A Labor Day Revisited

 Some people have a hard time with certain holidays,and one of my not-so-great memories happens to fall on Labor Day weekend.

Sixteen years ago on this weekend, my husband of 28 years and I moved our younger daughter to Texas A&M for her freshman year. I was sad knowing that our last chick had left the roost, but little did I know that my life would change a lot more.  I was about to have an empty nest.  In a big way.  

I knew my marriage was not special, nor was it particularly good.  And I knew I was not cherished or even enjoyed as a spouse.  I was also suspicious of my husband's fidelity and had confronted him, but he would blow me off and would not engage in a conversation.  So I plodded along, running interference for him with parenting two teenagers and in his absence for high school end of the year activities. 
Anyway, after we returned home from the college move-in, he told me we needed to talk, and proceeded to tell me that I was going in one direction and he was going in another ....what exactly does that mean?? He said he did not want a divorce but he needed to go live somewhere else for a while to sort things out. That makes perfect sense, right?  And here's the kicker: he gave me no phone number or address where I could contact him. Twenty eight years and I get a pager number.  And when he walked out, of course, I knew it was over. So, after throwing up several times because that is what I do when I am extremely upset and/or frightened, I got to work on what I thought I needed to do to prepare for a divorce--something I never ever thought I would do.  And something I was afraid to do especially with my family history.  If I hadn't had my close friends and family supporting me, feeding me, praying for me, and putting me to bed after pity parties involving alcohol, I would not have gotten through it.  It seemed that in the midst of one of the worst times of my life, I was the beneficiary of some of the best love and benevolence ever.  But outside of your really close friends, people just don't know what to do with you when your marriage fails.  Divorce is like a death without the casseroles and the funeral.  My family as I knew it had dissolved, and I was humiliated and embarrassed.  And very sad.  I think we have an idea as to what our later years will look like when our kids leave, and this was not what I had pictured at all.  I was so self conscious, I would hide in the grocery store when I saw someone I knew.  Most people just did not know what to say or do because  they were uncomfortable with hearing gossip and then seeing me.   And I was feeling judged because I was judging myself-- if I was the right kind of person and had been a good wife, my marriage would not have been falling apart. That's what I thought, and that's what I carried with me. And I infused resentment, hurt, discouragement and confusion along with the feelings of inferiority. So basically I was a mess. And I stayed a mess for a while. 
Coming out of the dark, I learned a lot of things about myself which explained some of the choices I made when I was younger.  And I learned that letting go of something that is not healthy is hard but it allows you to develop and nurture a better you. So, when Labor Day arrives every year, I am reminded of another life, one that was not all bad, but one that needed change--for the better.

In Praise of Forgiveness

In 1963 in my small town, nobody I knew had parents who divorced.  Mine did. It was messy, public, and humiliating to a 13 year old who had no idea about family dynamics, personalities in a marriage, and changes of heart.  I just knew that my dad left. I felt abandoned and I felt shame.  It was a tough time, and in those days, nobody talked about it---there were no divorce seminars for parents and no counseling for kids.  I cried. A lot.  And it affected me in ways I didn't even realize until much later.  Visitation with my dad became more and more awkward, and in the end, I just didn't want to see him. He was busy and had a new life, and I didn't really fit into that scene.

For many years, I barely spoke to him. And he didn't seem to mind.  He missed my wedding, the birth of my two daughters, and I missed lots of life with him. I thought I moved on, and I figured he had moved on-----because if you don't communicate, you truly do not know what the other person has in his heart.

Then I had a similar experience in my own marriage which required forgiveness, and I realized I needed to reach out to my dad as well. It didn't happen overnight, because when you foster that much resentment, it takes a lot of work to unravel the web of bitterness that you have been weaving.

So I decided to write my dad a letter asking for forgiveness and to tell him that I forgave him too.  It was hard to write because my pride wanted to change every sentence to "It's all your fault". And I had talked myself into believing that for so many years, because I kept waiting for him to jump in first.  I remember how I felt when I put it into the mail.  I was self-righteous and proud of myself.  I had done the "right thing".  So I went on with my busy life thinking I would not hear from him but at least I had done what I could.  But that's not what happened at all.  He wrote back and said he would love a relationship with me and that we should meet soon.  Not what I was expecting!  Now the ball was in my court again and I really felt that I had to follow through.  My kids were watching, and I felt that God was compelling me to respond.

We met in Memphis, with all of the family in tow, and if you know my dad, you know he will put you at ease in any situation.  For the next 20 years, we did not dwell on the past, but enjoyed each other in the present.  I am so blessed to have taken the step to reconcile with my dad and to have had him for the bumps in my road when he could be the cheerleader I needed, and I hope I was the same for him. Sometimes people say that they "lost" their loved one when they pass away, but I can't say I lost my dad. Because even in his death yesterday, as I was kneeling beside him, I knew I had found him.