Here you are, locked in your room. Trying not to remember that he was supposed to share this room with you, that he promised to have and hold until death parted. Trying not to think about that one you loved, who never came home. Trying not to acknowledge that your kids are in the next room, that they will have to be told, that you will then have to carry on in the face of their anger and questions and silent blame.
Welcome to divorce.
You started your marriage all those years ago, just kids, both of you, dancing around the waxed floor to that song, that song, that song you’ll never, ever, ever be able to hear again.
The worst part is, you believed him. You, who didn’t believe any of the boys before him, because you knew what happens when a man finds another woman he likes better—you lived that life as a kid—and stays gone. You believed that he would love you forever. Humiliating.
What is forever to a man who doesn’t stay home? Nothing but words.
So much for happily ever after. So much for real-life fairy tales. It’s just real-life nightmares, that’s all. At least that’s how it looks from here.
Welcome to divorce.
So now you’re it. You’re the only one. You don’t know how you’ll possibly make it. All you really want to do, right now, is lay your head on your pillow and pretend the world is over, because it is for you. You have lost the man you loved. You have lost the father of your children. You have lost.
But the kids will be wanting dinner soon, and life goes on. You have to stay strong for them, because you know this is just the beginning. It’s not easy, the staying strong, but you are a survivor. You have endured all these years of working by yourself to put food on the table for those three. What are a few more?
So you keep on keeping on. Tonight it just looks like shaking out some fish sticks onto a cookie sheet and sticking it in the oven so they can help themselves. Tomorrow it will look like working your fingers to their very bones, sacrificing sleep to be both mom and dad to your kids, sitting in the audience of every performance, every volleyball game, every graduation because there’s a missing person haunting an empty seat that carves a hole of missing in their hearts.
Welcome to divorce.
You worry that your kids will be damaged irreparably by the way things ended, because now there’s a dad who didn’t look back. And it’s true that they’ll walk with scars. That’s not your fault. And they will make it through, because of the example you live every single day. They will remember the nights you got home late, and you were so tired, and yet still you listened to that song they wanted to share on the clarinet, because they thought it was just beautiful (and you do, too). They’ll remember the days when you took off work, even though it meant lost wages, so you could watch them scratch on purpose in the 300-meter hurdles their coach made them run, purposely jumping the gun because they didn’t want to jump the hurdles. They’ll remember the nights you sat up stroking hair because a friend had been mean or a boyfriend broke up or a grade wasn’t what was expected.
It may not be today, but one day your kids will look back at what you’ve done and call you a hero. They will know the truth of your struggle, not because they live it, thank God, but because our eyes open wider to reality as we live our years. They will remember. They will be glad for your surviving. They will be glad for what it taught them about their own survival.
You will make it, single mom. It doesn’t feel like you will in this place of betrayal and heartbreak and despair, but you will. You have what’s needed deep inside. It’s in the hardest times that we most see what we’re made of. So show yourself what’s inside. Surprise yourself. Carry on.
Love those children. Be their cheerleaders, work your job, be the best mom you know how to be, but remember you won’t be able to do it all. Remember you’ll need help. Put that community in place so that you’ll have the help for the days you just can’t go on a single minute more, and they’ll help you carry on. This is the purpose of community. You’ll never make it if you go it alone.
Keep dreaming with that broken heart. Let it heal, and then learn to love again. Because maybe there’s another one coming, or maybe not, but you are strong enough either way. You are strong enough to love, and you are strong enough to stand with no one else by your side but kids who are shorter than you now but will soon tower over you.
Be careful how you talk about your ex. Your children are always listening. Make it honoring and forgiving, not bitter and ugly. He’s still their dad, as much as you hate it. They still love him, as much as you hate that. They still wait on his calls and long to tell them their exciting news and want to see him, so do everything you can to make that relationship civil at least. They’ll remember who talked bad about whom.
And when they threaten, after you’ve laid down the law and set out the boundaries, that they’ll just go live with their dad, sure, it will claw at your heart, but you should know down in your deepest places that they’re just saying words. Because you’re the one who’s always been there, for everything. You were the one sitting in the audience for the seventh grade National Honor’s Society induction, when she shook through lighting a candle. You were there to snap pictures of him the night of his first prom. You were there to hear her sixth grade band concert, when someone tripped over the time signature in “Silent Night.”
They’ll know who deserves their hearts and their presence. They’ll come around.
Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for nurturing your children and rocking them to sleep on your own and putting that food on the table, every single day, no exceptions.
Thank you for being a hero.
