I have been a Martial Artist for 25 years and I love Martial Arts – until I didn’t. For awhile I was thinking that it was time to hang up my black belt and pass the baton to my children using my age as a good reason to do so.
I am grateful I didn’t.
For a few years I had lost confidence in my ability. My self-worth took a nose dive as I navigated the divorce process. I was in a perpetual brain fog and I couldn’t shake it making it very difficult to learn anything new or retain anything old. My Sensei was understanding and when I came back the following day saying I forgot everything, he responded, “It’s ok. We’ll start from the beginning again.”
Now with things opening up once more and my brain fog lifted, I am training hard once again. Self-defence and grappling (ground fighting) are my favourites. I love punching bags and my flying side kick is still pretty awesome. And tonight for the first time in years, I am joining my son in sparring. With two back-to-back pregnancies and Covid shutting everything down for two years, I haven’t sparred in for a very long time. I’m a little nervous but oh, I am looking forward to tonight!
I got to have him in my life for only a year and a half, the span of this pandemic thus far. He loved fiercely. He loved deeply. He was full of grace and acceptance and often said, “it is was it is” allowing what was to just be.
He loved his kids and grandkids and every time he saw me he gave me a long hug and whispered, “I am glad to have you as a daughter.” He knew I felt orphaned. He fully understood that orphan feeling as he, himself experienced it and was taken in by Mom’s family. He and I were akin. He took me in and loved me and became a dad to me. He accepted me for me. I was allowed to be me, flawed, human, struggling, resilient, loving, strong. All of it.
He said to me, “My son has stuck out a few times but with you, he hit a home run.” That hit me deep and hard. I knew I needed my Constant, but knowing that I was right for him was weighty. Knowing his dad saw that was meaningful.
He and I didn’t do BS conversations well. We didn’t know how to talk about the weather or about a sports team or how so-and-so is doing. He and I rather silence than meaningless conversation – and so sometimes it was just silent. Sometimes he’d share a story about backpacking through the states or an archeological dig in the 70s. Sometimes we sat through an awkward silence and that was ok because I don’t think either of us cared enough to try fill it with meaningless conversation.
He liked to putter around in his workshop and he fixed my bench that sits on the front lawn knowing how much I love to wait for my kids to get off the school bus in the Spring and Autumn. I was so grateful for that.
I wasn’t ready for this. I was just getting used to having a dad. I was getting used to being a part of a family again. I was getting used to being loved for me.
I’m not ready for this. I’m sad for Mom, for the siblings, for the grandkids. This is too soon. Dad wasn’t done living and we weren’t ready to lose him.
He was a good, kind man. He decided to choose being better rather than bitter. He chose acceptance over judgment. He chose gratitude over bitterness. He was a life long learner. He was always becoming.
I’m sad for what I had hoped the future would look like. Dad doing our wedding. Dad being there for many Thanksgivings and Christmases yet.
It was too soon to lose this giant, kind, patriarch of the family.
I’m not very good at asking for help. My pride, my ego, gets in the way and I have to learn to let it go. I am not my pride. I am not my ego.
I am, however, a 44 year old woman with two Littles and not the energy I had as a 20 something year old.
2010. I remember going into Costco with my five kids fresh off the plane from Australia. We were off to buy a novelty, something I never had to do before – buy snowsuits for five little kids. Three of them weren’t wearing shoes, one was two young for them and the one who remembered was the one I wanted in the trolley.
And I managed.
Today I had the two Littles and I couldn’t get a parking space near enough to the front door. I nursed my baby in the front seat and put her back in the car seat and turned around. I was all done. I couldn’t do it. I was defeated by the distance to the front door.
But. But I reached out for help and that is huge for me. My Constant’s mom will watch the Littles on Thursday mornings and today my Constant will do the shoppings I couldn’t.
It’s a defeat in one sense but that’s my ego talking. It’s also an acceptance of my limitations and that’s my good side talking. The part of me that needs a louder voice.
And I am reminded that I am blessed and that I am not doing this life journey on my own. I have cheerleaders and people who are willing to step up and step in when needed.
And now, I will have a nap. Because I am blessed with people who let me do that.
It’s not often that I allow myself to become a blubbering hot mess allowing the ugly tears to run freely down my face. It’s not often that I allow the floodgates to open so completely and uninhibited. My Constant doesn’t see me this way. Usually I choke down the tears and perhaps allow one or two to flow. This time I was a complete hot mess.
The last time I remember being like this was when I was still with my ex-husband. Thinking that there was something wrong with me and I was so very flawed, I bawled, lying on the ground, crying out, “This is not who you married,” hoping for help. Begging for assurance. But he looked at me with contempt and walked away.
I keep my emotions to myself and struggle to let them loose and run freely. I know my Constant can handle it but I rarely can be so uninhibited. I struggle to allow myself to be vulnerable like that again. It’s why I write. This is my outlet. This is the place I allow myself to be most vulnerable. It’s my place of being completely me as I try to navigate this brutal and beautiful place called Life. It’s my place of letting down the facade and taking off the mask.
Today I realized that my family of origin is going camping with my ex-husband and my five eldest kids – again. It hurts like hell. Now it’s not just a rejection of me, it’s a rejection of my daughter. As a Mum, that is a knife wound. The mother bear comes out and yet I can’t protect her from this kind of hurt. I can only do my best to surround her with as much love from our other kids and my Constant’s family. She will have fewer people in her life but she will be loved deeply and completely.
I cried my big, fat, ugly tears to my Constant, “This is not how families should be!” “No, it’s not,” he echoed simply, giving me the assurance I desperately needed.
I thought my family of origin and I had started a small bridge when we were all together in Vancouver for my father’s funeral. I thought we could start again – maybe uneasily, maybe uncertainly – but at least try. But we are back to where we were at. No one is willing to do the hard work. No one is willing to work on their half of the bridge.
My Constant’s family is not perfect but they aren’t dysfunctional. It’s the first time I’ve been a part of a normal family and I realize my expectations of what family should look like is very low. My Constant’s family don’t go camping with his ex-wife. They don’t exclude our baby. They don’t sit in continual judgement. My Constant’s mother calls me “his wife” even though we haven’t been able to make that official step yet due to bureaucracy and Covid lockdown. His father envelops me in huge hugs. They have photos of my Constant and me on their brag wall whereas on my mother’s wall still hangs the five year old photo of me, my ex, and our five kids. Seriously, my expectations are not exceptionally high.
I wonder if they realize that each of these moments is an assurance to me that I made the right choice in leaving that church, leaving that religion behind. Each time I realize it’s not religion and judgements that matter but relationships and justice that do. It’s not about law but about love. Always Love.
Today, I am a hot mess and I will be okay with that. I will sit in the awful emotions and allow them to be. Tomorrow will be better.
Sometimes I think that the most dangerous words ever penned were, “and they lived happily ever after.”
We read fairy tales to our children and we especially set up little girls to believe that all is rosy after they find their Prince Charming. There is no more struggle, no more hard work, the big difficulty that needed facing was faced and overcame. Now is a life of comfort and ease. Now is a “happily ever after.”
Reality check. Real life is hard. Like stupid hard.
I was out for a walk with my almost one year old daughter. She was strapped to my back in a back carrier while we faced the winter wind and the ice and snow. (I’m also so over winter. I just felt the need to add that.) While we were walking I was deep in thought, contemplating why second marriages have a shorter life span than first ones. Clearly I wasn’t in the best headspace to be pondering such things. I was angry walking and the biting wind was adding to my moodiness. Having said that, I’ll share the three reasons I came up with. There are probably more but this is what hit me today.
First, both come in with baggage. That sucks but it’s true. There is no starting off fresh or new. So much time needs to be spent on healing yourself so that you can be your best self for the other person. I spend every day listening to Joyce Meyer, Steve, Furtick, Les Brown, or Tony Robbins because I know I need to be in control of my mind or it will control me. I write in order to give clarity to my emotions because they quickly rule me instead of me in control of them. I exercise each day because I need to get those serotonin levels up and keep myself positive. I meditate every day so that I can keep practicing being in the present moment. This is all hard work but I owe it to myself and I owe it to my partner to be my best self. Having said that, I’m still easily triggered when I feel invisible or I don’t count. That’s the baggage I come in with. I’m reacting to the past while fearing a possible future.
The second reason second marriages don’t last as long as first is that there are so many more extra pressures. There’s the pressures of step-kids and of ex’s that are constantly squeezing their way in on the sidelines. There are so many more balls that are being juggled and one is dropped way too easily. These are added pressures on top of the normal ones of work and family.
The third reason is that you are less likely willing to put up with B.S. anymore. It’s a “been there, done that, got the scars and not willing to add to the gaping wounds, thank-you very much.“ Your willingness to put up with what you did previously is just not there.
Do I have solutions? No. Not really. I have a few thoughts though.
I think knowing that real life is tough and that there is no “happily ever after” is helpful. Knowing that life is hard and accepting that it’s hard goes a long way. We were meant for the struggle and we are tougher than we think we are. Often when we go through the struggle we turn out better. Grapes are crushed to make wine. Diamonds form under pressure. Seeds need to be buried. We can do hard things. We can be better because of the hard things. We are tougher than we think we are. Sometimes we just need to remind ourselves of that.
It’s also important to keep working on healing. We all have our wounds and every day make a choice to keep on the path of healing. I try to think of mind, body, spirit, and that’s why I fill my mind with helpful words from people like Joyce Meyer. I heal my body by exercising and taking my vitamins. It’s basic but it’s important. I notice a difference when I choose differently. And for my spirit I do a ten minute meditation each day and I often listen to worship music if my head is getting too noisy and clouded.
In terms of the outside pressures, let’s start with the ex’s. Unfortunately, if you have kids, they will always be a part of your life so you need to learn how to work with them. I have learned to practice the Grey Rock Method and use it regularly. It’s about being as boring as a grey rock. It’s simple but not easy. It’s about not getting pulled into any emotional argument, keeping all your interactions brief and factual. It’s about making yourself incredibly boring to the other person. What happens initially is that the ex will try harder to pull you into the emotions but eventually, over time, they give up. My ex was putting together things I had asked him to collect after I had left and he added socks that his mother had knit for me years ago which he knew I didn’t want but he added them to cause me unpleasant emotions. They went straight into the rubbish bin. There are times when run-ins have to happen but make sure they are battles worth fighting. Otherwise, let it go.
Step-kids is a messier one. You can’t parent the step-kids but you can’t let them rule the roost either. It’s a tricky balance. My Constant nails it as a Step-Dad. My eldest once said, “I really tried to dislike him but he’s really hard to hate.” It’s kind of true. He rocks as a step-dad and I know my kids are better with me because of him.
My thoughts on not putting up with B.S. as easily? I’m not sure it’s a bad thing. We get one life, and for me, I already feel like I wasted twenty of them by sticking it out so long in my first marriage. I should have left much sooner than I had and then maybe I would have only wasted ten or fifteen years. Having said that, there is a tendency to live with one foot out the door in second marriages because of the hurt from the first marriages. Living that way is not ok. Commitment matters. For my Constant and me, we have a lot depending on making this work. I have my five kids, he has his one, and then we have a little one. Neither of us can live with one foot out the door and yet both of us are Dutch Stubborn people which adds challenges to our relationship. It’s our greatest flaw and one that we shouldn’t share. Added to that, I suck at confrontation. I’ll have all the words in my head and when I see my Constant, I fall mute. We honestly have hard work to do.
But we can do hard things. We can keep working at being better versions of ourselves every day. We can live with open hearts and come with understanding. Accept the failure as it happens, and in the words of Maya Angelou, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”
I am one of the few that has found this past year to be amazing in spite of Covid. Why is that you ask? Because the government generously gives Canadians a year Maternity Leave with pay. This past year has been such a blessing for me and my family. I have bonded with my baby and enjoyed a much slower pace of life. I’ve been able to use this time to help my older children to come to terms with their new reality as they shift between two different homes and there is a lot of peace and acceptance as a result.
My baby turns a year old in a couple of weeks which means it’s time for me to go back to work. My little reprieve is over and it’s time to take a deep breath and rejoin the work force.
I have a good job, though. I like what I do and I’m good at it. I work in a group home for people with disabilities. Having had a sister with disabilities is what created the passion I have for this and having six kids makes me incredible competent at it.
My boss called me to sort out a plan. I’ve been dreading this call. Not because I don’t like my job but because my situation is a little challenging in that I have a custody order that I need to work around and I’m not willing to give up any time with my older kids. I have always taken jobs that worked around my kids and their schedules. For many years I was essentially a single mum and thus, needed to be at home with them. My children haven’t been in daycare which I am grateful for. I’ve wanted to be there for them and thankfully I’ve always been able to do that. Therefore, I need my workplace willing to be flexible which not all places are willing to do – even within the company I work for.
Thankfully, my boss is a single mother and the scheduling coordinator is a mother of three. Both understand that my kids are my priority and are willing to adjust schedules to make this work for me. I am beyond grateful. I’ll be able to work when my older kids are at school or at their dad’s and for the rest of the time, I will be at home with my children. This is no small thing as I have a full time contract. It will probably mean that I’ll be working about 35-40 hours within a three day period which is ideal for me. I prefer working in intense periods of time and then having huge breaks.
As much as I’ve enjoyed this beautiful year long break I am good with going back to work. With Covid, it’s been an isolating year which has been challenging at times. With a boss willing to work with my custody order, I am ready to pick up the challenge of life-work-family balance once again.
There is so much to be grateful for and today I am grateful for people who are making it feasible for me to go back to work.
Me and my adorable thumb-sucking almost one year old.
Remember the Brady Bunch’s catch phrase, “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!” and how every difficulty was solved within an episode? How blending a family seemed effortless and everyone got along? Yah, that so ain’t my life!
Blending a family is hard work. We have different histories, different styles of doing things. We have ex’s that will forever be a part of our lives or at least while the kids are young. We, ourselves, are working to find a rhythm that works for us as a couple in the middle of raising seven kids with very limited time for just the two of us in a new relationship. We are pulled, missing our kids when they are not there but at times our house is a mad house when they are all here. I love the craziness and my Constant is used to the silence and will occasionally retreat to the woods near our house when it’s all a bit too much. We joke that we had more time together when we weren’t living together! And then, in all this we have a baby to throw in the mix whom we love and are doing our best to raise. I congratulate ourselves on surviving this first year of living together. That is already hard in and of itself but we have a lot we are juggling here!
Blending a family is hard work but then again, so is marriage, raising kids, getting into a good university, or getting that dream job. Anything of worth demands time and energy. Right now I am putting my energy into blending this family as best as I can or at least loving and being present with each person as best I can.
Blending a family is hard work. My Constant and I are not starting off with the sweet ideals we had in our first marriages but are coming in with our own baggage. We often can leave that luggage at the front door but as soon as there are triggers, the baggage loops its way back over our shoulders. I come in with my abusive past and he comes in with his own drama that cost him his rose coloured glasses. We also realize that not all marriages work and that it takes hard work to make it work. I’m not sure if it’s better or worse to know that in advance.
I come out of a twenty year marriage and when I left, I had no identity, not knowing who I was anymore. I was fragmented and broken and hated myself seeing no value in who I was as a person. I was put last for so many years and as a result, I am easily triggered when I don’t feel like I am first in my Constant’s life. I’ve been last in my previous marriage and I don’t want to even play second fiddle this time around. It’s a quick and easy trigger for me.
Enters his Only. His daughter is used to having all of her dad’s attention and is not accustomed to having to share it – understandably. He tries to make us both feel number one and neither of us want to share the pedestal. Conflict waiting to happen? All. The. Time.
Enters my children. They are in an image-conscious, legalistic, patriarchal church where there are very few divorces. There’s shame around divorce which is already a difficult thing to go through in and of itself. People dress well and are very friendly and will quickly have you over for lunch between church services but the conversations are shallow and much discussion is made over weather, church, and school. Think of the movie, Stepford Wives with Nicole Kidman and you have a pretty good idea. (I am convinced that many women are living lives of quiet despair.) My children have to live with the shame of being shunted between homes which few of their classmates experience and even fewer know how to handle.
Then we have a beautiful daughter who is almost a year old. She was sleeping through the night at three months but then decided she was over that. It took until she was about ten months before she decided to sleep through the night again. I don’t cope well with little sleep and turn into a bear. My mouth goes tight and my thoughts black. I don’t want to be around sleep-deprived me let alone let others suffer that version of me.
All of this is a recipe for potential disaster.
How do we try to make this all work? It’s hard work and we are still trying to figure it out. Like expert jugglers on a balance beam throwing balls to each other we are doing our best to keep one step ahead of the next ball thrown our way. The key ingredients are love, acceptance, forgiveness, communication, and a lot of prayer.
I can bridge with his Only with the help of our baby, her little sister. It helps her to be a big sister and keeps the focus less on herself and more on how she can love her little sister. She is such a good big sister and she loves Natalia so much. My Constant is very good at helping his daughter to be a big sister and I love watching him help her to think of others. Happiness only happens when we are less focussed on ourselves and focussed on others. It’s something I am constantly reminding myself as well.
I can bridge with my five by constantly loving on them in every possible way. I am teaching my girls that they are not damsels in distress needing a man to rescue them but are growing up to be strong women who have a voice and have value and that value is intrinsic to them. I am trying to teach my boys to be kind and sensitive and that emotions are good, something that they don’t learn when they are with their dad. I am constantly hugging, holding, praying for God’s love to emanate out of my finger tips and reach my children. I pray for hedges of protection around my children each time I drop them off at their dad’s knowing that they are actually God’s children and I just get them for a short while. I tell them I love them all the time and especially as they leave my house wanting for them to really know and feel my love.
My Constant works hard at bridging with my five as well. He reads books that hold interest for my eldest so they can discuss when he is over. Last night they were up until 3am having discussions on evil, equality, and evolution. He plays video games with my youngest son on Friday nights, bakes elaborate cakes with my eldest daughter, and plays board games with my youngest.
The other day my eldest helped my Constant’s Only clean her room. They spent about an hour in there organizing and cleaning. I came in a couple of times with new garbage bags and to check on their progress. Now that’s a win.
His Only and my ten year old love playing computer games, doing obstacle courses together, and they are very natural with each other. I love watching that. That’s another win.
My eldest daughter is quick to bake with my Constant or ask him school work questions when before she would outright ignore him if he asked her a question such as, “How was your day?” Another win.
My youngest son and my Constant have their Fortnite Fridays and play late into the night, or early in the morning, depending on how you look at it. They have a good relationship and I am grateful for that. Yet another win.
All three girls adore their baby sister and are quick to pick her up or play with her. This little baby is a bridge for each one of them and I am grateful. Now that’s a win.
We ain’t no Brady Bunch but we are also not shying away from the hard work. My Constant and I accept each other and love each other and shower both of those ingredients on all our children. Our house is a place of peace and I am grateful for that. It’s felt the moment one walks into our house. My Constant is willing to have the hard conversations and has taught me that my voice has value. We have conflicts but we can also work through them. He is willing to change and adjust for me because he loves me and I am willing to do the same for him.
We ain’t no Brady Bunch and this is hard work but I wouldn’t be willing to do this with anyone else. I can do hard things with my Constant by my side.
Family Day Brunch. A rare day that we have all seven kids in our home at the same time. This brings me joy.
Sometimes moments, these incredible “God-moments” happen in life. They don’t happen often, or at least that has been my experience, but when they happen I surrender and relish in the presence of the all-powerful God.
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Making the trip to Vancouver to say goodbye to my father dying of Covid and seeing my estranged family was a difficult journey. I have not seen my family of origin for three and a half years. I have prayed blessings over them. I have prayed peace, and I have released them as best as I could, but I have not seen them for a very long time. Thus, I made this trip with trepidation but also with a new found strength. A strength that can only be in knowing with confidence who I am.
However, I also wasn’t foolish about taking this trip. I came with my eldest son, my buffer, my wingman, and my youngest daughter, my shield. I booked a one-way ticket so that I could book a return flight at any point in time. It gave me the option that if it didn’t go well with my family of origin, I could head back straight away. My aunt offered her place which gave me a forty minute drive to the nearest family member’s house which gave me a safe distance from potential hostility. That offer alone helped make the fear of this trip minimal.
And here is what I experience about courage and fear. Courage is not the absence of fear but it’s doing something in spite of the fear. I did not know what I was going to walk into but I knew who I was walking with. I didn’t know if I was walking into a hostile situation but I knew I was not alone. I had angels walking with me. And I experienced the most amazing thing. Every time I walked into a sibling’s house, I was surrounded with a bubble of peace.
Have you ever played bubble soccer where you are inside a plastic bubble and no one can touch you? Your head and upper body is completely encased and your hearing comes as though your ears are covered. You’re with others but you are also alone. That’s what it was like. I felt a bubble of peace from within me that also surrounded me.
Bubble Soccer
But it was different too. In one sense it was impenetrable in that my family of origin couldn’t affect me but it didn’t act as a barrier. It was felt by others and it extended to others and it put them at peace. I could lay down my weapons of hate and hurt and offer love instead. And that wasn’t me. That was all God.
These past years I had playing on repeat in my mind, “I am an orphan and God loves the orphans.” It was a mantra I spoke almost with defiance as people from my old church judged my soul to hell. So many songs we sang in my new church had themes about orphans and they spoke to my heart. There is power in knowing who you are and who you belong to. There is peace in knowing and there is no need for defensiveness because I am. I am a child of God. I am loved. I am enough.
When seeing my family of origin again, I realized that there was no need to fight because I knew who I was. The devil wants families to be divided. Hate begets hate but peace is pervasive. Peace and love softens hearts. I threw down my weapons. I let my eyes be unguarded and let the Father’s love shine out of them. God was there in those moments.
Today I am grateful for peace. I am grateful for a peace that surpasses all understanding. Walking into this situation, my father dying, seeing my estranged family, it didn’t make sense to feel peace but Jesus said to us, “My peace I leave with you.” We have it. Sometimes we just forget that we have it. Storms will happen in our lives but we have Jesus’ peace. Today I am grateful for that peace.
Being among the dying is being in a sacred space, a space that must be treated with a reverence. Once letting go of the fear of death itself, there is an understanding that the ground itself is holy.
——
Recently I got on an airplane heading from my home near Toronto to the place I grew up outside of Vancouver. I had my eldest son and youngest daughter in tow. My eldest son, age 19, the same age that I was when I left home, was there as my support, my wingman, and my baby as my shield. I was venturing to see my estranged family whom I hadn’t seen in three and a half years. I got the call from my younger sister that my father was dying and that it was time to say goodbye. I did the trip with trepidation but knew that if I didn’t go, my family of origin would be lost to me forever.
I leaned back in my airplane seat reflecting on the man who has dodged death many times before. My father is a determined and stubborn man and is not one to give up without a fight. Twenty years previous, he had been in a coma for a month. Some time after that, he had near half his face torn off by a work incident. And now, Covid 19 was battling with him but this time, he was not winning. This time he wasn’t fighting.
My aunt picked us up from the airport and we went straight to the hospital, leaving my sleeping baby in the car with her. I saw my mother straight away and hugged her and it was as if these past three and a half years had never happened. She filled us in on how my father was doing and tried to prepare us as best as she could as we walked toward his room through the maze of hospital wings. Prior to entering his room we gowned up, put on masks and gloves, and when all was in place, we entered.
My father was hooked up to different machines, one giving him oxygen, another pain medication. We were in a dying man’s room. We were, for a moment in time, walking on hallowed ground. We talked in low tones and my mother stayed with us briefly before allowing us some time alone with her husband of over 50 years. My son stayed for a bit, told his grandfather he loved him, and then left, allowing me some time alone with my father. Allowing me time to say goodbye.
What do you say to your estranged father who chose your ex-husband over you? I let it go for the most part. Although the pain is less acute, the hurt remains a dull ache but it can be suspended. Death and a proper goodbye is more important than personal hurt. I told him I loved him. I told him I just wanted him to love me and be there for me. I said that for my closure but I didn’t dwell on it. It was something that I needed to say but then the words itself needed to be let go of. I then told him about my kids and how amazing his youngest granddaughter is. Natalia is growing so big and might even walk before her first birthday. I talked about my other children and how they are doing. And when I ran out of things to say, I sang songs of blessings over him. I sang the benediction in Numbers: The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face shine upon you. And give you peace forever.” I tried to sing his favourite hymn, “This is my Story” but I didn’t know all the words. And at times I sat there in silence with him watching him take his laboured breaths.
Being at my father’s death bed made me see that we are all human with our hurts. Some of us, like my father, covered them in anger. I never had an easy relationship with him but sitting with him, vulnerable and dying, helped me to have closure. We are all human with deep need for love and connection. My father grew up in an era where the help he needed was not offered. My father grew up in a time where one was told to “be a man” and thus, he never dealt with the demons in his past. The demons remained and they materialized as anger because anger is much easier to deal with then the hurt that is underneath it all.
In that hospital room, I was surrounded in a blanket of peace. I was in the presence of God. The hurt was let go of because I knew who I was. I was no longer defined by the definitions my family chose for me. I was not “unstable and needed to be broken down.” I was not “bipolar.” I was no longer defined by them, nor needed to prove them wrong. I knew who I was and I was clearly defined by the definition I chose. I am a child of God who is deeply loved. Not conditionally like my family offered me but unconditionally by a Father who is the definition of Love. That love and peace surrounded me and emanated from me in the hospital room and for the rest of the time that I was in British Columbia and that love and peace was something I was able to extend to my family, not in my strength, but from a good, good Father.
The emotions of this time would come later. Some of it would be in the form of sadness, some anger, but mostly indifference. I struggled with that but then realize we had said goodbye three and a half years ago.
This time in the hospital room with my dying father, however, was the moment of official goodbyes and closure. This was the moment of sacred spaces and of letting go. This was the moment of heaven meeting earth. And this was the moment of acceptance of what is and allowing love and peace to cover it all.
Eventually the nurses came to take care of him and I took that as my cue to leave. I was grateful to have the closure, and grateful that I could say goodbye. When it was time, I hopped in the car with my aunt, my son, and my daughter and left. I needed to sort out my baby girl who desperately needed her bed and cried most of the way to my uncle and aunt’s house to prove it. We drove away, grateful to have said our goodbyes.
My father died in my mother’s arms twenty-five minutes after that. I believe he stayed alive until all his children could say goodbye to him. I believe, that although he wasn’t responsive, he heard me. And I believe that my sister Ruth was waiting for him as he was dying. For a brief moment, in that sacred, holy place, I believe my parents were reunited with their youngest daughter.
My father is quite possibly dying. He contracted Covid and is in a hospital in Vancouver. He is very confused and agitated, and is often in a state of delirium. The CT scan shows that he has significant dementia and the Chest X-rays indicates he has pneumonia.
I haven’t talked to my father in three years.
I haven’t talked to almost all of my family members in three years. My family chose to support my ex-husband through our divorce. They got duped by my ex’s brilliant performance of victimhood which he plays with much relish and gusto and they rallied around him and supported him. They go on camping trips together, are on family gossip chats together (often about me), and my parents even paid for his divorce lawyer. I got replaced by my ex-husband and everyone seems to be ok with that. It is an awful feeling to know that you are replaceable in your family.
I initially found out that my father isn’t doing well from the one sibling who talks to me. She forwarded me the email that my mother wrote to my siblings and to my ex-husband.
This sent me into a torrent of emotions. Anger, hurt, sadness, and fear. Anger and hurt that I wasn’t told initially – that the thought didn’t even cross my mother’s mind to tell me. Sadness that my father might very well be dying. Sadness that I might never have closure. And fear that if there is a funeral, I’m not sure whether I or my ex-husband will be asked to attend. Fear around the possibility of seeing my volatile sister who is a powder keg of anger and who drove the train in kicking me out of the family and wondering whether I have the strength to withstand her.
These emotions used to scare me and I would numb them as best as I could, self-medicating with a bottle of wine. Red wine was my preference as it seemed a classier way to self-medicate. However, I am having lots of practice these days sitting with the emotions instead. I let them rage over me. I feel them. I allow them. The anger, the fear, the sadness. All of the emotions in all their intensity. They no longer feel itchy and uncomfortable and I no longer feel a need to numb them. I allowed them to be. My emotions and I have finally made peace.
I bundle up my little ten month old into her snow suit and add an extra winter hat. I pop socks on her hands and put mittens over top to make sure she keeps warm. She complains over the ordeal but once she is in her back carrier, she is happy. We set out for a hike in the snowy forest with Joyce Meyer preaching a good sermon to me about forgiveness and reminding me that I am stronger than I think I am. She’s good value, having endured sexual abuse from her father as a young child. She knows what she’s talking about and I listen to her often throughout my week.
A long time ago, I made a promise to myself that I would not become a bitter old woman. I didn’t realize to what extent that bitterness is a way easier choice. All I have to do to become bitter is to focus on my hurt and the injustices of my life. It is way easier.
I made other promises because of this promise. I promised myself that I would go through my divorce as best as I could with where I was at. Although I was like a caged, fearful, beaten up animal, I would do my best. I sobered up and learned to feel my emotions. I took responsibility for me. I learned to be a “Grey Rock” instead of in reacting to everything my ex threw at me. I learned to detach and unhook.
I made that same promise with the news about my father. I will not act out of my anger or hurt. I will feel the emotions but I will not respond from them. I will respond out of grace.
I sent my mother an email letting her know that we were praying for her and empathizing that this is a scary time for her. I added, “Dad’s had quite the hard go in his life…. I’m starting to wonder how many lives that man has! Hopefully he is graced with a few more. He’s come out of quite a few rough spots and I pray this is another one he will come through.”
I sent my father a card and had the five kids write a personal message to him in it. I had each of the kids write a note in part to let him know that my kids cared about their grandpa and in part because I didn’t know what to write to my estranged father. I peppered the card with bible texts and when there was no space left to write anything more, I popped it in the post.
My partner suggested I send flowers to my mother. My ego warred against the idea – and very vocally. My ego demanded to know why I should send flowers to the woman who chose to disown her own. My ego wanted to know why I should spend money on the woman who sends birthday cards to my kids via my ex-husband’s house and who made clear that I would be marginalized in their will. My ego demanded to know why I should send flowers to a mother who stated that she didn’t believe her daughter and who supported her ex-son-in-law to the bitter end.
And there is no reason why I ought to.
But that is also the wrong question. The question is how can I show grace. How can I show grace as I have been shown so much grace in my life. I submitted my will, my ego, and offered simple grace instead.
Not a single one of these things was easy to do. Each one put me in turmoil while in the process but peace upon completion. Each time I reminded myself that I am only responsible for my actions. I am not responsible for my parents’ actions or their interpretations of my actions.
And I am graced with a cheering squad who pushes me to be the best version of me. I am graced with people who are willing to love me enough to push me to live strong, vulnerable, and full of love. I am graced with people who will say hard things to me and tell me that if I want unconditional love, I also have to offer it.
There is one dear woman who sat in the hard places with me in this journey and wrote, “Are you strong enough, grounded in God’s unconditional love, to love them unconditionally? Not just despite all their dysfunction, but with it? To forgive them even when they have no idea of the hurt and wrong they have and are perpetuating? To let it go?”
Those are hard questions and my ego resists them. But they are good questions and push me to be a better version of me. I am learning that you can only let go of ego when ego is strong enough to to let go of. You can only let go of self when you have a strong sense of self and know who you belong to. I am learning that strength is in the vulnerability, not rigidity. Strength is in softness, not hardness.
I don’t know what will happen with my father. I don’t know whether he will recover from this. I don’t know how many days or years he has in front of him. I hope he will recover. I hope that we will be able to reconcile in this life. I hope that this is a wake-up call to my family and we are able to begin again. But I have no control over what will happen. I have to leave it to God because I believe in a God who can use everything for our good. Even the painful stuff.
no longer small 