Whirlywind

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life, marriage, personal, relationships

WHEW!

I made it. Life since December has been non-stop, mostly related to preparing my condo for selling, as well as wedding plans. Thankfully, Lisa relished the whole wedding planning process, so my job for the wedding was mostly to nod in agreement. I do that well. There were tasks I had to do, but mostly I just had to show up. The caterer was my big task, which I accomplished. Let’s face it, food really isn’t a challenge. Our guest list was small, intentionally, only 53 people, so ordering food was easy.

The condo prep was a lot of work, constant. After weeks of painting, replacing a floor, rehanging doors and doing some general cleaning, I was ready to hang it up. When the last baseboard was replaced, I vowed not to touch another hammer or paint brush for the rest of my life. Ha! Like that is going to happen. The kitchen floor, in particular, looked very nice. Lisa saw that and immediately the wheels started turning in her head with ideas for projects to do around our house (condo). At the beginning of February, my condo was ready to sell. The listing went active at 4 PM on a Sunday. Within minutes there were multiple requests for showings the next day. I worked from Lisa’s condo (next door.. short commute) Monday morning, to accommodate the showings, and was rewarded with two offers that morning. Another followed early that afternoon. Two were nearly $8000 higher than the asking price, and one of those offers was an as is offer. It was nice to be in a seller’s market!

I’m not sure how many showings there were the first day. Let’s just say there were a lot of showings, so many that I had to start turning down requests, allowed one more showing Tuesday morning before I accepted one of the offers. My realtor vetted the credit of each of the buyers, said all three had solid loans. After some discussion, I decided to accept the offer from a young man who is an elementary school band director. My daughter teaches band, so I figured he would be an admirable choice. A guy who teaches kids instrumental music all day likely needs a quiet place to live.

My place sold and appraised at a price $17000 higher than any other condo like it in our condo association prior. In a few short years, the value of my home increased nearly $60000. That may not sound like that much in today’s real estate market, but my condo was a small 1000 sq ft, two bedroom one bath unit with an attached garage. The equity was enough to make me feel stress free financially for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

I closed on the condo a little over two weeks ago. The four week period between the sale and the closing went quickly. Thanks to FB Marketplace, nearly all my furniture was gone quickly. Since I was moving into Lisa’s condo, all but a few items had to be sold or given away. It’s pretty amazing what people will buy if it is cheap. The worst items seemed to garner the most interest — a forty year old wobbly dresser and nightstand ($5 for the pair) sold in 10 minutes, with countless inquiries. I sold the dressers and nightstand in the master bedroom to a woman who fixes up old furniture and resells. She even helped me move it from my second floor unit to her van, came back to pick up the rest. When she saw some of the other stuff I had, she offered to buy some more items. I hated to part with one of those items, an outdoor bench that I had out on my balcony, weathered nicely, a home made project my dad made from an old headboard and footboard. I was touched by the immigrant couple who showed up in an old Toyota Corolla to buy the tattered full mattress and box spring I had. They drove an hour to pick it up, but it was obvious they were grateful for it. Neither spoke much english, but when I asked them if the bed was for their children they said no, it was for them to sleep on. They struggled to load the frame, comforter, sheets inside the car, then bravely strapped the mattress and box spring to the top of their little car. Somehow they managed. I felt a little guilty for taking $10 from them, tried to decline the cash, but they insisted I take it.

I moved some things into Lisa’s condo, but that was difficult, as her son still had things there. I planned to move the remainder of my things in a week before the closing, but when I went to her place to move, I found out that her son’s girlfriend had kicked him out the day before, so he had moved back in to Lisa’s. After the smoke cleared, and I had managed to hold my temper, we talked it out. She asked him to move his stuff out, which he did immediately. There will still things left, and he was still living with her, but I was able to move most of my stuff over. By the day before the closing, I had moved my stuff to OUR place.

For two weeks, I needed a place to live. I try to honor God and understand why it’s important to wait to live together until marriage. A couple we know from church, who also were studying with us to help prepare for marriage, offered to let me live in their garage loft until the wedding. The loft is his office, so it was a sacrifice for him to let me live there and work from there for two weeks. I am very grateful. Not only was it kind of them, but I really enjoyed getting to know Jim and Cindy better during the time I stayed with them. The loft doesn’t have a bathroom, so I saw them quite a bit, as they left their back door open for me so I could use their basement bathroom. I used that most of the time, but during the night there was no way I was going to stumble through the dark and into their house to use the bathroom. I got used to peeing in a cup!

The wedding was this past Saturday. I will save the details for another blog. We both remarked that night, after we were recuperating from the day, that the day was even better than anticipated. Lisa really plans well and it showed! Such a wonderful day. I am married now. As you can tell from the picture, she is gorgeous, and my jaw dropped when I say her appear in her short wedding dress. I don’t like most of the pictures of myself, as the winter was not kind to my physique! I will lose quite a bit of weight as the cycling season starts, thank goodness.

Life is good, better than I imagined it would be five years ago. A lot has changed. I am glad to be able to trust in God, because he has truly blessed me.

Children and Comfort Zones

I hit the sheets early last night, my body battery a bit low after staying out late (by my standard) on Saturday night and up early Sunday morning. An early to bed and early to rise type, my friends often kid me in the evening. “What’s your gauge?” they ask. If it’s past 9 PM, then the gauge is likely inching closer to empty. My dad is a gifted nap taker, I have the gift of falling asleep before my head hits the pillow. However, I also suffer from sleep apnea, so if I opt out of using the CPAP, I don’t usually get restful sleep. Last night, though, when I got home at 10 I walked straight from the front door to my bed. In my 1000 square foot condo, it’s a short trip. By 10:01 there were large Zzzzzzzzs over my head.

The loud boom of something hitting my front door, followed by the bang of the door opening suddenly, woke me suddenly from my revelry. I heard loud clumps from tennis shoes stomping on the front hallway floor, a duffle bag thrown into the living room. Instead of panicking, afraid that the police had mistaken me for a drug dealer, I simply pulled the covers back.

“Welcome home” I pronounced sleepily.

My son had arrived home from college, unannounced, as is his habit. I was expecting him tomorrow, but he decided he would rather finish up the semester from home. It was OK. Except for some Christmas wrapping paraphernalia littering his bed, the house was ready for the invasion. On top of that, I have today and tomorrow scheduled as vacation days. I don’t take a lot of vacation time. I rolled out of bed, half awake, pulled on some shorts and a tee shirt, greeted my boy. I cleared the Christmas cheer off of his bed as he ventured back outside to bring in the rest of his stuff, grabbed my laptop and a few files from the desk in his room. When he returned, I caught up a little with him, then told him I would see him in the morning as I shuffled back to my room. I closed the double doors to my bedroom behind me, something I will have to get used to doing for the next few weeks, the isolation necessary if I am going to get a proper night’s sleep.

He’s home. His routine is different than the haphazard childish chaos that existed just a few short years ago. This morning, he emerged from his bedroom, plopped down on the couch next to me, MacBook in hand. I watched him check emails, a large Yeti filled with strong coffee in one hand, then start prep for the online final exam he had to take in a few hours. The emails were correspondence for the internships he is considering, even though he has accepted an internship with the company I work for. The kid is networking like crazy and it’s intriguing to observe him at work. I am proud of him. In the three years since he graduated from high school, he has made huge strides with the motivation he has for work and school. Barely able to make the grades in high school, he is flourishing as a college student, even making the dean’s list last semester. I am impressed with the confidence I see as he talks to people, even as he talks to me.

It’s refreshing. Just a few short years ago, he was a confused boy, a bit messed up from the separation and divorce he had to deal with during his senior year of high school. The boy has become the man he needed to become. Even better, our relationship has become a relationship, with respect. If you asked me a few years ago if that was possible, I would have laughed at you. Now, he calls me, asks me how I am doing, seeks me out. We sit and talk, spend time together. Last summer, we were the tennis doubles team that everyone in our condo association league feared.

So, instead of dreading my son living with me, I enjoy it…. as long as it’s temporary! Frankly, I like living by myself, enjoy my own routine and neat, tidy home. But it’s OK to have my peaceful, comfort zone existence interrupted by my son. He’s getting used to me, as well, comfortable living with me now. We both have had to adjust.

One more note — tomorrow I get to meet my daughter’s new boyfriend. I don’t need to have a loaded shotgun ready or bring out a knife to sharpen while I am talking to him. The intro will be via video messenger. My daughter lives in another country (Turkey), thus the video. She is excited for me to meet him, a sign of how different this boy is than the ones the preceded. When I talked to her recently, it was really obvious that she has the M word in mind, even strongly hinted that to me. Like my son, my relationship with my daughter has matured, and she is confiding in me about this boy. Introducing me to previous boyfriends was a fearsome task, which I earned over the years. To see her eager to introduce him to me is also refreshing. I am looking forward to it. I will roll out of bed at 6:30 tomorrow morning, share my coffee time as I talk to them both.

This stage of fatherhood is good. I like it. After the divorce, I was afraid that my relationship with my children would be strained, possibly permanently damaged from what I feared as them considering me the bad guy. Kids are resilient, I know, something I was told by my friends. They will come around, my friends told me, as I am their father and have been a good one for them. When I see my kids coming around, I sense myself escaping from that big hole that I felt like I was sitting in. It feels good.

Christmas looks all right, even as the pandemic threatens to put a blanket on everything. I’m smiling.

Three

I don’t know what direction tonight’s write is going to take me.  Heh heh heh… maybe in the write direction?

Bad, bad, bad.  So sue me.

Quarantine cabin fever got the best of me a few minutes ago, a fog created by a combo of excessive amounts of pizza (courtesy of my son, who might be getting a bit tired of eating my cooking) and the completion of a season three Ozark binge watch.  I decided to climb in my Subaru for a drive, just to clear my head.  Stay at home, work at home has me in the house from the time I crawl out of bed until I clock out remotely.  The commute to my couch is a short one.  With the weather still cold and mostly dreary here lately, I haven’t turned the pedals since last week, so I just need to get out.

In the last two and a half weeks, I have used a quarter tank of gas.

The winter chill is about gone, judging from the cold yet refreshing air that strolled into my garage as the garage door raised.  I backed slowly out, stopped for a moment in the drive to pick out some music on my phone – the atmosphere in the cockpit improves if the tune fits the mood (Huey Lewis’ new stuff was the choice).  My Subaru growled a bit while it pulled slowly away, as if it too was glad to get out from the confines.  Neither me nor my car was in a hurry.  We just wanted to enjoy the temporary freedom.  Huey Lewis crooned a gravelly tune….

Do you remember when, not so long ago, all we had was time?  And the future was the last thing on our minds.  What a time.

My mind wasn’t gravitating towards carefree memories of my youth, however.  Cabin fever wasn’t the only motivation for getting out of the house.  I needed to face a memory, take a short pilgrimage of sorts.  I live about a mile from my former house, the house I lived in with my wife for 22 years, where our children were born and raised.  I needed to see that house today.

Three years ago, I stood in the driveway of that house, tears streaming down my face, my then sister-in-law hugging me while she told me it would be ok, my soon to be ex wife driving off as she fought the emotions of leaving that house for good.  We had closed on the sale of the house and our time of separation began.  That night, I would sleep in the spare bedroom of the condo unit I was about to buy, perched on top of two mattresses and two box springs (I never felt the pea) with a pathway cleared from the tower of bed to the door through all of my things stuffed in that room.

I am not wallowing in pain or pity tonight.  I am not celebrating, either.  No one should celebrate that.  March 31, 2017 was the day my life as I knew it ended.  It changed in an instant.

It is what it is.

The Subaru growled compassionately as it guided me slowly past that house.  The journey wasn’t what I expected.  The journey was a tribute of sorts, a reminder.  I think I need to remember the pain, the excrutiating emotional stress, the exhaustion that was a constant companion the months that preceded that day.  Maybe I just needed to be reminded of how it felt when that weight lifted off my shoulders as I drove away that day.

My friend, John, reminded me today that so much has changed since that day.  There truly is much to be thankful for.  I think I will take that trip past my old house this day every year, a reminder that beauty comes from ashes, strength from not giving up.

I wonder what I will write next year?

Christmas Past, Christmas Present

I wrote the title first, intending to mull over some of the thoughts I am having about my son during this Christmas present.  Christmas past has moments that I hope that spirit doesn’t make me visit, even as the past threatens to reappear.  Times are different now, at least it seems so, with some healing and maturing mixed in with a tad bit of learning.  Yet, I am afraid.

My son is living with me again, during his holiday break.  He arrived a week ago, almost unannounced, called me during the afternoon and asked me if I was going to be home in three hours.  I was on my lunch break at work.  I told him that I needed to help my friend, Jim, move some furniture after work, would probably be home around six.  My son was coming home a few days early.  That wasn’t a big deal.  My place was already clean, with clean sheets ready for his bed, the closet in my spare bedroom cleared so that he would have plenty of room for his stuff during his month long break.

I should take a picture of his room right now and post it here….

He is SUCH a twenty year old male.  No staging was required.  I just snapped a few pics and ran for my life.  How in the world did he manage to mess up the blinds?  I really don’t know if any of his stuff has made it into the closet or the empty dresser.  The rest of the house has been up for grabs, with his clutter extending into the living space.  That has been minimal, his awareness from existing with me during Thanksgiving break giving him some much appreciated knowledge of what it’s like to live with his father.  I have had to clean up after him, but he is also making sure he keeps things a little straight.  It probably helps that I don’t harp at him.  He is still piggish, but not the rude boor of a child I knew a few years ago has diminished considerably.  I can take some clutter as long as he is considerate, which he has mostly accomplished.  As it was at Thanksgiving, he has honored quiet hours and lets me sleep, important since I get up at 5 each morning for work.

Yesterday was the second warmest Christmas day on record for Chicagoland, the balmiest since 1982.  Nate opted for sleeping in, skipped a butt crack of dawn ride with me, yet managed to use up every last drop of hot water for his shower while I was out two wheeled sleigh riding.  I had to take a brisk and icy cold shower after my ride.  Let’s just say it was a blue Christmas without you (hot water… doo doo doo doo doo).  Not only did I get a ride in sans layers, but Nate and I played a few sets of tennis outdoors.. in shorts.

Christmas pasts have not always been pleasant, especially since my liberation from the chains of matrimony.  Nate had a major breakdown a few years ago, and it has been a challenge since.  Last year was good.  This year was good, except, well, he reacted poorly to my lady friend being with me Christmas afternoon, slammed the door to his bedroom.. twice.  She left rather than create further conflict and was pretty upset about the disrespect he demonstrated — which is characteristic of Christmases past.  He emerged after she left, acted like nothing happened, denied that he was upset at all when I confronted him about it.

Baby steps.  We survived and proved that we have learned a few things.  I am just hoping my condo survives the next few weeks of exposure.

Seasoning

As I write, the boy is snoring away, the wall in between my living room and the spare bedroom is shaking from the sheer force of the buzzing gale he is emitting.  It is a new experience for me to hear him, this holiday break the first I have lived with him in over two years.  A lot has changed in that brief period of time, including the emergence of the snore.  We both have matured a bit, evidenced by the peaceful coexistence all week, a bit of a surprise for me.

Geez, the kid is really sawing away in there.

What I expected to experience this past week was a lot of lost sleep, caused by a hulk of a boy that I remembered from two years ago, with loud late night X-Box marathons capped by a midnight marathon shower, his music blaring selfishly through a Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom.  Trails of stench and scattered debris would be all over my humbly overly cared for abode, left by a being who really didn’t care about the havoc he administered to the order of my peaceful existence.  What seems like an exaggeration was the reality of mere thirty months ago.  I flinched with anxious thoughts as I anticipated his upcoming visit this past week.

Those anxious thoughts diluted while they swirled amongst the stronger feelings of gratitude.  To me, the notion that my son even wants to stay with me was a miracle.  When his mother and I sold our house, separated to be together no more, there was not a single doubt that he would live with her.  In my mind, she had helped to create the monster, fed his enormous appetite, protected him from my discipline, and the two belonged together.  He would never want to or be able to exist in the same hemisphere with me again.  I am not sure if I have said it, and if I have please forgive me, but they deserved each other and the separation was an immediate relief from unbelievable stress.  That didn’t mean that I did not or do not want a relationship with my son.  One of the biggest let downs for me was that it did not seem that all of the effort I had put into him would ever be returned.  I never thought we would have a decent relationship, that my son would ever value his relationship with me as his father, would ever want to spend time with me again.

I think pretty much every father goes through that.  Thankfully, most do not experience that through divorce.  There are few days I do not wonder if my marriage would not have been different, maybe even survived, had it not been for the conflict created by my relationship with my son and the escalation of that conflict by the choice his mother made in that conflict.  I will never know.

What I do know is that my son and I were both anxious about our first cohabitation since the separation and divorce.  I was providing sanctuary to him, sanctuary from living in the small space provided to him at his aunt’s town home, a freedom of sorts.  He would have to live in my very orderly space, a space that has been mine alone for over two years, but he would have his own space in my home.  I know he preferred that, know that he has been reaching out to me and lifting me up.  I was anxious, but I really hoped that this time it would be different than it was two years ago.

I think we both were surprised.

He came home to my home, tentative, not knowing what I would expect from him.  I gave him a lot of freedom.  I think he liked that.  It was obvious that I am meticulous, not liking my space to be invaded, but he did a good job of adjusting to my expectations.  He wasn’t perfect, but he was respectful, careful, conscious of the world I have created and he did his best to fit his twenty year old male self into that world.  I did my best to accommodate him, not press him into a perfect little mold, let him live his own life while he was with me.  It wasn’t perfect, but I resisted telling him anything, cleaned up after him and noticed that he adapted to my expectations.  I didn’t lose sleep, although I worried more about him getting home safely than I have in the past.  He communicated with me very well, let me know what was going on, so I could sleep soundly.  Our last night, I didn’t even notice when he came home.

What meant the most to me during his visit?  Perhaps it is the realization that he values me, looks at some of my interests as positive things.  It is very obvious that he thinks my mountain biking is a cool thing.  I can tell that the time invested in him over the years was not a waste.  I feel valued.  I needed that.  One thing that cemented that he is thinking of me was Saturday night, when his car needed windshield wipers, and he wanted to borrow a car.  He acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ready to loan out my ‘new’ car to him.  It was a good thing to me, a confirmation that he is starting to get it.  I needed that.

I am tentatively proud.  He is making strides, working on gaining my confidence.  This whole divorce thing is a tough journey and he is working through it.  Like the title of today’s blog, I know that we both are working into a new relationship, a seasoning of sorts.

 

 

 

 

Treasure

I read my friends’ blogs before I write my own, usually.  Sometimes all I have the opportunity to do is read.  It’s OK.  Value here, in the blog world, comes from the quality of friendships that are cultivated here, rather than the volume of writing that is produced.  That statement is my personality type coming out, as it rings true in nearly (if not all) all aspects of my life.

Blessings are funneled through the people in my life.

If I didn’t realize that simple little truth, I might be feeling a tad bit inadequate.  After all, if I focused on the things that I have it would be real easy to be consumed with envy.  My home is very modest, small by some standards (1024 square feet), furnished comfortably and tastefully Goodwill.  It’s quiet and serene, with a large balcony that spans the width of my living room and dining room, with a peaceful view, and an huge wood burning fireplace.  I drive a Subaru.  That car rocks and is a cool ride.  Clothing would be more if a priority if I wasn’t supporting a college student.  Friends tell me I have a good shirt collection.  The bikes I have are nice, plentiful, several steps above department store quality, but all but one were purchased used or rescued from the scrap heap.  They all ride like a dream, and the carbon mountain bike I purchased a few months ago is sweet beyond sweetness.

Those bikes exposed me to quite a few people who are wealthy,  with many very nice and expensive things — houses, cars, etc….  Comparing myself to them could be quite a downer.  Over the years, especially when I was younger, struggling to support a family, envy and resentment often were a struggle.  Thankfully, I was close enough to those guys, especially one guy, to realize what a hold those things had on them.  The fear of losing them was real and it kept many of them from seeing the true blessings in their lives.  That fear affected their decisions and character, sometimes prevented them from getting close to others as they were exposed to that same envy and resentment that I felt, knew what a burden that wealth put on them.  One friend, who I just happened to work for, ultimately let that fear ruin our friendship.

I should clarify that one.  He owns several houses, mansions by most standards.  More than one Porsche, a Bentley, a Maserati, and several other vehicles.  Many of his bicycles cost well over $10K.  He rents a condo at a place called Iron Gate, just for his vehicles — it’s a condo where it’s against the rules to live there!  His employees recognized his penchant for extravagance, mainly because he didn’t hide it, and most resented him because their compensation was less than generous (mine wasn’t, I know).  When business seemed to be taking a downswing, the person he chose to run his business started targeting long term employees and put extreme pressure on those employees.  A lot were fired.  I was one of those employees, a few months away from my 25 year company anniversary when I was fired in dramatic fashion.  I had never been given anything but glowing performance reviews.  When I saw what was being done to me, I asked that friend, a man I had ridden countless tours with and shared his life, to talk to me about what was going on.  “What do you expect me to do about it?” was his reply.  His heart was in the things he owned, in preserving those things and not losing them, not in the people who had helped make those things possible.  His treasure was in his treasures.. and he wasn’t happy or satisfied.

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Jesus knocked it out of the park with that one.  I understand what he is talking about more and more each year that I live.  Realizing that the things I have are blessings, and important, but that the blessings really are far more than what I can touch or see, is one of the most valuable lessons that life has taught me.  Each day that I am able to be aware of the myriad of blessings being tossed my way is a good day.  I have to be aware or I am going to miss recognizing some.  That is something I have had to learn.

The last two years since my divorce have been a time where I have had to reach out to my creator.  I realize now that a lot of the crap in my life was preventing me from seeing that I am truly blessed.  The friends I have now are true friends, people I believe that creator have blessed me with, the people who either stuck with me when my marriage fell apart or came closer to me when I needed them.  Some have a lot of wealth, but they have learned the lesson that makes them value my friendship, don’t fear my envy, let me be their friend because it’s not their stuff that makes them valuable to me.  Others are in the same boat as I am, modestly blessed with things, content with what they have.

When I look at myself now, I feel very wealthy.  God is good.  He has taught me where my treasures are.

May you be thankful today.  May your thanks come from where your heart is.  If you need to be reminded of your blessings, may today be the day when that reminder becomes reality.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Path

I did not choose divorce because I wanted to be happy.  I chose divorce because I didn’t want to continue to be not happy.  There is a difference.  Unless you have been there, you won’t understand the difference.  When my wife and I sold our home a little over two years ago, separated and went our separate ways, I knew there was a tough road ahead, maybe more difficult than the crooked and uphill one I had been travelling for years.  And that was it.. I was tired.  The pain of climbing that road had become too much, and I knew that it would do nothing but continue the same way if I didn’t make the choice to take a different path, one that wouldn’t guarantee happiness, but maybe just maybe there would be relief.

There wasn’t another woman to turn to, no one pulling me away from my marriage of nearly 25 years.  Changing the path meant making an extremely difficult decision, one that I contemplated for years.  It meant losing a life that I knew and was comfortable with, estranging myself from in laws and nieces and nephews that I truly love, risking friendships and developing new ones.  I was Uncle Steve, a guy those nieces and nephews admired.  Suddenly I was no longer Uncle Steve — my status was former.  I miss them, miss watching them become adults, miss fawning over their children.  That was part of the happiness that was my marriage.  I knew I would lose that.  That is part of the sadness.

Oddly enough, I am glad that I have found out who my true friends are.  There have been people who look at me like an evil person who had left their friend.  That judgement is part of any divorce, for that is what happens — judgement.  There are the mutual friends who treat me the same now as they did before, I suppose they are the ones who made it through the character sifter, and I see that as a blessing.  Truthfully, a lot of time can be wasted on superficial relationships, and difficult times have shown me the good ones.  New friendships have developed, some of them renewed friendships, relationships that now feel like a true gift, as if I needed something to help me realize the value of true friends.

I have a lot of them.

I am a Christian, the #2 reason why the decision to divorce took so long in coming.  I had to figure out that God hates divorce because of what it does to me, not because it’s a sin.  He reached out to me during the heart wrenching times of the last few years of my marriage, through the loneliness and frustration.  I found it really hard to take God’s hand during that time, often enough I couldn’t.  Oh, I thought I was reaching out to him and I cried (and screamed) plenty to God.  During that time, I felt a gap, a vastness of separation from God.  Really, it was that pain that I honestly wanted to carry myself that wasn’t creating that gap.  Only when I made the decision that I needed to make… yes, I needed to make… was I able to approach God.  He is always there, always calling, always wanting me to come to him and it took laying down that burden at his feet before I begin to be not happy.  I had to learn to recognize God’s presence again, his constant blessings.  I am not one to say the things happen for a reason.  I honestly don’t think that is what God is about.  I think God is about showing me the way when I look to him, before and after and during the good times as well as the hard times.  Divorce changed the way I approach God, affected the way I trust him, renewed my ability to tell him thanks every day, helped me to see him in a different light.  He made me in his image, after all, and there is no way he hates his own creation.

That brings me to the #1 reason divorce was such a difficult decision — my wife and my children.  Yes, my wife.  A lot of people leave that out.  It’s not that I stopped loving her.  It’s that it hurt so much to love someone who could not, would not respect me.  Yes, I didn’t want to hurt my children, as well.  I wanted to and still want to be the best father I can be.  I tried very, very, very hard to be that father.  My wife would not let me be the father I wanted to be, would not support me as the father I wanted to be, got in the way and resented me in many ways.  I knew that divorcing would damage the relationship I have with my children for a while, but that it would also give me a chance for them to have a relationship with me without her influence.  I have seen my relationship change with my children over the last two years — most of it is good.  There is still healing that needs to take place, but that toxicity that existed two years ago barely exists now.

What is life like now?  It took over a year on my own before I could feel myself beginning to heal.  Separation felt like jumping into an ice cold pool of water.  There was no wading in.  That was what it took, because I had spent the last few years of my marriage dipping my big toe into the water, afraid of the cold reality.  I jumped in and it indeed it was a shock that took some getting used to.  However, I was in up to my neck, so I had to deal with it.  I had to get used to being by myself, find ways to reach out to people, learn to make new friends.  I have.  Slowly, I am learning to accept my status as a divorced man.  I am not sure it will ever feel completely right.  But, well, not happy has become at peace.. and I needed that so much.

Dating as a newly single 58 year old man is different.  I didn’t waste too much time trying that out.  Most men are that way, I think.  The only thing is that I really didn’t know what I wanted, just that it had been so long since I had someone close to me.  Shortly after my divorce, I met someone online and dated her for a little over a year.  I learned my lessons from her, good lessons, got to experience the life of dating as an “adult”.  I also learned a little about what I want in a relationship, and that I am not really ready for a new wife.  After that year of dating, I got to be the scum bucket who did the breaking up.  That wasn’t easy!  I swore that I was done with online dating — the pressure of a serious relationship is just too great with online dating (at least it is for me).  I have a profile, but don’t use it.  A few months after the break up, I started casually dating a neighbor of mine, someone who I have been getting to know since I moved into my condo two years ago.  It’s been a good thing, although it was a bit scary at first.  She lives in the building next door.  I like her, enjoy that she gives me my space (which seems ironic since she lives so close), am not feeling the pressure to jump into a serious relationship.  Oh, I get my hugs and kisses from her, but I don’t see a ring on my finger in the near future.  It’s nice to have a friend who enjoys getting to know me, fits me very well,… and respects me.

It’s my hope that my children will learn to let me be with someone.  They are not ready yet.  I know it’s different for everyone.  Some children want to see their parent enjoy dating again, others need a lot of time before they can accept that.  It’s OK.  I just hope that some day they will.  I am not going back to their mother.  It’s so obvious now that we, the both of us, needed that change.

Lots to learn.  The path is leveling off, becoming more and more straight as I journey on.