open heart

I've been struggling with whether or not I should write about this topic. It feels, in a sense, like an invasion of my ex-husband's privacy. On the other hand, our lives are still so bound up because of the children, that major milestones in his life are milestones in mine. And they affect me, whether I want them to or not.


***

Over a year ago, The Bean was heartbroken and crying; it was the divorce, again. I know that it was over a year ago because it was in our little rental house, that house that brought us through so much, that kept us warm in the coldest, darkest hours. It was in that house, on one of those cold, dark nights that she said to me: if your marriage was a mistake, then I was a mistake, too.

And I was knocked out, emotionally. How could I explain to her that at that point, she and her sister were the only things that made sense in my life anymore?

Oh, no. No, no. Sweetie, you ARE NOT a mistake.

But I know that how we had talked about her conception, that we'd loved each other so much that she was born, had set us up for this very moment. If that love was gone, or if it had been false all along (it wasn't), then her very raison d'être had vanished.

I was telling a wise friend of mine about this conversation a few days after it happened, and she flipped the situation on its head and suggested that perhaps The Bean and Boo were destined to exist, and that Dad and I had married precisely so that they could be conceived and born. I liked this version so much better.

The problem that I bump up against, almost constantly, is one of expectations. I grew up expecting to get married, have kids, and grow old with the father of my children. I would have a house with a backyard. My expectations were basic, so I never imagined that they couldn't be fulfilled. It's not like I was asking for a mansion and a private jet, after all.

So when my reality has not matched up with my expectations, I have had to adjust. I sometimes have the help of friends to turn things on their head, to make new sense of it all. The adjustments have still been painful, though. Unbearable at times, like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. But I am getting used to the incremental changes. I have come to accept that Dad was meant to be in my life as a co-parent. My best friend is someone else. And there are other people around me, to love me and support me.

I've adjusted to these realities, even though tears pour down my face as I write this. It is good; life continues to be good.

I hadn't prepared for the latest, however. He has met someone new. He was good enough to give me a heads up that he was going to tell the kids about her. They've been dating for a year. A year. His reasons for waiting so long to tell the kids are his own, and I am sure they come from a good place. It hit me harder than I expected, but because I am on a different path now, the looking back was short lived, and I continued on my road.

The girls, The Bean in particular, found the news to be a bit of a shock. There were tears. There were hugs. We talked through it, and I hope they got the clear message that Dad still loves them, and that nothing will change that.

The girls met her a couple of weeks ago. They told me the instant they saw me. It was over brunch, and she seemed nice, they said. I told you she'd be nice, I said. Have you met her? asked The Bean. No. So how could you know? The answer was simple: I know your Dad would pick someone good. I meant it, in my head, but my heart sunk a little. I am trying so very hard to make this good for them, healthy and happy for them.

The next milestone, I'm sure, will be a change in living arrangements, whether marriage is involved or not. This is hard. This will be another adjustment. I read this letter this morning and fell apart.

I fell apart because of the deepest conflict in my heart. I (selfishly, I know) want my girls to love me more than anything - until they move on and have their own grown up lives, of course. So when I imagine them loving another woman, turning to her for advice, talking to her in confidence, it tears me up inside. At the same time, I want this woman to be someone who loves my children and only wants the best for them. My girls deserve as much. And they deserve to be surrounded by good women they can trust.

I never pictured this. She was never part of the plan. All I can do is hope and pray that she is good to them, and they to her. Perhaps turning this on its head means realizing that my girls have so much love to give, and deserve so much love in return, that it couldn't be contained between two people. Maybe there needed to be three. Or four. And there are at least a half dozen more, from our church family, who play huge roles in their lives. Opening my heart to this is difficult, but perhaps it's exactly what needed to happen.