It was about this time last year that my life took a turn I never thought possible. I am experiencing my world now as a 46-year-old single man, and I’m learning so many different things, that I often have a thought to sit down and write them down, and just as often, I don’t do it. I say to myself, that I don’t want to spill all of my personal drama to the many masses that read this grand blog, for they may not want to return . . . and then what would I do? All of my advertising income and endorsement deals, would surely float away into cyber space. Right? Well, I definitely don’t want to lose any of that cold hard (imaginary) cash that’s rolling up in here, like a bus load of retired snowbirds headed for Florida!
So, without giving away any gory details of my divorce, I will just mention that from the fall of 1986, to the Hoosier arctic blast of January 2014, I was married. I had not drawn a “single” breath of air since I was 18 years old. And, staying true to the generation I grew up in, I was a father before the wedding day. Since that fall day almost 28 years ago, I somehow managed to round-up a total of 6 children, five daughters, and one son, and three beautiful grand-babies! I could never imagine this life without them. Any of them. I love, more than anything, being a dad and a grandpa (Poppy)!
But it is the trial by fire, known as divorce, that has me evaluating, and re-evaluating even the smallest details of how I interact with people, especially my kids, what my values are, and what I put my faith in. I had never realized the range emotions that accompanies the Tsunami of divorce, and I was totally unprepared for the power of the wave as it hit landfall, and the flooding of our lives that followed. How would one prepare for that? I had never entertained the thoughts of, “What would you do if you got a divorce?” I liken that answer to the answer of this question, “What you would do if you won the lottery?” Well, you can’t really answer that, until you actually do win the lottery. Now, I’m not suggesting that divorce and winning the lottery are in any way comparable . . . at least not in my case. The comparison is in the speculation of the unknown.
What is known is something called The Emotional Stages of Divorce. The stages of grief brought on by divorce are well documented, and I am not qualified to attempt a proper dissection of this topic. But, I am qualified to muddle through a portion of some of these stages, as I have come to understand them. So here, in no particular order, are a sampling of my personal descriptions, of some of these experiences.
The Burning Hurt.
I am not sure how else to describe the feelings of hurt and anger, that begin to boil up deep inside you. Like a witches cauldron on All Hallows Eve, there is a distinctive smell, and sound, of some wicked curse bubbling to the surface of an oozing, black pot, and a constant hissing of embers, keeping the pot boiling. You go to sleep with it, and you wake with it, if you sleep at all. The smell burns your nostrils, and the sound deadens your hearing, and all other senses fade in its presence.
The Bewildered Scramble.
I liken this to being tied in the final minute of a soccer match, when you are trying to maintain some type of control, in order to “win the match” (save the marriage, or figure out what comes next after it’s over). Every touch on the ball is crucial, and extremely stressful, and the heightened level of stress has increased the chances of error dramatically. Every player, in every position, is looking for an opportunity to score. You even pull your keeper out of the box, looking for any opening; any advantage; any opportunity, to get that winning goal. But as your keeper gets out of position, the possession is lost on an errant pass, and the ball is chipped just over the keepers outstretched hand. “Game over.” Yet, it isn’t over. The final whistle only signifies the end of the game. The final whistle doesn’t prepare you for what comes after. Your mind zigzags through the “what if’s”, and “if only’s”, ad infinitum, while being fed healthy doses of that steamy brew, from that still boiling, accursed cauldron.
The Parent Unplugged.
This one, I am only recently realizing existed. Apparently, when one goes through a traumatic experience, one can, at times forget certain attributes and responsibilities that were once a part of ones everyday existence. You are so focused on the “alien in your chest”, that you can hardly see the one that has ripped open your children’s ribcage. “They seem ok.”, you say to yourself. “I know it’s hard, but they will get through it.” These uncomplicated thoughts, may be a defense mechanism to help ease your own pain, but they do no good in fighting that voracious little creature that has leapt from their chest, and left them seriously wounded. I pause here momentarily to say that I have no experience in fighting aliens, or counseling children of divorce, and I never dreamed I would need to do either, especially my own children.
The Wait! Who? What? Where?
This also is new territory for me. You get so used to living life inside of your own little box, and then you get dumped out of that little box, in the middle of B.F.E., and it’s a little bit of a mad scramble to find the paved road again. Like Clark Griswold lost in the desert, you did not start the day out preparing for a day long hike in the blazing sun, and extreme temperatures of this place. No water. No sun block. No compass. No camel. Just you and your shadow, and a whole lot of sand. You have to start thinking, and doing, and living, in your own frame of reference. You have to begin to put confidence in your own abilities, and your own decisions, because it is all you now.
Yes, there are others counting on me every day. But, they are not responsible for what happens next. I am. This is a little scary, and at the same time exciting. Yet, I have a new sense of freedom, and a new spirit of change, that encourages me to find the paved road again, and stay away from that service station that Clark stumbled into.
These are just few brief descriptions of my journey into this strange new world. I . . . we, have a long road ahead, and I have no idea what lies around the next bend in the road. But I am glad to be moving forward.
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