I knew a little girl with eight years of age [three years younger than me] who told me a secret. She made me promise not to tell anyone because she didn't want anyone to know and in a low, sad little voice she said, "My pawents are getting a deevoss." I can still hear how she replaced her r's with either a w or just took it out of the word itself. Maybe that's why I remember it so vividly.At that time I sort of thought, "No big deal. It does sound sad... But they will be OK." Even though I was older I definitely did not understand what she was going through. This girl, this little twig, big eyes, big teeth, always smiling----a perfect copy of a younger Hilary Swank, what with her hair always tucked behind her ears---- was going through more than I could imagine.
"I cwied when they told me. My mom said it's cause they fight a lot. She said we're going to move out and go live with my Gwanny."
They did. Although they often returned every other weekend; time with their dad, you see. I'd see them on their play-set outside my window. My sister would get excited and go talk to them. Then the father sold the house and now a new family occupies it.
For a while I never really thought about her again. Why would I? I too was having family troubles. Not until today, six years later, do I remember what she had said. Things are a little different, however. With us, we have a restraining order, the divorce papers are in and instead of only being together nine years, my parents have been together for almost two decades. I'm not sure if she had it easier, although I imagined so. I imagine her parents where clean, cut and straight to the point. They were willing and asking where to sign.
My parents---my dad, not so much. It's this whole thing with men like him. Afraid of letting go what they have grown to know as a routine. Afraid of change even if currently there is severe friction in the marriage. The false idea that family means a man and a woman living together with their children, happy or not, seems to be imprinted in his mind. I think that even though my mother has signed up for the 'single mom of two' title, it's my dad who is going to have trouble adjusting.
Lately, he seems like a beaten old lion; he's asking about my mom, knowing he shouldn't. He says he loves her, he's sorry, he just wants to be a family again. He says he stays up at night, he thinks too much, he's making himself go insane by just being alone in that room in my uncle's house. I imagine he must be going through hell. But he also seems to be in denial. Like he'll be able to talk to my mom and convice her to take the order off. That we will be together and happy again.
All I can say is, I love him with all my fucking heart, but I would throw myself under a bus before we went back to the way we used to live. It just seems...like we should have done this a long time ago and saved everyone a lot of heart ache.
Now I see my mom smile, she laughs, the anxiety attacks are done. She no longer cries every night, she doesn't do spontanious and scary stuff. She stopped drinking, she's always optimistic, she's learning to care about herself and raise her esteem. She's learning how to be a better mother, she's going to therapy groups, to lawyers, seeking a new life.
Of course we aren't completely happy. Of course we are still stressed, us three living alone, of course we still cry at times but it's better than it used to be. And it will be better this way.
I just hope my dad will realize this. We aren't saying we want him out of our lives. We aren't saying we hate him or that we don't want to see him ever again. I hope he knows that we still love him with all of our hearts; he is our dad. He is my Daddy. I hope he understands that he always will be. But I hope he understands that it's time for a new life. Not just for us, but for him, too.
