A Touch of Sun on a Cloudy Day

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divorce

He called Wednesday before I could call him.  I kicked myself when I had seen his message earlier that afternoon, the chance to get off work early and ride some single track took precedence over anything else.  My intention had been to check in with him in the evening just to see if his plans for Thanksgiving had changed.  When I asked my son a week or two ago, he told me he had to work his job at the sporting goods store.  Of course, his phone call to me could have been an emergency or to get help from me, as it usually is.  Nate does not usually offer to spend time with family, although that has changed since the divorce, family something he seems to value a little more now that part of family is no more.  Prior to the divorce, he was indifferent to family time at holidays, as if he loathed every second, detached and somewhat hostile, a teenage attitude.  He seems to have grown up a bit in the last year, a necessity I suppose, enough that I have felt cautiously encouraged by what he has demonstrated to me in the past few months.

Parenting has always involved guesswork of sorts.  I have never been one to read books on parenting, although I did read James Dobson’s book well before I actually became a parent.  With me, effort far exceeds skill when it comes to being a father, my hope that the time invested in my children will be the value added.  Well aware of my own imperfections and quirks, I want to be the best father I am capable of being.  I have my own father as an example, himself flawed like anyone else, his heart and intentions so strong that even his faults are a valuable strength to me.  I am a version of my father.  I wish I had married a woman as fiercely supportive as my mother was to my father.  My own strengths as a father might be what my children see.  Divorce clouds their perception, I think.. on occasions I hope so.

Divorce also further clouds the confusion of parenting.  I am even more afraid of making a mistake now, the opportunities to make an impact rare.  My children are older, one away in another country, the other lives with his mother.  What exists with them is what came before, as well as their perception of what they know about me now.  That often is not positive, hurtful when I hear it from them.  Nate tends to spew accusations when he is angry, accusations that come from what his mother has said to him, pre and post divorce.  I need to be careful what I say, always have needed to be careful, especially with my son.  When he is angry or wants something, he attacks and will try to use everything he can to “win”.  Over the years, I learned to expect that from him, arguments that were next to impossible to escape when we lived in the same house, often fueled by a wife who encouraged him to keep coming at me.  It came to a point where divorce became the only conceivable option to escape that pain.  I hated the frustration, the struggle with the anger the situations brought on.

Divorce can be a selfish act.  It is a selfish act, but divorce can also be the only way to save self.  Believe me, I did and still do feel selfish at times, but I know that I need to be.  Finding the healthy line between self and selfishness is not so easy.

Early Wednesday evening, I called and left a message, then texted him to see what was up.  I was getting a little worried.  Nate wasn’t returning my calls.  I was concerned that he had an emergency.  He called back around 8:30 PM.. looking for a fight.  Why hadn’t I called to check on him?  He wanted to come to the Thanksgiving dinner at my brother’s, the dinner I had invited him to.  He had to work at 5:30 on Thanksgiving day, so he couldn’t stay long, but he wanted to come.  I told him that would be great — but would he be OK with my lady friend being there?  There was a pause, then he told me he wouldn’t go, then hung up.

I expected that.  He called back, furious.  How could I expect him to be OK with me dating after only a year?  I understand a little.  I don’t expect him to like it.  Even though I have told him I am dating, I have not discussed that with him.  It’s tough and discussing the tough topics is where I am far from perfect.  I don’t know what is the best timing, if there is any, and I am afraid of saying the wrong thing.

I have several friends who have post divorce relationships destroyed by letting children dictate their relationship with their fiancé and second wife.  It’s tough.  One had the wedding called off because he said the wrong thing about his fiancé’s daughter, the other is facing divorce with his second wife for asking his wife to do something about the attitude her daughter was giving him.  Both women were offended, both ended the relationship.  Children don’t see your girlfriend or new wife as family.  They can see them as an intrusion.

My lady friend (thank you, downstairs neighbor, for giving me that term) has been a blessing to me.  After years of neglect, of no support, I have someone who understands the importance of supporting me.  I need to show her the same — and I did just that.

Nate called Thanksgiving morning with an ultimatum — tell my girlfriend that she had to stay home and he would go to Thanksgiving with me.  He was angry with me, said that it was too soon for me to be dating.  I wondered why he brought it up, since he knows I have a girlfriend.  I stayed calm with him because it’s all that works with him, even though he was cursing at me, accusing me of cheating on his mom, all the angst and pent up frustration coming out.  I know my son.  I know how he is going to act when he is angry.  All I can do is listen, not offer up too much as he will jump on everything.  Respect is not something he has been encouraged to have for me, nor has it been expected of him.  He would try to brow beat me, try to turn it into an argument.

I excused myself, told him that I had to take a shower and get ready.  He called back twice.  I finally told him that I was sorry, but he had a choice.  I was not doing something bad to him like he was accusing me of doing.  I was not going to leave my girlfriend at home.  I told him that I was sorry that it was difficult for him.  He was still angry, told me that there was no way he was going to eat Thanksgiving dinner with his mother, aunt, and 96 year old grandparents.  It was my fault that he would be spending Thanksgiving alone.  It was his choice, I told him.   It was, difficult as it was.

I felt bad, but the times of his mother taking his side and forcing me into agreeing are gone.  Neither of them has that power any more.  He called me selfish.  Maybe I am.  As I said, divorce is selfish.  The decision to divorce was tough for that reason, but it was also a time when I knew I needed to do it for myself.  During the course of one of his phone calls to me yesterday, my son asked me how I would have reacted if the shoe was on the other foot, if my father had done what I am doing.  I know the answer to that.  I didn’t answer my son, but I know the answer to his question.  I was not only taught to respect my father, I was expected to respect my father.. not because he had earned my respect (although he did, even in his imperfection.. which I am thankful for both).  My dad deserved my respect because he was my father.  If I were in the same situation as Nate, I would have gone out of respect for my father.  My son doesn’t understand that because he has never been expected or taught to respect me by his mother.  That was so hurtful, so painful during the course of our marriage.  While not perfect, I know I earned respect that was never given.

Despite that drama, it was a good day.  My lady friend looked out of this world good, let me know how much it meant for me to show her that my son was not going to control our relationship.  My father enjoyed the chance to meet her and talk to her.  We had to call them several times to come to dinner, something I was glad to see.  My ten year old niece greeted us at the front door, barely let me out of her sight, saved a chair for me next to her at the table, insisted I play games with her after dinner.  It was cute.  Dad proudly showed me his new truck.  Despite what had happened earlier, I had someone with me who showed me honor, made me feel good about myself.  Will my lady friend be the next chapter for me?  It’s way too early to tell, but she is helping me through this chapter of my life, helping me to feel whole again.  Did I make the right choice when I told my son that I was taking her with me for Thanksgiving no matter what he said?

I wish I knew.  I really do.  Maybe some day I will know.

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Burg versus Bung

Tags

divorce, friends, personal

One of the benefits of the divorce journey is finding (and keeping) new friends.  Now, there are friends lost during the same journey, some not so much of a loss, some a real sad disappointment.  The majority of the lost friends were mutual friends of my ex and myself, many just simply not sure what to say when they see me, so they find it easier to not see me.  Then there are those friends who decided it was best to come beside me, stick with me and add their support, bringing along with them their friends.  Suddenly, I am Social Stevie, the single guy who is always available for a beer or a meal or a ride or to carry heavy furniture.

I haven’t really changed except I wasn’t always single.

Kurt, Ed and Frank are examples of guys who appeared on the scene 2018 AD (After Divorce).  Ed is someone I have known for quite a while — I have known his wife for over 25 years.  We performed sketch comedy together as well as being cast in a few plays together.  It just so happens that he and his wife live in the same small burg as I.

I like using the word ‘burg’.  Do not get it confused with the word ‘bung’.  The two words have totally different meanings… most of the time.  I may have lived in a place or two that could be adequately described as bung.

Last summer, Kurt Ed Frank started inviting me to lunch or dinner, apparently under the guise of supporting this soul mired in the pit of divorce.

Their support really wasn’t asked for.  Strangely, I felt like I was supporting them by giving them a purpose.  They were divorce survivors, each with their own tale of terror.  We would get together and the stories/advice would start flying, my head nodding in acknowledgement, a smile of thanks with each tidbit.  Truthfully, the hell my friends experienced through their divorce was not the hell I was experiencing.  My divorce was not an easy time, but neither was it the ordeal my friends made it out to be.  Their ex wives made my ex seem like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.

Along the way, I made three solid trustworthy friends that I can count on when I need them.  We don’t share the horror stories so much any more.  They got them out of their system.

They are getting to know me better now.  We have reached the point where we are getting beyond the divorce stories, sharing out lives, sometimes they are shocked from what they hear from me.  I come across as gentle mannered, Christian, a straight shooter who has lived a calm life (except for the divorce).  Last week at lunch, I decided to regale them with stories from my motorcycle riding days, as well as answering their question of “Have you ever been in jail?”.

Yes.  2 days in the pokey.  Bailed out by my church pastor.  Why was I in jail?  I got into a brouhaha with an old lady.

Chew on that for a while.  My friends Kurt, Ed and Frank are doing just that.

There are more friends, more old friends than new, but new in the sense that I didn’t hang with them until 2018 AD.  I have breakfast every Friday with a bunch of guys from church.  They have been great, supportive in a better way than telling divorce stories.  They have lifted me up, studied with me, and along the way my old self has emerged, the guy that studied the bible and was raised with it.  What do those guys call me now?  The Teacher.  Perhaps more than anything else, I needed the esteem that comes from being able to share what I know from knowing God.  It’s pretty cool finding that part of me again.

It’s been a journey.  It continues.  It will continue to continue until I die.. hopefully on a bicycle.  I don’t want to die in my sleep.

Here’s a question — how do you want to die?  (I know… yuck, Steve)

 

12 Short Months

Tags

divorce, lessons learned, life, personal, relationships

April 1, 2017

I woke to the pungent odor of cigarette smoke wafting through the slightly open window behind my head, early, the stench combined with the brisk morning air through the window bringing me awake quickly.  The room was foreign to me, a crowded reminder that I was no longer living in the home that I had occupied with my wife and family for nearly 22 years.  Two days before, friends had helped me cram as many of my belongings as possible into that room, the rest of my belongings shoe horned into a small rental locker a few miles away.  Late in the afternoon of March 31, I had bid good bye to the house that had been my home.. my family’s home.  As the cigarette smoke cleared my head, I looked around the room from where I lay on two beds combined into one, boxes and furniture stacked to the ceiling.  In order to go to bed the night before, I had to clear a narrow path from the bedroom door to my bed(s).  My temporary roommate was outside on the balcony, just outside the window, chain smoking and playing games on her smart phone.  She had vowed to quit smoking inside the condo that I was buying from her.  In another month, she would move into the house she had bought.  Over the course of the month we shared the space, we would reacquaint after nearly a 25 year absence from each other — when we had dated seriously.  I became used to her chain smoking and habits — she sat outside smoking and drinking wine until nearly 9 each evening, went to bed, woke up at 5 AM to smoke before going to work.

Often, I relaxed outside on the deck with her, glad to have a friend who cared.  We are similar personalities, a real benefit to us when we dated, probably one of the reasons we had become such good friends during the time we dated.  We were also different people in certain respects, likely the reason why our dating relationship didn’t work out, something very obvious when we reconnected after a quarter century.  Good friends usually stay that way, even after a long absence, and I was happy to realize that at one time in my life I had been able to give a woman the friendship she needed (and vice versa).  On April 1, 2017 it was very important to have a friend who supported me like Marge supported me in the weeks that followed.

There was a lot to get used to, much to process, much more than I could imagine at the time.  I felt relief to be away from the stress that had been such a constant part of my life for years.  My journey had taken the turn in the direction it had been heading for years, I knew, what felt like the direction it needed to take, the uncertainty in my mind wondering what was ahead.  This was uncharted territory, but I could see light through the darkness and I was stumbling towards it.

That part of my story is not about a love rekindled.  I like to think of it as it was — a kind blessing and one of the blessings or mercies afforded to me during the time after the separation.  My life took what felt like a sudden turn, even though it really wasn’t a sudden change, but in one moment, in one day, my life changed drastically.

I have chronicled some of the past year here.  As I contemplate what has happened in one year, I am amazed.  A lot has happened, a lot has changed. as have I.  The smoke infested condo that I bought from my old friend is now my home.  It took a lot of effort, but no longer are the walls yellowed or the strong odor of stale cigarettes evident.  That place is slowly becoming my own.

Another good friend of mine really likes to decorate.  A fun date for her is to decorate my place with the curtains and furniture and plates and pictures and candles and glasses and… yeah.  Her mark is all over my home now.  We are getting to know each other, slowly and not so slowly discovering the different things we need to know about each other if our relationship is going to continue.  There are a few questions, but we are happy with each other, enjoying each other.  She brings me contentment and peace, a reason to smile each Saturday evening, a companion via text and phone the other six days of the week.

I have not told my family about that friend, but they must know.  If they read this blog, they know now.  That revelation, when to share it, is one of the challenges that I have to face now.  Dad’s dating has to be a hard pill to swallow.

In a year, I have learned to value even more the friendships in my life, both old and new.  Survival through the challenges I have encountered since April 2017 has depended a lot on recognizing how God works through other people, his blessings and support brought through them.  It’s a bit humbling.  I recognize those blessings a lot easier now, that recognition bringing me back to the God that provides them.  Skeptics will say that it is impossible to see God.  I say they are very wrong, especially since I can see him so clearly now through what he has brought to me this past year.

My children, my ex wife, probably don’t agree with me, but the change that began seemingly so suddenly on April 1, 2017 was a change that needed to happen.  I see now that the pain of divorce for me happened prior to that day.  The healing, for me, began as soon as the opportunity to put the pain behind me presented itself.

My relationship with my son is evolving.  He lives with his mom, goes to college at the community college across the street from their apartment.  We are learning how to communicate with each other, and I am seeing where I have influenced him over the years.  It’s encouraging that he is beginning to reach out to me, text and call, largely using those things we have in common as a means to reach out — sports, fixing his car, food, even church.  When we lived in the same house, the conflict was continuous, fueled by a mother who thought that taking his side in each conflict was the correct way to deal with things, a frustration to me and one of the main contributors to the breakdown in our marriage.  Now that the conflict is distant, the relationship with my son has a chance to be positive.. and I think we are both happy with what is happening.  Yes, the divorce is part of the path my journey needed to take and the change in the relationship I have with my son is evidence of that.

My daughter is graduating from college next month.  She came to see me last weekend, spent Sunday morning and afternoon with me — church, replacing windshield wipers on her car, going over her taxes.  I cooked her lunch.  We talked some about what it is going to be like when she moves to Turkey at the end of the summer.  I sense that she is tense, needs to talk more about what happened in our family.  Some day, I hope that we can.  I am proud of her.  She is someone who dreams and does something about it, evidenced in so many things she has done, especially her choice of job.  Things that scare people she faces with courage, sees the reward in the challenge, knows that she is listening to a God who will use her immensely.  Want to talk about God’s blessings some more?  Just ask me to talk about my daughter.

I survived the tax season, my fears real when looking at the potential of debt.  For the first time, I hired an accountant to do my taxes, one of the best moves ever if just for the complications of a new divorce.  He winced when he saw the federal health insurance subsidy amount from last year.  If I had to repay that this year, like I did last year, I would be in serious debt to our government.  Instead, I am getting refunds.  For the first time in a long, long time I am able to start saving money, my car decided to quit breaking down (still crossing my fingers) and I have control over debt (or the lack of debt).  That too is a blessing.

My downstairs neighbor has not been home for over a month.  Shortly after the condo meeting we both attended, she must have decided to live with her husband.  He has a home elsewhere.  Blessings are pouring down right now and the absence of her presence is a big one.

 

So much more to write.  One year, so many changes…. I look over my shoulder and see where I have been.  There is a lot of darkness over that shoulder, a lot of light as I look forward.

Give It A Brake — Day Two

Tags

divorce, family, fatherhood

I am glad that I thought through this situation this morning.  Even more, I am glad that I prayed about it.  Of all that has happened the past year or so, my relationship with God has changed.  I am a whole lot more aware of how God is working in my life and in the lives of others, take a little more stock in that than I might have before, and it is showing in how I pray.  I pray purposefully, aware that God is right there with me, and it’s about as close to continuous prayer than ever in my life before.  It doesn’t mean that I am a spiritual genius, only that I am more aware of God’s involvement than I have ever allowed myself before.  Believe me, I am thankful that I am.  It changes my perspective, puts optimism in a day that would have dragged me into oblivion in years past.  I would like to think that I am a different person now.. and that is a very good thing.

Divorce has changed things as well.  Ironically, that too is a reason for optimism.

My son is still on break from college.  What does that mean?  It means that he is a typical 18 year old college boy — he sleeps until noon or later.  I know that I need to be intentional with him, know what I need from him, be persistent with him.  My son lives with his mother, not me, so I can’t just demand his attention.  In some ways, I need to respect his way of doing things, understand him, remember how I was at his stage in life.  Oddly, I have his mother’s ear more now than when I did while we were living in the same house and married.  Knowing that, I took advantage of it today.

I texted my ex wife, let her know what I needed.  To her credit, she asked me exactly what I needed for her to do.  What was my plan?  I let her know that I wanted our son to contact me, let me know his availability and come to me at my office.. today.  I would then go with him to the mechanic, help him with the paperwork and communication, then go back to my office while my son waited for the news on the costs and extent of the repair.  It would teach him, I knew, and was much better than me doing it for him.

That is what happened.  My ex wife roused our son, he called me,  I told him the plan.  He came to my office, I checked out his car, then he followed me to the mechanic.  He waited while I worked.  The mechanic gave the estimate (exorbitant — nearly $900 for what should have been a simple brake pad and rotor job).  My son called me, asked me what to do.  He was panicking.  I told him that we would pay the small inspection fee, I would contact the person we bought the car from, take it to him.

I called the guy we bought the car from.  His business is buying cars, rehabbing them, then selling them to dealers.  He assured me that he would fix my son’s car for far less.

To my son’s credit, he paid the inspection fee at the mechanic, came back to my office on his own.  We talked it over.  We actually talked it over.  None of this would have happened the same way a year ago.  I told him what I could afford and why I couldn’t afford doing everything the mechanic had suggested.  I explained what my own money situation is (strained, using money saved for other purposes).  He agreed to meet me tomorrow morning, when we would take his car back to where it was purchased, where it would be fixed.

His mother texted me when I got home from work.  Call me, she requested.  I did.  She offered to help.  After I picked myself up off of the floor, I thanked her.

There are reasons to be optimistic.

A Wild and Swinging Guy

Tags

dating, divorce, lessons learned, life, personal

Up to a few years ago, had I been in the life situation I currently am in and I participated in the activity that I am about to admit, it would have been admitted shamefully.. possibly even denied.  Me being the wild and crrrrrraaaazy guy that I am in a boldly electronic age, there is no shame to admitting it at all.

You guessed it already, I am sure.

Yes, I created an online dating profile.  Everyone does it these days, so the stigma no longer exists.  As a matter of fact, most people expect it.  Is it something that someone should do right after a divorce, while the ink on the decree is still damp?  IMO, it depends on the person and their motivation for dating.  So far, my experience is that many women wait years before they are ready to date, although that is not entirely the case.  Men don’t wait so long, often they don’t wait until the are divorced or even until they have filed for divorce.  On either side of the gender line, there are a host of people with improper motives.  There are just as many who are looking for companionship, with genuine good intent.

I would like to think that I fit into the genuine good intent category.  Early into separation, I discovered that no matter how used to being alone I thought I had become during the final years of my marriage, being alone on a weekend absolutely sucked.  Being alone sucked to the point of being depressing on a Friday and/or Saturday night, no matter what I did to try to fill the void.  I found that I dreaded the weekend.

Don’t worry.  It gets better.  Despite the sucky nature of being alone, it was good for me.  It gave me a chance to truly reach out to God that only desperation can do to a person, the rawness of my soul exposed possibly for the first time in many years.  The ugliness of my marriage had been an obstacle that had kept me from approaching God.  I needed healing and found it in those months following the marriage separation and divorce filing.  Maybe for the first time in a long, long time I felt good about myself, good enough to talk to God again, and I was able to work through those early lonely times.

I have to be honest — I didn’t wait until my divorce was final to create the online dating profile.  Yes, spiritually I was experiencing renewal, but I am a man and God created woman to bring companionship to man.  More than ever, if I was going to make it through the weekend without going completely bonkers, I needed to feel needed by someone soft and pretty.

Creating an online profile is definitely a humbling experience.  This man is 56 years old.  Suddenly, I was faced with the reality that I am not as pretty as I think I once was.  No longer do I have that full head of mullet.  There might be just a tad bit of gut occupying my mid section.  In order to create an online profile, there needs to be pictures of me.

There needs to be recent pictures — although I soon discovered that is not the rule for more women than I care to admit.  Please, girls, I need to see what you look like now, not what you looked like when you were 20 or 30 or even 40.  A man my age, if he is in his right mind, does not need a woman who is younger than he is or who is trying to look like she is 20.  I also do not want to see a selfie (or numerous selfies) taken from above, exposing your wrinkled cleavage.  Show yourself as you are, without trying to find your best side or to show a feature(s) that are potentially temporarily attractive.  While I like that you keep yourself in good shape, I do not need to see you jerk lifting the equivalent of a small VW.  It’s nice to see that you are handy, but your main profile picture does not need to feature you with your favorite hammer.  Harleys are great, but you aren’t going to like my version of a Harley.

What I soon discovered as I perused profiles of potential companionship is that genuine is rare in the world of online dating.  We all want to put our best side forward, a best side that we discovered as soon as we tried to create an online dating profile apparently no longer exists.  When I tried to find pictures of myself for my profile, I realized that not only do I have very few pictures of myself, the ones that I have are not my best side.  Suddenly I was faced with the dilemma, the paradox of putting out my best side while being genuine.  Being genuine is important to me.

So I took a few pictures of myself.  Here is the picture I took with my PC that made it as my profile picture.  It’s vague, but I liked it.

The picture was taken on the deck of my condo, with my favorite Cardinals jersey.  I still had the weight off from the months of slaving to get my house ready to sell, then making my condo inhabitable.  To me, it felt genuine and was a good representation of who I am, while showing my allegiance to my favorite baseball team.  While it is a pretty decent picture of me, it wasn’t showing a fictional representation of myself.  It is a picture of me, recent and relaxed, which is what I wanted to show.

Has online dating been a good experience for me?  There are plenty of people who write about their online dating experiences, most give a humorous yet negative perspective.  I have to admit that it was a learning experience for me.  Since I originally posted a profile before I divorced, I had to face some negative feedback at first, especially since I was honest about my status.  The creeps ruined it for us honest guys.  I also learned to sift through the responses, many with definitely unpure motives.  I kissed (without kissing) a few toads.

As my December 11 blog post alludes, I found someone who is not a toad.  My Saturdays are no longer dreaded.  As it turns out, the person that I found a connection with is genuine, real, without cleavage or Harley or weightlifting pictures.  Saturday has  become the day when I experience affection that I have not experienced for decades.  Is this woman perfect?  Probably not, although she is very pretty and a person who fits my values in many ways.  She really can’t give me anything but a Saturday night, which is good for me right now, just enough to take the edge off of the loneliness.  Since December, I have experienced a bit of pampering that I could only dream about previously up to November 15.  Is this going to be permanent?  Maybe not, maybe so.  All I know is this.

Online dating has been OK for me.

 

 

Two weeks in

Tags

divorce, family

It has been nearly two weeks since that day, November 15, the day when 25 years was reduced to a document that certifies the last 25 years did not exist.  Divorce.  I walked away from the courthouse, the feeling of finality  a reality to me.  My life had changed with the pronouncement of a judge, his approval granting what I had waited the past year for.  Out in the hall after the brief, almost too brief, rehearsed to the point of insignificance, hearing, my now ex wife approached me with what seemed like an expression of pity.  She had no tears, neither did I, reached for my hand and squeezed it, wished me the best, told me that she is sorry.  I mouthed what must have been a very inadequate yes as she walked away.  I watched her walk away down the dimly lit, wood paneled hall of the courthouse, strangely thinking of how much her back side had changed since the first time we met.  I want to miss that, but I don’t.

I am relieved, glad that at least the drama of the divorce negotiation is over, my life and her life ready to move on in different directions.  There is a sense of limbo that exists while waiting for a divorce to happen, a nagging, chains that bind any progress.  That time of marriage purgatory needed to exist, I think, as the separation allowed me to process the gravity of the situation and assess just where I was at.  I needed to see that somehow God was blessing me still, would allow me to approach him, that I am still acceptable to him.  I needed to process my grief, my loneliness, some of which I did not know still existed.  I thought that I had already progressed beyond both.

That day, I needed to figure out how I felt.  I did not know.

I took the whole day off from work, not knowing what the day would have in store for me.  As it turned out, I was numb.  I could have functioned and worked that day.  I showed up in the office an hour or so after the hearing, answered a quote request, left the office.  It was pay day.  I went home, paid bills, paid my first maintenance payment, paid another debt that I owed her, marveled that there was still money left over once I was done.  My friend, John, who I had supported by going with him to his final divorce hearing five years ago, took me out to dinner that evening.  We talked about life, talked about what life is going to be like for me as I moved on, shared encouragement as he assured me that life does indeed move on, that it can indeed be blessed.

It wasn’t a bad day.

My phone rang that afternoon, caller ID showing that it was my son.  I fretted.  Would he be calling to express his anger over what had just happened?

“Dad, I hit a skunk with my car last night.  My car stinks.  What do I do?”

Did he even know what had just happened.  I dished out my advice.  That was it.  No mention of the divorce hearing.  There has been no mention since.

It was a different story with my daughter.  Honestly, I wish I had thought of how she would feel.  Selfishly, I thought more about how I was feeling, less about how my children or family would feel.  My brothers, my parents, each reached out to me and let me know that I am in their prayers.  But my daughter is thousands of miles away, on her own in a foreign country, away from the friends who support her.  It was not an easy day for her, as I found out the next morning when she texted me.  She had not slept well and she told me so.  I asked how she is doing.  She asked if it was OK if she tells me how she really feels.  Sure, I said, you can tell me anything.  And she tried to tell me, but I don’t think that she really knows.  She feels like she is in the middle, has felt the impact of living in a dysfunctional family, and she wanted me to know.  Then she asked me how I was feeling.

I am at peace, I told her, and I feel like your mother is at peace.  Not the best answer, and she told me so, told me that her mother is definitely not at peace.  I felt insensitive, but I told her the truth.  A good friend told me that my children will have to learn to deal with this.  I am going to need to move on and not worry about that so much.  They will be OK.

Funny, we moved on from that.  We are going to Florida together this January, will be going to Potter World at Universal Studios together.  That changed the tone just a little!

Last week was my first major holiday as a divorced man.  My son went with me as we travelled a few hours south to visit with my family.  For maybe the first time ever, my son was a perfect travelling companion, made me proud in front of my family.  It was a great day.

I will share more as things develop.  My life changed two weeks ago.  It is different.. and there is so much hope.  Things are happening, fun and happy things, and I like life as it is right now.

Divorce has happened.  Life is different.

Two Days

Tags

divorce, family, personal

WARNING:  I am going to write quite a bit more personally today than I normally do.  Proceed with caution.

As might be evident, I have intentionally avoided talking about my pending divorce here.  Now and then the topic has come up in a blog, but it’s just not something that I have wanted to put out there in this blog.  It’s a challenge to me as there are not too many off switches in my personality, my normally introverted extrovert self has no problem sharing whatever is itching at my soul, my heart an open book.  Anyone who knows me will probably tell you that I am embarrassingly open.  Just ask my children and they will give you an emphatic YES.  It’s the way that I am put together, the way that I have to be, both a blessing and a curse at times.

Part of the reason that I am reluctant to bring up the topic of my divorce here is my faith.  Hopefully, it is evident that I try to live my life in a way that honors God.  I want people to see my flaws, see me as genuine, but I also am afraid of showing a side of me that is contrary to what is expected of a person who wants to be known as a Christ follower, a Christian.  Divorce is a touchy subject when it involves Christians, a decision that can not be made without a whole lot of prayer, study, and talking with friends who also know God.  With me, the last few years (more than just a few) involved just that.  This was not a decision that I or my wife made overnight.  When I asked my wife for a divorce two years ago, I asked in a way that was more of an ultimatum — I need you to change, have dealt with the questions and issues enough that I need to see if you really want to be married to me.  Ultimately, she didn’t.  Say what she wants, but it was just as much or more her decision.  We both gave up.  Frankly, I don’t know who gave up first. When I did give up, I gave her enough reasons to do the same.  Years of disrespect towards me took its toll and I could no longer find a place to stuff it.

For me, I need to know that God is OK with my decision to divorce.  How odd it has felt to pray and ask God if He could bless something that I know full well God does not approve of.  Even more odd is that I could and can see that God is blessing the decision.  The months since our final separation, when we sold our house and moved into our own places, have not been a time of moving away from God.  On the contrary, I felt the wall of pain crumble, the constant stress of living with two people who were toxic to me suddenly taken away.  My walk with God has become constant, my hunger to learn more amplified by the opportunity to read and study, to bask in the quiet.  There has been much needed healing.  I can see it in myself, I can see it in my children (even my son), even see it in my wife. There is no desire to reunite, as we both see that this divorce is something that needs to happen.  We both are at peace, I think.

My son is reaching out to me.  The distance has been good for us.  He texts me, calls me now and then.  Saturday night, he sent me videos he took at the concert he was at, evidence of the influence that I have had on him over the years.  I have been the one to go to concerts with him, ball games, played golf with him as well as plenty of other sports.  I see him trying to mature, a challenge to the males of today in this age of stunted maturity.  There is hope.

And that is what this whole thing is about… hope.

Wednesday morning at 9 AM is the final hearing, the prove up.  Unless something happens to change things, I will be divorced in two days.

The next chapter begins.

Hesitation

Tags

divorce, life, personal, relationships

I tried not to hesitate, but that’s the point.

Last Friday, I ventured a few hours south to Brown County State Park, Indiana.  My goal for the past few summers has been to soothe my soul with sweet single track trails, a goal I haven’t really been able to attain yet.. but I am getting there.  Life keeps getting in the way, not always a bad thing.  So I decided that I was going to make a solo trek, a semi spontaneous trip with little planning except to load my bike on the back of my car, with a change of clothes and nutrition for the ride.

It feels a bit unnatural to be doing things on my own right now, even though that has been the case for some time now.  Now I have that separated, living in divorce limbo cloud hanging constantly over me, so that gives me that disjointed feel.  It doesn’t help when people look at me like a broken toy when they find out that status.  I hate it.  I hate the waiting, the real desire to move on with my life.  That even includes wanting a companion, something that really isn’t right for me to do until I am a divorced, recovered from said divorce, man.

All of the above necessitates keeping active, not sitting around and letting depression take over.  Thus the bike trip.  As much as I like to ride Brown County, I almost had to force myself out the door.

The previous Wednesday pretty much forced me out the door.  In one afternoon, I found out that my company may not be able to pay me at the end of the month, I need a root canal, I owe an additional $6813 federal tax from 2016, and my homeowners association is requiring me to buy a $855 window for my condo.  All of that hit in about a two hour time period.  I looked at what I have socked away from the sale of the house, carefully planned in preparation of the coming divorce storm, and realized that there likely will be nothing left of that money come the end of August.

I will make it, I know.  I keep telling myself that God will provide.  The storm may be heavy for a while, but I won’t sink.

Geez… what a depressing blog!  The ride was great.  Just what the doctor ordered, even though it kicked my butt.  The time alone was therapeutic.  The quiet and change of scenery, heck the scenery alone was calming.  At one point in the ride, a mountain bike skills instructor told her three students to watch me as I cleared a large log obstacle on the trail, clapping for me as I passed by them, beaming with pride.

July 13th is a status hearing.  Ummmm… I wonder how much the lawyer is going to charge for that…… lol

One Week Out

Tags

divorce, personal

My friends who have gone through separation and divorce all have tried to describe to me what the experience was going to be like.  Each really was different, each had their own spin, their relationship with their ex unique.  I am grateful to have friends who are able to share with me, friends who actually follow up to make sure that I am OK and doing all right.  After a week, the reality is starting to sink in, the challenges starting to show themselves.  For that matter, so are the gains.

I like living on my own.  I like the sudden solitude, softened by the fact that an old friend still lives in the condo that I am buying from her.  We should close on the condo soon, as soon as my mortgage goes through, and she should be closing on the house she bought by May 5th.  That’s almost unbelievable and I often feel like this whole thing is just a strange dream.  It’s not.  It’s real.

One realization struck me yesterday morning — I sleep completely through the night now.  No longer do I have two night owls disturbing my sleep.  Nate takes midnight showers, complete with music to accompany the shower.  No longer do I have to experience that.

I do miss my son.  However, I think the time away from each other has already been good for the both of us.  We communicate now and with a purpose.  He treats me with more respect, maybe because he knows that his time with me will be short.  This week we searched for cars together, his windfall from the separation and his high school graduation present.  Last night we settled on a very practical car for him, a 2009 Ford Focus SEL station wagon, sold to us by the father of one of his friends at wholesale price.  The guy is selling it to us at a very, very good price and is making sure it is in prime shape, going as far as to deliver it to Nate this Monday evening.

Nate also high fived me after he and his doubles partner, Joe, won their third match at a tennis tournament this morning.  They are 5-0 so far in the early part of the high school tennis season.  He and Joe were even interviewed by the local newspaper after their first meet last Tuesday.  The high five might not mean much to some, but it’s something for me.  Nate rarely acknowledges me after he plays.

Miriam and Nate are living with her sister.  She decided not to buy her condo, will instead be renting.  I don’t know how to feel about that.  Rent is a great deal more than buying around here.

I gave the divorce petition to Miriam on Tuesday night.  That was one of those moments where I just did what needed to be done.  It wasn’t pleasant.  Talk about real.  It was very real.  She tossed the envelope back at me, said she wouldn’t sign it unless I gave her $5000 for a lawyer.  Even though she knew it was coming, knew that money is going to be tight for her, it obviously was a shock.  I feel pity for her, but it’s mixed with a strong I-told-you-so.  A lot of what is happening to her, she helped create, even if you only consider the relational side.  She also created debt for herself that needs to be resolved, contrary to advice that I gave to her when I found out that she was maxing out a credit card that she had taken in her own name.

I am writing this blog outside, on the deck of the condo that will soon enough be mine, a very pleasant place, a blessing.  Much more will be shared from this place.

 

April Fool?

Tags

divorce, life, personal, relationships

The thought just struck me, a miniature epiphany brought on when I realized that today is usually one of my favorite days of the year.  It’s April Fool’s day, after all, and coincidentally my first full day of “freedom”.  From now on, the meaning of April 1 will no longer be associated with a prank, unless this whole thing happening in my life really is some cruel and massive joke.  Maybe I will wake up tomorrow and discover that it really has been that.

One problem — I will wake up tomorrow in my own bed, but that bed is not in my house.  It’s in someone else’s house, a house that will be mine in a few weeks, nonetheless it’s not the room I have known for some 23 years.  What a strange, almost other worldly feeling this is.

Yesterday, after 23 years, I said good bye to my cozy little two story house.  The past few days, weeks really, have been a whirlwind of seemingly constant work getting the house ready for someone else to live in, fretting over their requests to have this or that fixed/remedied/improved.  Wednesday night, while I was beginning the last stages of packing my things for the move, I received a text from my lawyer, relaying a request from the buyers to verify that the breaker box had been relabeled and a dedicated circuit had been added for the microwave range.  I wasn’t happy, not quite steaming mad, but upset enough that I could taste the sour mood the text had helped create.  I chewed on it, almost decided to tell the buyers to suck pond water, then realized that it really was an easy thing to dispute.  I sent the list for the breaker box that had been created when an electrician inspected the box, pointing out that breaker two was dedicated to the microwave range and stove.  Done.  Finished.  Resolved.

I rented a UHaul truck Thursday evening, greeted my friends Jeremy and Steve as they arrived to help with the move, started in on getting the furniture out of the house.  My dad and youngest brother arrived after a while, dug in and helped.  Never have I been so encouraged to have good friends, thankful more than I could express for their kindness.  It wasn’t just the work they offered, it was their support and understanding, empathy as we worked.  Over the years, I have helped countless people move, never once thinking of what that service meant to those receiving it.  Now I know.  Had they not been there, not only would the huge task been next to impossible to finish, I think the weight of the day may have been enormous to bear.  Instead, while I carried a lot of physical weight that night, the burden was a whole lot lighter.

Miriam left the house shortly after my friends arrived and before my dad arrived.  I am pretty sure that she didn’t want to face him.  If there was any doubt, she called me later on in the evening and asked me to tell her when everyone was gone, then texted me an hour later to confirm.  Sad.  I wished she would have wanted to try to reconcile.  I realize that it was an emotional time any way, but it may have been a good time to try.  Instead, she stayed away, giving up four hours that she should have been using to pack and clean, something she also was woefully behind on.  I stayed up until one in the morning, as much I could take, helped Miriam and her sister as they packed her stuff.  Cleaned as rooms were vacated.

I slept on an air mattress in the near empty house Thursday night.  Miriam worked until four in the morning, then went and slept at her sister’s house.   I didn’t see Nate.  He went to the Bulls game with friends, went straight to his aunt’s house.  I haven’t seen him since Wednesday night, have only talked to him for a few seconds on the phone since then.  That too is sad.  He called while the soon to be owners of our house were doing their final walk through of our house at 2 PM Friday, asked if he could come over and say goodbye to the house.. but Miriam had to tell him that it was too late.

We worked feverishly Friday morning getting everything out of the house, cleaning, throwing out the garbage.  I had put our old couch, overstuffed chair, and ottoman out at the curb for the garbage men to pick up next week.  Of course, when I was out to get garbage pickup stickers to put on the furniture for pickup, as well as the ten bags of garbage also out at the curb, a city code officer stopped by and left a warning ticket about the stuff being out at the curb.  If the garbage and furniture didn’t have stickers and wasn’t picked up by Monday, a $75 ticket would be issued!  I called the city, explained that we were moving and that stickers had been purchased ($75 worth, ironically).  They were kind, told me that everything was OK.

We were finishing the packing as the buyers pulled up for their walk through inspection.  Their realtor asked us if we were finished.  I said that we had everything out and the house was ready.  As Miriam drove off and her sister and I finished putting the last few things in her car, the buyers walked into the house with their realtor.

I paused in the driveway, stood next to my car, willed myself to take one last look at my house.  MY house.  MY FREAKING HOUSE.  I turned looked at my house, unprepared for the emotion that slammed me in the face.

This was no longer my house.  Someone else would be making new memories there.  I hoped there were still some left.  This was the place where my children were born and raised.  Heck, it was where they were made.  A lot of me was in that little structure.  With all the change, it felt like I was leaving a lot of me there.  I stood there, unable to move, no longer able to fight the tears that began streaming down in my face, sobbing as my sister in law came over and held me in a tight hug, told me that it would be all right, that I would always be welcome in her home and that she still loved me like a brother.

For weeks, I let the tasks keep me from realizing the full impact of what was about to happen.  In one quick instance, with one quick glance at the house that represented so much of what my life had been, my life changed.

Now I live somewhere else.  With someone that I knew very well some 26 years ago.  She already has proved that our friendship has been remembered, a great comfort to me these past 24 hours.  We shared coffee and breakfast this morning, talked a lot, went about the tasks of the day, then enjoyed a quiet time together out on the deck of what will be my condo soon.  It’s peaceful, serene, with woods behind, birds and animals surrounding.  At one point while we were out there, a large hawk flew over us and perched on the railing of the deck of the condo next door.  I am relaxed, my old friend and the friends I have spent time with the past few nights a true gift from God.  I feel blessed.  I feel like God is telling me that he is OK with me, that I can move on.

And I have moved.  Happy April Fool’s day, a day that no longer will be associated with fools any more, at least to me.  I am free.