Heartache and Hope; Opening the Box of Remembrance, A Single Momma’s Perspective

We sit on the carpeted floor, surrounded by boxes holding treasures manifested as paintings, drawings made with markers, papers penciled with misspelled letters, stories, and construction paper cards cut out and pasted for holidays. Each creation is marked by a child’s name and a date. We count backwards to bridge the year, with the teacher, an age, and a pre-divorce, post-divorce designation. The dog interrupts, wanting to plant herself in the middle, asserting her belief that floor time signals play time.

I remember my own childhood, sorting through similar treasures, printed photographs, wanting to remember and touch the tangible evidence of my own existence.

It’s like this with my girl. She is searching for memories of who she was, what she did. She wants to read her report cards, to know what she was good at. She wants to tell the stories behind the crumbled pages.

She is searching for memories. I am searching for evidence. Evidence to fill holes made by that which I cannot remember, that which I did not experience, that which changed in each of them in the midst of pre-divorce and post-divorce. It is difficult work, sorting these memories, acknowledging now, years later the impact of those days, of that decision. How their brief lives have a before and an after, how one has grown in a single parent household longer than she slept in her bed with both parents in the house.

The words, “children are resilient” ring in my ears, over and over again. I want to shout, “yes, but that’s hardly fair,” and I desperately want to experience the redemption of this whole mess in their own lives. I want to remember that which I was not present for, to hold them during their nights that stretched long, while tears tumbled quietly. Two children growing to become everything for one another. I want to clean their mess in the middle of the night when fevers ran high and sheets needed swapped. I want to remember, to know, and instead silent tears roll down my own face.

For transparency, the decision to divorce was mine. For better or worse, it was my decision, and it led to a thousand other decisions, some for better and some for worse. In the midst of those decisions, these children grew in memory spaces that I cannot access. They were resilient, despite the unfairness of it.

If you are unfortunate enough to be working through the long heartache of a busted family, don’t let “children are resilient” be your pass for dismissing accountability to them as their momma. I did that, don’t do that. As you hurt, they are hurting more. As your life has been turned upside down, theirs has been more. As you grasp for means of stability, they are grasping for you. Do the hard work and get healthy, emotionally, physically, financially, relationally, spiritually (yes, the list is long, but it’s important). No one can do that work but you. No one can be their momma but you. Create for them an environment that gives them rest from being resilient, if even for a bit.

I am reluctant to give advice, as my expertise comes from my mistakes and not my triumphs. My suggestion list is more accurately labeled a do-over list. But perhaps you find yourself where I have been, sitting in the midst of a busted mess, forcing yourself through another day of survival. So here goes…

• Grace, grace, grace…you may need to throw out rules about bedtime, dinnertime, and family time. Actually, any preconceived notion you have about anything may need to be tossed aside.
• Engage, engage, engage…find their world and move into it at their invitation. They will begin to create their own life by first building walls to keep out what is broken. Watch for opportunities to step in and be available to step in.
• Observe, observe, observe…watch and see them, know them, understand when to hold back, when to move in and when to hold on.
• Listen, listen, listen…for goodness sake let them talk, let them feel, let them react, let them cry, let it not be alright.
• Love, love, love…not with things, not with distractions, but with presence and patience.
• Don’t date. Before you disregard this piece of advice, it’s the key to all of it. Until you are healthy in all of the ways listed above, just don’t. No, it’s not easy, none of it’s easy. It took me too many years to get to this one and looking back, my children have healed more in the last years of me not dating than they did in all the other years combined. Why? Because when I stopped dating my focus turned inward to us and I got serious about getting healthy. If the momma is healthy, the babies have freedom to be healthy.

All difficult things, married with anxiety, fear…back to grace, grace, grace. When you fail, which you will, try again.

As I search for evidence of their past, I awaken to their present. I recognize how both have grown in their long-suffering to be strong, independent (very) thinkers. They are good at setting boundaries, healthy ones, and have learned to disagree without being cruel, without having to stamp out the other. They are fiercely protective of one another. Their favored place of congregation is the kitchen counter, one perched on each side, talking mixed with laughter, snacking through their after dinner meal. Hugs are freely given by each of them, marking their arrival and departure. They are resilient and on their own paths towards healthy.

These two big kid babes are not unlike the stories told by those hand crafted treasures held in the old boot boxes, a little messy, colorful, sometimes run together and nonsensical, but always beautiful, cherished, held.

I walk away from our sorting and return the boxes to their shelf. There is too much still that evokes an empty aching. To preserve the present, I begin packing up our past.

Our children are resilient, but they are still children. Walk with yours, where they are at, messy, broken, nonsensical, perhaps a little bit run together. Let them be who they are created to be, and not who you have imagined them to be. See them, like really see them. Affirm them, laugh with them, hold them, pick-up after them without a word (even their after dinner snacking dishes). Allow your present to be defined by grace, with yourself and with your children. Allow your past to stay where it exists, not because you are afraid of it or desire to silence it, but because there exists One who delights in redeeming, restoring and recompensing it. Trust Him with it.

I am in boxes again, this time our Christmas boxes. The memories they bring to mind are gentler, tracing the painstakingly slow rebuilding of our family. Chapters closed and chapters begun, but all chapters treasured.