So, yeah, I have a problem with rage. It's the F-Bomb on the tip of my tongue again, but this time, it's where my mind takes me as I watch a very sad little boy drive off with his dad.
Children are to come into this world to two loving parents. Balance. Perfect design. Double the love. Two sets of eyes to watch them, and two sets of arms to hold them.
But, then Life happens.
In my case, the children were torn in two when I left their dad after he had sexual indiscretions with other women, and after said behavior opened my eyes to a long list of things not right and healthy in our marriage. Control. Anger. Emotional, mental, and Spiritual abuse.
So, divorce ensued, the dust settled, and not only the dust, but we settled into a routine of every-other-weekends, and shared holidays. It works, right? Each parent gets to love on the kids equally, still. Each parent gets to explode their love onto the kids like an atom bomb, tightly compacted with affection, love, desire for happy memories, and connection. The kids get more, right?
Mom remarries, so now they have another parent to love on them. With his family, now all doting grandparents, aunts, and uncles, loving the kids as though they were born into their family.
Dad remarries, and they get more of the same. Extra siblings, even. A broader, richer world in which they can thrive.
In the best of situations, yes, this is all true. In the best of situations, the children are showered with all the love their divorced, or never-married parents can give. But, it doesn't take any sort of imagination at all, to see all of the areas of pain that is there for the taking for the children.
How hard it was for Lee this morning, to hug Hugo good-bye before he left for work. Hugo, crouching down, and Lee sitting on his knee. Hugo, from his heart, telling Lee to have a great time with his dad tonight. Hearing Lee say, "Awww, I only get one night? That's not fair. The other kids were there longer." Then Hugo, with parent-love filling up every inch of his own broken heart, comes back with warm instructions for Lee to enjoy every minute, and to not waste any of it on TV. Hugo left the house after selflessly giving his little boy over to his natural dad, torn at knowing the significance of Lee's needed relationship with his dad, as well as feeling the significance of Lee's relationship with himself.
So, then when Lee's dad and Adam came to pick Lee up, Adam took Lee into the family room to distract him while I shared with Lee's dad many of the odd behaviors Lee's seizures Sunday night have left him with this week. Things to watch out for, and things Hugo and I have been working hard at helping Lee either do, or not do. Passing the baton, so to speak.
But, how can a parent, in a system of balance and perfection, pass the baton on to anybody? Is it not by God's perfect design that that baton simply stay put in the hands of the parents that were called to bring the child into this world? And what happens when the baton gets handed over to a step-parent? When they have to pass it on (like Hugo, this morning)?
I once told Hugo that the honest truth is, not only has the baton been passed to him, holding all of the joys and fulfillment of parenthood, but sadly, he also has to suffer the pain of that baton as it penetrates his heart. Parenthood is pain.
Especially when we send our children off. Not to a sleepover, or to camp, or to something simple and fun. But to send them off to the other place where their divided heart resides, knowing that in order to get to it, they have to leave the other half of their divided heart behind.
Case in point this morning, as they settled into the car to drive off. I could see Lee's stress. I could see his attempts to not cry. I could see the dread in his face, knowing that he was leaving.
I ran into the house before they backed out of the driveway, and grabbed a stuffed puppy I hadn't wrapped yet for Christmas. It's a symbol of a dog we're considering getting Lee to train and help with his seizures. I saw it and put it away to put under the tree. I'm normally not a stuffed animal buyer, but this one seemed to represent something. And as a sad face sat atop my little boy getting ready to leave his mom, I ran back to the car with the stuffed puppy tucked under my shirt. I pulled it out and gave it to him. His face lit up, and he cuddled it. They drove off, with him watching me intently out the car window, and I came into the house, and cried.
And then I felt it, the familiar need to cuss again. The F-Bomb right there, wanting to come out as I cursed the very essence of our system.
When I was a younger woman, I believed that parents needed to stay together forever. Period. As flawed as my current system is, I in no way agree with my younger self. I do not believe that raising children in a dysfunctional, and/or abusive system is ever best, just so long as the parents are together. I see the growth my kids have made as Hugo has entered their lives, and I am quite cognizant of the fact that this is growth God facilitated for them through their Papi. I'm certain of it.
I do believe that God can make all things good, and I see that He is doing it before my very eyes.
Counselors have told me that it is because the pain isn't just in the past. That it's because the kids are still suffering. That it keeps the wounds fresh, and salted.
My spirit is also telling me that it is due to the working out of buried pain, and anger. That, as I allow myself to own it, and not deny its existence because it's bad, I'll be able to bring it to the light, and, well we all know the shelf life of something dead and buried, once it's out in the open, and well lit. My hope is that it will decay completely, and blow away in the wind, never to hold the power over as it has all these years.
This is hardly a post to publish at Christmas time. But, actually, for what I do, it is a perfect post. It's to bring awareness to a reality in the lives of many people. An awareness I was completely in the dark from before. There are many parents who have had to say good-bye to their babies this week and next, due to shared holidays with the other half. There are many of us suffering the same pain, and with all the Christmas joy out there, we feel so Scroogy, wallowing in our sorrow.
But, trying to reach for the Peace, Joy and Love of Christmas with a parents' sorrow in your heart is like batting at the glass ornaments on your Tree. You'll knock them off, and they'll shatter.
Instead, reach out, gently, to the people in your life who care, and who love you and your children. Give yourself a moment to share your sorrow, or even cuss, if you feel all welled up with rage like me. Maybe you have a way to go in your journey toward Peace, and you're just not seeing it yet. Talk with someone. Tell them about it. And if they're not there, tell me about it. Just let it out. Because, as long as we try and keep it stuffed down deeply, we will never be able to get past the sorrow. And our kids will suffer for it, as will the ones around us who love us. Just like the shattered ornaments under the tree.
I can honestly say, that with all of my rage, and my pain, and any fear, I can see glimpses of Christmas Joy, and it's so close, I can even feel it vibrating its way to the deepest parts of my soul. It's there, and it will be a part of me. In fact, I feel it more now than I did when I started writing this post. Getting out my angst has helped a lot.
Thank you all, Dear Readers, for allowing me this outlet for healing. As I share, and heal, I am always hoping and praying that my transparency will help others on similar journeys. It's my Christmas present to others who are in, or have been, in Crisis. And in return, I get the gift of helping others heal, and become whole.
Merry Christmas to you all, and may the True Spirit of Peace, Joy, and Love knit together with your own spirit this Christmas Season. And may it bring healing to you. I love you so much.
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