Remembering ~ 30 Years

This is a post I've started to write probably 30 times since I started blogging. Heck, as I start it, I'm wondering if this will be the time I actually finish it and hit publish or if it will be added to the scrap pile. Interestingly, this is not a post that gets started and saved as a draft. Each time I've started, I've hit delete. Maybe this one is just too raw. Still. 30 years later.

And what it is about this day that has me sitting down to write again? I could come up with a list of things, but each time I've thought it was time, it hasn't been. So I suppose the only way I will know if it is time or not is to write it all down again and see if I tap "publish" or "delete" at the end.

What do I think has influenced me this time? Perhaps it is the passing of St. Patrick's Day - the day that was the hardest day yet since my Dad died, as it is a day full of memories and when being Irish meant I was my Dad's daughter; perhaps it is all of the hangover of burying one parent and finding it extremely odd and unnatural to be comforted by the other parent, to wonder why she is even at the funeral home; perhaps it is my dear friend Michelle of Endless Strength writing her own story of her parents' divorce today and acknowledging that in so many ways our experiences are so very similar; perhaps it is finding out via social media that one brother flew in to WV from TX to celebrate the other's 21st birthday and that the only communication I had with either all day was to text a happy birthday message and receive a thank you; and perhaps it is CD1 and the emotions are always strongest when the hormones are going crazy.

Whatever it is that has brought fingers to keys here in this place today, all I can say is that I'm still understanding and processing what the impact of being a child of divorce has been for me.

30 years ago this month my parents' divorce was finalized, I was just about to turn 8. I remember the months leading up to the separation - it happened at Thanksgiving, my brother, mom and I went to my grandparents and while we were gone for the long weekend, my Dad moved out of our home and into his apartment across town. Those months before the separation were characterized by many late night fights. The kind that probably started as a hushed, tense conversation and eventually ended in shouting. I remember hearing the shouting. I remember one night my Dad saying {again} he was going to leave and coming into my bedroom and getting his suitcase out of my closet (where all the suitcases were kept). As he sat on my bed to extract it from the others, I sat up and put my arms around him, asking him not to go. He stayed, that night.

I remember the morning in the fall, it must have been an unusually warm Saturday morning for mid-fall, as my brother and I were chomping at the bit to go out and play, but our parents kept putting us off. Finally, we sat down at the table and they told us, my Dad spoke, "Your mom and I are getting a divorce." I shouted "NO!" and ran off to my room. I don't remember anything else specifically about that day. When I think about the years since that day, there are things I do remember and now can see better just how those things impacted me.

I remember everyone always asking how my mom and my brother were and commenting on how well I was doing. But no one ever asked how I was.

I remembering lying to teachers to get attention in 4th grade. And seeking attention from boys, from 5th grade on. Of being used and discarded and still seeking more. All the while desperately wanting my Dad to notice me.

I remember wanting to live with my Dad in 6th grade and how both of my parents manipulated me through that process - and I how ended up staying with my Mom.

I remember being the messenger between my parents for everything from child support checks to re-arranging weekends to changing pick-up and drop off times.

I remember years and years of insisting that it was for the best that my parents divorced. That it was better because they weren't fighting any more. Except they were. They never peacefully co-existed. Not really.

I remember saying how lucky I was to have not 2 but 4 parents who loved me. Only, I never really fit in. There was always this other life, with this other family, that both of my parents had. I didn't realize the impact of that until much later - within the last decade. There were in-laws who weren't my grandparents, nieces and nephews who weren't my cousins, and traditions I didn't understand and in which I wasn't able to fully participate.

I remember hearing the rumors of why my parents divorced. Of seeing evidence for myself of the rumors. And of denying them. Of defending my parents. Of refusing to believe or admit what was right in front of me. Of living a lie for more than 30 years.

I remember feeling victorious when my parents were civil to one another at my wedding - that seemed the greatest achievement of the day. And then, my brother did something to set them off and the brief glimpse of peace I thought might come disappeared and never returned.

I remember being at a conference on adult children of divorce and having the tears fall while trying to keep my composure. Hearing others say what my head had been screaming for years, but my heart didn't want to hear. Having my rose-colored glasses ripped away. And forgiving. Forgiving my parents for all of the things for which I would never, and will never, hear an apology.  And realizing that that has to be enough. I watched my heart soften towards both of my parents and the relationships become so much less stressful as I quit trying to fit myself into places I didn't belong.

This place of memories seems a good place to stop for for today. A glimpse into what life looked like. Perhaps this is why I don't ever publish when I write on this topic, because I try to make it everything all in one. These are just memories, but the impacts of what they meant for me are much greater. Other themes related to my parents divorce, that I have reflected on in recent years are: belonging; God as Father; Mary as Mother; and what family means to me now. I think it best if rather than trying to condense all of this into one post, I write about each of these separately from this.

For today, it seems the time is finally right to hit publish and begin sharing this part of my road Home.


  1. Hugs From another product of divorced parents

  2. The belonging thing is what still hurts the most. AS my parents age, it's difficult to know our role for each of them. Dad is still married to his second wife and they have two children -- do those two children and their wishes/needs come before the rest of us? Mom is still not the most wonderful person to be around -- but which of us will accept responsibility for entertaining or caring for her once her husband passes on? Ugh. It's just no fun, ever. Thanks for writing...I agree that one of the problems with writing on the subject is that one post is never enough to say everything that needs to be said.

  3. Hugs. As a woman who has divorced when my son is in his 30s, I still wonder about the impact. I did the best I could. That is all I can tell myself.

  4. I think the most heartbreaking thought for me is the one of not completely belonging. We all want (and desperately need!) to know we have a place in the world, and not a conditional one.

  5. It's hard, but so healing, to forgive people for things they've never accepted any accountability for. Working on that myself. ((Hugs))

  6. What a painful memory and anniversary :( Prayers and hugs for you <3 May Jesus comfort and heal your heart in the way that only He can.

  7. While as painful as it is, these kinds of stories need to be told. In a media filled world telling people to do whatever they want without really looking at the consequences... or media denying that consequences exist, this story and the millions like it need to be told. Divorce was never God's plan for marriage and we see just how hard it is on everyone involved.

    My heart goes out to you.

  8. I haven't been following, and am just now catching up - I am sorry for that.
    I think it's so important to hear these stories, and I applaud you for sharing them.

  9. Have you seen Leila Miller's upcoming book about adult children of divorce? She's been putting excerpts of it on Facebook and much of it sounds like what you are writing about here. God bless you and your journey.

  10. I am sorry for all the heartache you went through and still go through today. I can't imagine having to process all of this at 8 years old.
    I'm also sorry that your brother didn't make contact with you more than he did on his trip out East. Praying for your relationship with him right now.

  11. I have just recently found your blog, and this was the first post I read. I had a stepdad that came into my life when I was 12, and I really resonate with your notions of not fitting into the step family, the aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. I still don't, 24 years later. And I eventually stopped trying and have felt so much peace ever since.

    I also started a blog a few years back to be a B&B and cruise review, but I didn't really keep up with it. As my husband and I have reached the end of the road with our infertility journey, I'm writing a little about that too. I invite you to read my blog and welcome any comments, suggestions or critiques, as I am just starting out.