with my door closed and my windows open at night. Someone I can trust. Someone I can love, and who can love me in return. Someday, I will find someone whose secrets will intrigue me, whose hobbies I find fascinating, whose efforts I can appreciate. Someone who makes me laugh with delight, who makes me smile. I will know he's the "right one" when I am satisfied to know he exists, and that he's thinking of me with the same quiet, contented delight, even when we're not together.
Someday.

For now, friendship is enough. I am learning, slowly, to embrace the idea that success is not in my lack of failure. It is in my ability to get up and move on.

Happy journeys, friends.
~Mary

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” ~Winston Churchill

Stuck

Did you ever just have one of "those" days?

Kame seems to have a penchant for hiding. And sometimes, getting into his favorite hiding spots proves challenging. Sometimes, he even gets stuck, while seeking a place of safety and refuge.
On this particular day, I had to rescue my little friend from where he was wedged between a laundry basket and the mini-fridge that was in our bedroom. The silly turtle was determined to get into that dark space and explore, but his shell just wouldn't let him fit.

I get stuck at times, too, especially when I'm determined to hide from the world. I spend hours, even days, sitting at my computer, cloistered in my little corner of my bedroom where I've set myself up with a makeshift office. Not long ago, I was well and thoroughly stuck. The loss of a marriage is a grieving process, one that I have been reluctant to share, here or anywhere else. I've felt a strong need to prove myself worthy and strong, to prove to my ex-husband and to everyone else that I don't "need" him, or any man in my life to be a complete person. The women in my family have a habit of holding on to unhealthy relationships. I am determined that my children will not pay for my mistakes.

Reading back through unposted drafts, I came across one I wrote soon after Ken made his departure official:

 

"This is the last picture I painted for Ken. I had been painting a picture for Christmas every so often. I had other paintings planned, but then life changed.

Since he left, I haven't picked up a paintbrush. In fact, I haven't written much... As evidenced by my neglect of this blog. I have been taking a day at a time, focusing on work and school and just getting through each day. By most counts... I'm doing pretty well."

 ~*~*~

"Doing pretty well" was a lie and I knew it... That's why this post went into the archives until now, along with the penciled outlines of the other paintings I had begun, tucked away in a folder. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to write, I didn't want to paint, I didn't want to talk to anyone or do anything. I was stuck. I was hiding. I was in too much pain to do anything more than get through each day.

When a marriage breaks, it's like any injury the body sustains. A broken bone doesn't heal immediately. The sudden, shocking pain doesn't last, but the lingering ache does, even after the bone is set and in a cast. The healing process can't, and shouldn't be, rushed. Rest and care are necessary. Protection of the healing wound is critical. You don't break a leg, and go out and run a marathon the next day.

Lately, I've been wondering if I should be dating, or at least seeking out friendships with men. I miss the companionship of having someone to go out to dinner with, or to see a movie with. I miss the friendship and camaraderie that came with being married. I know that my ex hoped we could remain friends, but the betrayal was too deep. I am too angry, and too deeply hurt to see him as a friend. Perhaps, in time, we might achieve a lukewarm affection, but I doubt I will ever trust him enough again to call him a friend.

I even went so far as to join a Christian online dating club, taking the free trial membership to see if there might be someone out there like me, lonely, but not anxious to dive into another serious relationship, but I never made it out of the glancing-at-pictures from behind the safety of a free membership stage. The free membership doesn't allow for communication, so it's difficult to actually "meet" anyone without paying the monthly fee, a step that would bring the vulnerability of exposure I just don't feel ready for.

I know that, sometime soon, it will be time for the cast to come off. Healing is a balancing act. Left unused and protected for too long, the limb begins to atrophy. Once the bone heals, the cast needs to come off so that the work of rebuilding lost muscle can begin. I'm often frustrated in this stage of my life. Like an itchy cast, the protective shell I've built around my heart can be galling at times. I want to be out there, running in the sunshine, meeting someone new, taking new risks and building a new life... but I'm not ready.

I'm no longer stuck. I'm healing. I'm not ready, yet, to get up off the couch and come out into the sun, but I know that spring is coming and, like Kame, I will come out of hibernation, in time.



Until next time...
~Mary

~*~*~

 “And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn’t have to anymore.”
-Anne Lamott (Operating Instructions: A Journal of my Son's First Year)

The LORD is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear? The LORD is the defense of my life; Whom shall I dread?
-Psalm 27: 1

Of Love and Loss and Moving On

My notes in church are often less.... lyrical, than you might think.

 Kame has once again slipped into hibernation mode. His torpor means that he disappears for days at a time, emerging only occasionally to explore the offerings of fresh raspberries and take a short dip in his bathing tub, before disappearing beneath the mulch once again. He deals with winter by avoiding it entirely, passing it half-asleep and hidden.

Not for the first time, I find myself envying my shelled friend's ability to sleep through the less pleasant months of the season. I, too, have been hibernating, in a way. I've been avoiding speaking out about many of the emotions rolling through my days as I move forward, because so many of them have to do with other people, and I have vowed that this blog will be about my own life, and not a clearinghouse of gossip about others.
It might not be possible for me to blog without mentioning what's going on in my ex's world, or in my children's, but I'm trying not to air anyone's laundry but my own.

So much has happened since I last wrote. October brought with it a shocking blow with the loss of a very old and dear friend. Laura Kim Eisele Curtis was one of the best friends I've had. She put up with my ramblings, my oddities, my failures and my quirks. She made me laugh. She made me less ashamed of my PTSD symptoms and helped me see it as a condition to be managed, rather than a weakness. She stood beside me as I walked through some of the most difficult times in my life, and she allowed me to be a part of her life as she dealt with her own losses, blows and failures. Her passing was devastating, and a loss to the world, though most will never know what they missed by not knowing her.

My beautiful friend Laura, with her dad, Don, being a goof in the background. She had a quirky sense of humor that she came by honestly.

There are many things that Laura shared with me that I will take to my grave, but I can tell you a few things about my dear friend. She was a great singer and an amazing mom. I will forever hear her voice singing "You Are My Sunshine" to her daughter over the phone at bed time on the occasions she stayed at my home. There is surely no sound more beautiful in the world. She was a good friend. I can't count the times she listened to me and let me run on. She gave me good advice. She was the one who encouraged *cough*dragged*cough* me into seeking out a college degree. She has been my friend, my support, and my confidant for well over ten years... and now she's gone. Just like that, in one dark night, she left this world and traveled beyond the veil.
And even now, she is with me.

I could hear her beside me, snickering, at her final service, as the Pastor's voice rose in song. He had a lovely voice, but Laura often attended my son's guitar lessons with me, and we had sat, barely containing school-girl giggles, through many voice-student's renditions of "New York, New York". Since her parents live near the Big City, and my favorite fictional heroes are rumored to occupy its sewer system, the song made us giggle all the more. I could feel her arms around my shoulders, even as I cried. I could hear her voice in my dreams, in the wretched days after her passing, laughing and exclaiming, "but Mary, I'm here with MacKenzie! I'm dancing... I don't hurt anymore..."

Her baby daughter who succumbed to SIDS was waiting for her, I know. And although she has left two other beautiful young women behind, I know the joy of that reunion will be complete when we all come together in Eternity's time. Laura knows no grief now, no pain. She has stepped out of time, and into the place where there are no more tears, no more sorrows. It is only those of us who are left behind who grieve for the parting. I could feel her presence again, more faintly, when I achieved my first college degree. I could hear her voice, quietly telling me "I'm proud of you, Friend. You did it."

Laura has moved on, and although I was not ready, could never be ready, to lose my friend, I know that this parting is a part of life. Death's pain is the echo of the separation Man took from God in the Garden, and it is eased by the knowledge that the gap has been closed by His son, that this world is healing. Death is a scar in the eternal tapestry, nothing more.

And now, it is time for me to move on, to move forward in my own life. I can not hold on to the hurts and worries and grief of the past year. I can not hold on to the man who was once my husband, or allow his choices to guide my emotions any longer. I must come to a place where I can see him building a new life of his own, and be able to smile and wish him well. I have not yet reached that place. I don't know how long it will take, but I do know that the only way for healing to begin is to remove the splinter of bitterness and anger.

A painting from my college Illustration class, with a quote that I hope, will define the new year.

Someone very wise once said that revenge is like a splinter. It festers and poisons the mind. The only way to heal is to let it go.

The river is moving on... and I must step into it once again, and find a new way.

-Mary
~*~*~

"Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering, "It will be happier..." - Alfred Tennyson

Growing up is hard to do

My daughter made this screen-printed tee-shirt for me as an art-class project several years ago.

 
Recently, I became interested in a television series called "Bones". The title character, Doctor Temperance Brennen, is a forensic anthropologist, who studies skeletal structures to determine cause of death and injuries a victim might have suffered in life. The series is well-written, with strong characterization, suspenseful story lines and intrigue. Doctor Brennen's life is built on hard science. She only believes what she can observe with her five senses, and she often expresses disdain for the "irrational" carryings on of human behavior. Her social skills, or lack there of, are often comic relief in the show. She simply doesn't get what it means to be human beyond the secretions of hormone-producing glands and cultural stimulation. Emotion makes no sense to her, and so she rationalizes it away.

Tonight, after yet another argument with my soon-to-be-driving teenage daughter, I am experiencing a sharp, rather painful empathy with Doctor Brennen. Teenage emotions are hormone-driven. Their lack of experience can make it easy, at times, to consider their brains less-developed than an adult's. It's easy to dismiss my daughter's emotion and anger as hormonal, adolescent, the result of her lack of worldly experience. It would be easy to dismiss her anger all together, to treat her as if she were five years old and throwing a tantrum at the dinner table... But dismissing a child's emotions feels too much like rejection to this mother's heart. I can no more ignore my daughter's hurt and anger than I could ignore her insistent cry when she was a hungry infant.

These days, soothing her feelings is more complicated than preparing a bottle or changing a diaper. While I'm pleased and proud to watch my daughter's progress as she emerges from her awkward pre-teen stage into the fine young woman I know she's growing into, I'm often frustrated by our lack of ability to communicate, and my own lack of ability to convey adult notions to her. I'm strongly reminded of her toddler years. She would simultaneously shriek that she would "Do it myself!" and throw a temper tantrum when she was unable to pull on her boots, and scream at me for not helping. Everything, in those often trying days, was mommy's fault.

We are dancing, she and I, and both of us want to lead. She is fighting for control as she comes into adulthood, and I am trying to guide her through this process. There is a sense of urgency, a desire to keep her safe for just a little bit longer, to keep her under my wing, where the cruelty of the world can't touch her, but the truth is, she's growing her own wings and she needs to stretch them in order to learn to fly. My baby is growing up.

She asked me, not long ago, about her father's infidelity. She wanted to know what had caused the divorce, what had destroyed her family. She already had suspicions... and as we talked, the tears came and flowed... not for myself, but for my baby. I tried to protect her. I didn't want the kids to know what had caused our marriage to disintegrate. I didn't want them to lose the idea they had of their father. Every child needs a hero, and every child needs a dad they can look up to. I wasn't protecting him, all this time. I was protecting them.

Am I doing the right thing? Am I raising children who will be confident, happy, hopeful adults? Am I giving them the start they need? Am I creating an environment in which my kids can learn and grow? I pray so... but the truth is... I'm just not sure. All I can do is the best I know how... and hope that one day my kids understand that everything I've done since the day they were born, was for them.

~*~*~

Full

Introducing Akai. That's a saucer beside him, not a dinner plate.

We do seem to have a habit of acquiring pets around here. They're like potato chips... we can't stop at just one. Today, I'd like to introduce Akai. (Ah-kye). "Akai" is Japanese for "red", and although you can't see it in this picture, this little guy's sides and bottom are marked with bright scarlet. He's a painted turtle, a common species where we live. My friend found him on the road. Ordinarily, the right thing to do would have been to admire this beautiful little guy and move him off the road, but if you look closely, you can see the cracked shell above his tail.

A crack like this one is an invitation for infection, not to mention a serious structural weakness that could threaten Akai's safety if he were attacked by a predator. My friend thought it best for Akai to seek refuge for him with Kame, and I agreed. Akai is a bit smaller than Kame. His shell is about 5 inches from front to back. The crack takes up an inch and a half, making it a significant injury. He may have been clipped by a car.

Although Kame is nearly twice Akai's size, he was... somewhat ambivalent at first, about his new roommate. Once he discovered Akai would not hog his food, he accepted him readily. Turtles, unlike humans, are not especially territorial.

Kame: "Dude, who is this turtle and what's he doin' on my rock??"

 

.

 

 

 

 

I... am having more trouble sharing my space. Memories keep intruding, staying like guests who just can't take a hint. Emotions are also crowding me. Grief, anger, disappointment, loss... and anger keeps bubbling up in the most unexpected ways. Anger motivated me to re-paint my upstairs bathroom, adding color where Ken preferred white walls. Anger makes me want to remove every trace of my husband from this house... to assert my own sense of style I so often set aside in favor of his taste and feelings.

Even if I would give in to the urge, it wouldn't be possible. He and I have been remodeling for almost ten years. Our sweat, our blood, and our tears are nailed, spackled, and painted into these walls. I can no more remove his presence from this house than I can remove my emotions. And, when I think of my kids, I know I don't want to. Whatever my feelings are, he is still their father, and my job, first and foremost, is to love and support them through this transition. I will paint, and pretend it's just to make our home nicer for them. Passive-aggressive? Maybe, but at least I am doing no harm to my children's psyches this way.

My kids... They are the reason my friends keep telling me I'm dealing better with this entire situation than they would. They would get a jackal of a lawyer. They would take him for everything they could. They would toss his things in the yard, burn them. They would not stack his things on the porch. They would not wait patiently for him to create space in his new home (there's a big anger spike right there!- when I think of the work THIS house needs... OUR house, and that he is doing so much in another place...). They would not tolerate his nonsense! And I just smile and shake my head, because although I have anger, I can't imagine doing those things. I don't want to... not for more than a moment when I'm frustrated, anyway. There's simply no point. Being destructive would not make me feel any better. Inflicting hurt to "punish" him for hurting me, lashing out... Those are all the things I learned in counseling and parenting classes, years ago, to  avoid. The counseling that has helped me control and direct my emotion into positive action has left me unable to throw the temper tantrums I sometimes feel like having. The urge comes on me... and the voice of my counselor in my memory asks "Will it help? Will you feel better afterward, or worse?"... and the anger fades before the fire can be stoked out of control.

And so, I stack his things on the porch. I try to be reasonable. I don't e-mail HER and say "Are you happy now?" I try not to dwell on what's gone by, because time is a river... and you can't stop the flow. It moves on, inevitable, and fighting it will only leave you waterlogged, exhausted and drowned.  

I may not be dealing with this the "right" way. I may be too tolerant. I may, as some have told me, be "letting him get away with" too much. But, I'm keeping my head above water. Besides, in the end, who will be happier? Who, when this is over, will have "won"? Who, in the end, is walking away with more?

I look at my kids, and I know the answer.
With or without him here, my life is full, and I am blessed.

~*~*~

"Not leaving: an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children”
~Markus Zusak

 “Nothing you do for children is ever wasted.”
  ~Garrison Keillor

Dignity

"Dignity" isn't a word often associated with my home. "Chaos" is more suitable most days. The above picture  is a of a portion of our latest chaos. The Thursday before Easter, we were blessed with an unplanned (but not completely unexpected- Mom looked as if she'd swallowed a cantaloupe) surprise.  Eleven squirming bundles of puppy-warmth came into the world that night. Unfortunately, not all of them were strong enough to navigate this world. Four passed within a few days.

The remaining seven are five weeks old today. Rambunctious, playful and increasingly messy, Mr. Moo, Arrow, Smudge, Star, Diamond, Sleepy and Streak come together to form the very definition of chaos. I love each of them. I love Mr. Moo's block-headed stubborn sheer boyish puppy-ness. I love Streak's habit of pouncing into the center of any brawl, even though he's considerably smaller than his brother, Smudge, who's usually in the center between Moo and Diamond. I especially love little Diamond's tenacious personality- she's not afraid to mix it up with the boys. I love Star's sweet face. I love Arrow's calm dignity as he sits beside my feet looking up as if to say 'what's up with them?'. Sleepy's elfin looks and habit of sidling up for a surreptitious nibble on my shoe make me smile. I love them all... And I will be glad when they go to the homes we've carefully chosen for each of them and my house subsides to a lesser chaos once more.

Although this litter was unplanned, and... honestly, unwanted, each of these lives have brought joy, and each of these unwanted puppies will go to a home where they will be cherished for the rest of their lives. Because, after all, isn't that how life is supposed to work? We're supposed to be chosen, in delight. We're supposed to be loved as we mature, as we learn and grow. We're supposed to reach our full potential within a relationship...

But people are not puppies. Life doesn't always work out the way we planned. Sometimes, things go awry. Sometimes, people's hearts change. Sometimes they change their minds.

"People change, and forget to tell each other." -Lilian Hellman. 

And yet, somehow, life goes on.

I am still wrapping my mind around the idea of a forever without Ken by my side. I had dreams... dreams of the days when our kids were grown, finding their own way in the world. Of course, I knew they'd wander home now and then, but I hoped we'd equip them with the skills they need to seek out gainful employment and the desire to begin building lives of their own, separate from Mom and Dad. I looked forward to a future in which we would build the little A-frame cabin in the woods we'd talked about, where I would write and he would hunt and pursue his hobbies. I dreamed of getting old together.


The dream has changed. Ken has made his escape, moving into a new home, building a new space for himself, moving away, separating. To say it has been a painful process would be to say a tsunami is an ocean wave. Our lives have been broken apart, shattered. This separation isn't the natural growth I look forward to in my kids, the breaking off of a seed that drops away from the tree to set its roots into the soil and begin its own journey toward the sun. This was an unnatural break, the loss of a limb... and the scar will take time to heal.

In those first few days, as my kids clung like little burs to my side, a much-younger reaction than I expected, but natural considering the way their security had just been snatched away, I wondered if I'd ever be happy again. I wondered if I'd ever find love again, and if I do, if I'll be able to trust in it, if I'll ever dream of the future the way I once did. I see family and friends who have lived through this building new relationships, wearing them like an artificial limb, but there is something that rings false in many of those relationships. There is friendship. There is affection. There is companionship, all the things a human being needs to thrive, but there is something... something vital and precious that is missing. The sparkle when they look at one another is not there. The longing, the deep affection, the feeling that this one, this person and no other, can fill the space in them that needs filling, is lacking somehow.

That's not to say they're unhappy, or that they shouldn't seek out what they obviously find fulfilling. I have always known I'm a different breed. I expect too much, and too little. I'm too wild and too quiet, too lazy, too determined, too frenetic, too happy, too sad. I know I set myself apart, and now I know that it's a mistake to be anything different than who I am, or to try to settle. I know that by rejecting the idea of a casual romance, I may be creating a future in which I am alone... and I am ok with that. I have learned that I would rather be alone than change who I am. One day, perhaps someone will come along who looks at me and says

"This one. This is the one I want. This is the one who can fill that space in me that needs filling, this one, and no other."

One day, perhaps, I will be chosen and I will choose. One day. But for now, I will simply try to live my life with dignity, and look forward to whatever dreams this new future brings.

~*~*~

“Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.”
~Mary Ann Shaffer

“Be strong. Live honorably and with dignity. When you don't think you can, hold on.”
~James Frey

Out of Limbo

I'd like to introduce the newest member of our family. His name is "Squirt" (via my kids, and after the little turtle in the movie, Finding Nemo).

Meet Squirt.

Squirt is an Eastern Mud Turtle. He is the victim of the "Aww, it's so cute, let's take it home!" syndrome. A friend works in a local pet shop, and someone came in the store with Squirt, explaining that relatives had returned from a trip to Georgia bearing this adorable, but unfortunately unwanted, little gift. Since my pet-shop friend is already overburdened with her own pets (many are cast-offs, abandoned by careless owners), she allowed Squirt to come and join our family. Squirt is undoubtedly unhappy about this change in his circumstances, but since reversing time is not a talent I possess, we will attempt to give him the best life possible within his new reality.


The thing about life is, it never stops changing. If it stopped changing, that would mean that growth had stopped. That all was still and silent and... cold. Life that stops changing is no longer life. And here, in our little corner of the world, life is changing again. 

Tomorrow, Ken will explain to our kids about the house he's been renovating. He'll explain that this is more than a job, that the work he's put into the place has been not for pay, but for himself. He'll tell our kids that he's moving out.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid they're going to be shattered by this news. I'm afraid of the way the monumental shift in our family is going to effect them. I'm afraid I won't be enough for them, that I won't be able to comfort away this kind of hurt. I'm afraid they will suffer life-long scars. Until now, we've been able to shield the kids, to take the body-blows into ourselves and absorb the impact. The kids felt the repercussions, of course,  but were not devastated. This time, there is no way to soften the hurt.

I'm hurting too, as he is, I know. This isn't going to be easy, for any of us. This isn't what we signed on for. This isn't how it's supposed to be and it's not fair. It's not fair. I'm going to be hearing those words a lot, I think, in coming months... and they will ring with truth. This isn't fair.

I'm masking my own pain for now. Out with Jessica yesterday, alone with my daughter, the secret we have not yet revealed to them hung between us, unspoken. She sensed its presence. I could tell by the way she waited for me to speak. She knows the disaster's coming. She just doesn't know yet that it's coming for her and her brother as well as for her dad and I.

I'm avoiding talking about my own feelings, I know. I'm focusing on my kids because they need me. There is no time for me to cry for my own loss... I have two kids whose lives are about to be irretrievably altered.They need me to keep it together, to support them while they grieve. As a mother, their pain hurts me more deeply than my own.

This morning, I read a blog by the parents of a little girl, Avery. She has an incurable genetic disease that will take her from this world too soon, and her parents are doing their best to fulfill Avery's bucket list, to see that she experiences the fullness of life in the short time she has on earth. They were faced with a parent's worst nightmare, and instead of letting it devour them, they have climbed atop the dragon's back with their daughter, and are allowing it to carry them as it flies. I hope I can learn from Avery's parents. They have found hope in a hopeless situation.

Two years ago, I followed a path. I made a choice. It has led us through some difficult places, some dark ones, but there has also been joy. There was, for a time, a sense of reconciliation... but all that time, his path was leading him further from us, into places we cannot follow. This has been a time of transition, of changes, of growing up. We have come to another crossroads, but this time it is my husband, not I, who must choose. For better or worse, he has chosen the road I turned away from, and this is one path I cannot walk with him.

I can only walk on, and look toward whatever the future may bring. 

*~*~*

My prayer for us, for my kids, for myself, and for my husband, whatever these changes bring:

"The LORD will guide you continually,

And satisfy your soul in drought,

And strengthen your bones:

You shall be like a watered garden,

And like a spring of water,

Whose waters do not fail."

Isaiah 58:11