Two years ago today, I sat in stunned shock as my life was dismantled by the rush of words that poured out of his mouth and coated the bubble of ideals and expectations I had submerged myself in. Two years ago today I became a statistic, and a shattered shell of a woman in ways I still struggle to comprehend. And two years later, as I look into the mirror, I wonder at the grief, hurt, and pain I've endured and marvel that I'm still here.
I read a quote this morning by Elizabeth McCracken that says:
“Grief lasts longer than sympathy, which is one of the tragedies of the grieving.”
Those words sat at the top of my heart and then sunk down deep; in that knowing way you experience when life has proven words to be truth. Two years is a long time when asking friends and family to help shoulder pain. But two years is a breath in the length of a lifetime, and some days I feel that I am at the starting gate when it comes to healing. In so many ways I've come through this grief in leaps and bounds, shedding so much heavy weight of hurt, and delighting in the freedom that comes from the discovery of the pure strength of the soul. In other ways, I find myself banging up against the anger phase… again. And being frustrated with myself for being angry… again… just in a different flavor this time.
Experiencing the death of a marriage messes with you in every way. It picks at your self worth, it can obliterate your finances, it bruises the hearts of your children in ways that take the breath right out of your lungs. I'm weary in ways I never dreamed I could be, and have worked harder than I've ever worked before.
In so very many ways, I am proud of myself. I have walked in integrity, and I haven't taken the easy way out. I've protected myself against running into a relationship with another man, and I've lived for my children in a sacrificial way that has surprised me at its intensity. So many places in this journey have shown me just how strong I am, and in other places, I'm having to really see the entitlement and expectation I had for a life that would be protected from divorce. As though somehow I was more deserving of a good marriage and a life kept from pain than others were. As though my choices could somehow manifest a life devoid of surprises and shock.
Like many college girls I suppose, I dreamed of a wedding, marriage, mothering, and home-owning in a less dream-like state and a more 'this is what you deserve' way.
I went to college and got a degree, dated only my husband all the way through, and got married three months after graduation. I thought I was making good choices, and in those good choices, I thought I was ensured an upward trajectory on the american dream graph. I expected to start with little, and thought that my homemaking attempts in our one bedroom apartment and then a trailer on a marine corps base would be the lowest I would ever sink. My attempts at thrifty shopping, and coupon cutting seemed quaint and part of the 'building a life together' script I believed we were both reading from. No where in my 'surprise chapters of life' story did I ever think I would be barely scraping by, headed into my 40s alone, as a single mother with no solid home. I assumed I would be signing papers for my first home, settling into his military retirement, and carpooling kids to sporting events. The stark and painful reality his choices have forced upon me and the children has been incredibly eyeopening in ways I wish I could have ignored.
It has been a gut wrenching revelation to realize that I have believed my choices and actions in my life would bring me only good and only prosperity. While I do believe that choices are important, I am learning very painfully, that while on this earth, surrounded by other broken people, we often will suffer; not just because of our choices, but because others can make choices too. I am angry, and I am broken, and I am, quite literally for now: poor. I have every right to rant and rave, and fight and scream and flail and cry and fizzle out into a broken mess… and yet none of those things will pull me from the life I'm living into the one I want for my family. It is a daily, and often hourly choice to let go of what I thought I deserved and learn to look for the beauty in what is. It is a humbling experience to live in a measure of poverty, and yet still somehow be protected from falling by a God who sees me and sends provision just when I think there will never be enough. My compassion for those who've lived lives harder than me, those who live lives fluffier than me but with no sense of self, those whose trappings of money prevent security in God, and in family, and in the love of real, trustworthy friends. I'm discovering treasures in the dark, and also uncovering places where my pride and entitlement and attitude are festering. It's a toggling back and forth between heavy, visceral gratitude, and the temper tantrum of a 3 year old screaming 'it's not fair!'
I'm trying to be gentle with myself. I know anger is part of the grieving process, and in many ways, it's part of the process I've largely skipped over. I was so busy taking care of my children and trying to stand up, that the anger hung out in the bottom of my heart, and has just begun to rise to the top in the urgent need to be skimmed off. Glennon from the Momastery blog, said last winter that sometimes we need to stop making excuses for being human… and I'm working on that. I know it's ok to be mad, and sad, and disappointed, but I fight back against the dark shadows that try to whisper to me that it will be this way forever, and I will be broke, unloved, and in survival mode until they lay me to rest. Walking through pain and choosing not to avoid it is a continual act of faith… trusting in what is unseen… believing that there is more to life than this… but while I work towards the 'something more' I can still find life, beauty, and passion here… in what seems like the "not enough." The education I'm getting has been invaluable, and yet I have days where I want to rush it along, and get to the other side, where every day doesn't feel like such a struggle. I'm in the in-between. The place in life where there are no good answers or fluffy bows to tie off my experience for you. My hope is that as you read here, and walk through this with me, that one day….. when I emerge from the dust, with hands open wide, heart whole and full, and knowing that all of this is enough, you will be able to celebrate with me, and tuck away some of my lessons in your back pocket.. for when your life shakes and jolts and you need to be reminded that you're not alone.
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