Oh, what a ride!

I've said for a long time that anger is a verygood tool for protecting your inner mushball, and that sadness while it taps into your real emotions can leave you a mess until you work through it. The last week or so has been like this.

And I've had too much contact with my ex-h. Better left alone. Since he had a potentially serious medical problem which needed attending to, I insisted on driving him to the hospital, then driving him to another hospital next day for the emerg laser eye surgery. When I accidentally hit a bump in the car, he asked that I slow down since my driving could hurt his eye. I got defensive, because I had been very mindful, and then the memories surfaced -- having a miscarriage all over the kitchen, and his asking if I needed a ride to the hospital. D'oh. Half hour from delivery of our dd, (while he was engaged in a full blown affair, and being so nasty I'd asked a friend to be my labour coach, then relented, but I digress). There I was, 9 cm dilated in screaming labour, and he accidentally bangs the wheelchair into the wall driving the pain through my whole body. Naturally, I cried out -- he got angry with me.

So as I drive along -- him in the back seat with our dd, and me in the front like the chauffeur I allow myself to be -- and start thinking about all those affairs, and his mean behaviour towards me during them. While I understand, intellectually, that demonizing me justifies or normalizes behaviour, he doesn't want to feel guilty about. And I understand too that I contributed to this by being so effing stupid as to put up with it (what was I thinking? Saving my children's home?) and worse to fall for his mood switches from nasty to sweet -- when I'd start to exhibit signs of kicking him out. Maybe that's why these romantic comedies appeal so much, because they take a Proverbial statement and flesh it out -- those lines ring true, because they are true. My marriage is a combination of Legally Blonde and Jerry Macguire -- only I'm like a pathetic Elle still stuck on Warner.

And when I got home, feeling pretty low, out of the blue appear my two dearest friends (via email and phone), as if by divine conjuring, and made me feel loved again. Cuz it's being unwanted that really hits you most in times of sadness (most other times I feel very content about the turn of events, at least with regards to me). The other thing to watch out for is when one or both of the kids is away -- my tall lanky and handsome son has been at camp for over a week, and that probably accounts for the mood more than anything. I will, with the help of good friends and my faithful Lord, rise again.

Keep on moving, look forward and see what the good Lord has in store for me. After all, he promises to restore the years that the locusts have stolen. But I won't know them if my head is down.

Sadness Trumps Anger

This process -- some call it grief -- is funny in the way it rears up at times. Last night's healing prayer service for our minister's wife opened some floodgates. Usually I am in good spirits, moving forward, and basically dismissing my husband from thought. But during times of intense prayer, when more barriers are lowered, the sadness seeps in, and so the tears begin. For the past several months, I have recognized that anger allows you to function, by keeping the grief at bay, but the sadness is necessary for dipping into the grief and then moving on from it. If that makes any sense.

The New Normal?

Most of the time, these days, I trip quite happily along, but there are times when I get caught up short, usually by something my ex does. Yesterday was just such a time. He comes in to pick up our daughter for school, and natters on about this that and the other thing. All I can think about is "you are not my friend, and don't try to normalize this." It infuriates me.

Later I went to meet someone who was friends to both, but whom we hadn't seen much for at least five years. I gnashed my teeth worrying about either saying too much or too little, so we ended up talking about what we were both doing these days, and only later did she ask about "IT."

Though I didn't tell her everything I knew, she wasn't all that surprised. Then my Writers Digest came in the mail, and while reading an article on how to write memoirs, it hit me why the narrative I've been telling leaves a bad taste in the mouth -- I've been stuck on defending myself, and it sometimes comes out sounding like I'm a victim. Especially if I'm angry. Having entered this marriage with my eyes open, I'm not a victim. And now setting boundaries, I'm still not.

So back to what's "normal" -- his behaviour the last several years isn't. My turning a blind eye, and accepting less than respect isn't. What is normal is being myself, standing up with grace, and in joyfulness, staying focused on the King. And like the wedding guests who finally did show up (Matt 22: 1-14) make sure I arrive with proper wedding attire.

A Fire Hydrant by any other Name

In the past week or so, my husband has been in the habit of coming into the house, walking back to the kitchen, washing his hands and blowing his nose (not necessarily in that order). Remember that he has just left his own place not five minutes before, so why wait til he comes to my place to wash his hands. I asked a friend what she thought that might be about, and she said it sounds like a dog pissing on the corners of his territory. I asked another friend, and she agreed -- her ex-h does the same thing -- when he picks up the kids, walks all the way through the apartment, goes to the bathroom to pee, looking in all the rooms as he goes.

Visiting Dad

Lately, I've had lots of opinions tossed at me over this one. The kids, especially DD, doesn't want to sleep over at dad's place. A lawyer friend, who does mostly family law and is remarried himself, says that NO kids like to stay over at dad's. There are several reasons for this -- dad doesn't spend as much time or effort making the place feel like home, the kids aren't ready to admit this split is a real, or long term thing, or dad has a new woman and they feel out of place. He says regardless of the reason, you need to force them to go.

Another friend whose h left four years ago refuses to force her son, although it's not really an issue for her since the h lives clear across the country.

Another friend, a single mom who made the decision to leave her h about 6 years ago, tells her children they must go to dad's and that's all there is to it. She needs the time to herself (she doesn't have a boyfriend, she just needs some alone time).

Then I asked my cousin's son, who is 19, and whose parents split 3 years ago. It was the dad's decision (given the stats, I'm assuming his dad was entangled, because 99.9% of the time men leave only when they have a soft spot to land). This really sweet and mature kid told me that 1) friends are essential, not for having someone to talk about "IT" but just to have around and thus take your mind off "IT" b) don't try to force the kids to spill their guts, because it can get too heavy, and c) don't force them to go anywhere they dont want to or aren't ready to yet. He said he was very angry with his dad for about a year, and then realized at the end of the day, this was his dad, and he loved him. But he also tells me he is very close to his mom. (Which means, moms don't worry that you're losing your children because they want to have a R with dad.)

So, on the sage counsel of my 19 year old second cousin, or first cousin once removed, I am not going to push my kids to sleep over at dad's unless they want to.

Faith in the Time of Choleric Spirits

The past little while I've felt very unsettled -- at times extremely happy and peaceful without the sword of Damocles over my head, and at others feeling afraid and very vulnerable. Meanwhile, the world around me spins, not just on its axis as its meant to, but as in out of control spinning. The children's marks are dropping a little, they're staying up too late, watching too much TV or on the computer too long, not reading enough, not exercising enough. The ex is looking fat and satisfied with his lot, but there's also an edge to him now that wasn't there before, an aggressive edge even, and he's never been like that. I won't speculate on where it's emerging from, but I can guess. One sister is on the brink of being on the street, the niece is more or less on the street, and I become increasingly aware of the "demons" -- however one wants to define them -- whirling about like dervishes.

Today I read in Matthew 15, the Canaanite woman who approached Jesus fearlessly to have him heal her daughter of demon possession. The woman's confidence and faith won out. After this, the crowds press on Jesus, and he heals the blind, the lame, the dumb, the maimed. After three days of this, he feels compassion for the people who stayed out of faith to be healed, and knowing they were hungry asked for food, blessed it, broke it, and distributed it.

But then Jesus goes to be alone with the Father. He is the centre of this whirling sea of illness, helplessness, demonic possession and so on. He can withstand this only because of the stolen moments of peace and grace that come with time alone with God.

Today's CQOD from Thomas Merton seemed very apt:

When the time comes to enter the darkness in which we are naked and helpless and alone; in which we see the insufficiency of our greatest strength and the hollowness of our strongest virtues; in which we have nothing of our own to rely on, and nothing in our nature to support us, and nothing in the world to guide us or give us fight--then we find out whether or not we live by faith. ... Thomas Merton (1915-1968), Seeds of Contemplation

And as Christ said, come to me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will refresh you. (Matt 11:28)

I Do... Not

I've given some thought to the whole idea of remarriage, and have decided that it's not for me. Of course, that might be easy at the moment, given there's nobody banging my door down. But since my ex is entangled, and most likely will be for some time to come, and possibly for good, if I were to get likewise entangled, then my kids wouldn't have any place where there wouldn't be an intruder. No matter how nice a step parent is, from what I've read, the kids always feel like either the step is an intruder in some way, or that they are the intruders in someone else's home. It bears out the saying, the home is where the heart is, and since kids ALWAYS want their parents together, and that's what is in their hearts, the only real home, until they make one of their own with a special someone, is where the parents are.

It's just not something I'd want to subject my children to, at least not as long as they're living under this roof.

Of course there's also a selfish reason -- I'm quite happy this way, having my children around. AND I can do whatever I please and not worry that someone else finds me wanting.