Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Three Little Hands

I'm not sure how it happened or what triggered it, but as I was on my drive to my route today an old, painful memory hit me square between the eyes. I guess I was wondering how it is that I have made it this far; how it is that I was able to carry on.

Most of the memories surrounding the last days of my marriage are a blur if anything at all. Most, that is, except those two or three minutes that it took for the U-Haul to disappear from sight as it drove away. I was standing alone in the driveway of the house we called home for the past 7 years--where I would 'live' alone for the next 2 weeks--and out of the passenger window all I could see were those three little hands frantically waving goodbye. It was then that I knew my life would never be the same. It was then that I knew a whole new pain. I don't know if there's a way to describe that kind of pain. My heart was so heavy I could scarcely move a muscle, but I knew I had to wave to let them know I loved them.

In an effort to live fully from my heart, sometimes I have to open a door that I painted shut. You have just been given a brief peek behind one such door.

7 comments:

Ame said...

Oh, this makes me cry. I am so sorry. Divorce sucks. Tearing the kids away just crucifies the heart.

"In an effort to live fully from my heart, sometimes I have to open a door that I painted shut. You have just been given a brief peek behind one such door."

Opening those doors is sooo hard ... the pain sucks you in like a vacuum and is overwhelming. There's something about talking about it, though ... the more you tell your story, the more you talk about the pain, the more you face it and cry through it and work through it, the more free you become from it. I don't know why that's true, but I know it is.

Thank you for the brief peek, for trusting us, your readers, with something so intimately painful and excruciating and hard. Open your hands, with your palms up, as your cry through the pain to God ... and one tiny step at a time, He will begin to release you from the haunting pain.

It's not that all the pain will go away ... divorce is such a continuous form of little deaths throughout one's lifetime ... but this incredible freedom will wash over you ... and this peace, this unbelievable peace ... that passes all understanding ... will set up shop deep in the wells of your heart and soul ... and will guard your heart and your mind in Christ Jesus.

May God's peace flood your heart and dreams tonight.

McSwain said...

That brought tears to my eyes, too. I still feel it on nights like tonight, when my son is at his dad's. It's unnatural for parents to be separated from our young children. Nights like tonight, I'm up blogging instead of sleeping because I'm restless when missing my child, whom I last saw with tears in his eyes as he drove off with his dad this evening.

Thank you for the glimpse of your heart. Yours is a pain that too many of us share.

Lori said...

This was excruciating to read, probably because I can identify so much. One part of me relates because there were moments when I had to let my children go with their dad (though I knew he loved them and would care for them). But the more hurtful part, since they have always lived with me, is seeing the kind of pain that their father must have felt at that turning point in all our lives.

Thank you for sharing from your heart. May you get that door open enough to heal so you can rebuild and find a place where the sun again shines. I promise, it exists.

John said...

Thank you to all three of you! I sometimes think that all of life is a healing process. The sun came out today and lifted some of the heavy out of my soul.

Your kind words helped too.

McSwain said...

Yeah, well I've had "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" stuck in my head for a while now. Not an appropriate comment for this post I know, but hey--you need an email on your Blogger profile so we can all send our snide remarks direct. And I suppose music can be a great heart-healer as well.

Karma karma karma karma karma chameleon... Seriously, does that word repeat 5 times in one line? Oh my, it does.

Anonymous said...

Hmmmm... Can't find it. Maybe it shows on your browser but not mine? Maybe I don't have the right security clearance. hildebrand_road@blogpsot.com is me.

McSwain said...

I meant hildebrand_road@hotmail.com. Geez.