All Apologies

“In the sun I feel as one. Married. Buried.” Kurt Cobain

Apologies *can* be accepted, but they can’t always matter. Events can’t be reversed, words can’t be taken back, feelings can’t be unfelt, emotions can't be stifled.

I was issued a “I’m sorry” card by my ex-to-be, and I’ve been struggling with my feelings toward it. Mostly, I’m trying to decide exactly why I don’t have this desire to care.

First of all, you must know that Anne’s emotions have been on a malfunctioned rollercoaster for the past 2 months. Screaming at me. Anger. Sobbing. Pleading. Hatred. Insults. Happy. Helping. Disgust. Attacks. Pleasant. Joyful.

I guess we all handle trauma in our own way, and despite my role in affecting this divorce, I’m aware how this deal is a true emotional car wreck on all sides.

This week, we’ve been on an upswing. I am not sure what brought on this wave of positivity, but I’m certain an attorney’s call about her insulting and entrapping me within kids’ earshot likely helped. Part of me hopes that this is the beginning of us making a stable-but-separate relationship for the kids, but truthfully I fear her selfish need to manipulate me into coming back is at the core of her intentions.

I said I’m sorry, now let it go.

Those words are so familiar that I can’t see past them. I’ve heard apologies for the past 11 years. I’ve given apologies for the past 11 years.

What is she apologizing for? The same thing she told me I was wrong about, five days ago? Five months ago? Five years ago? What are you sorry for?


I believe in saying your sorry. However, it’s the intention of saying it I mind. It can’t always fix the problem. Can a victim accept an apology from his killer?

The wounds are there. Sorry leaves you with:

- No responsibility for bad behavior
- No resolution
- No solving the problem
- No further communication
- No emotional response
- No conviction
- No assurance that it won’t happen again.

It’s like walking a fresh dusting of snow and forgetting about the hazardous slippery ice underneath. I can’t see past the hurt, the reduction, the manipulation. I can’t forget how I’ve been told I’m wrong to feel that way.

I’m sorry, but it’s not going to work.


(dresser)

Thank you...

http://singledads.wordpress.com/2008/10/15/how-to-stiflethe-pain-of-separation/

Every Little bit helps.

Guinea Pigs and School Buses

It took awhile, but I learned a valuable lesson this weekend: in the end, I can't be there.

This, I surmised after a long weekend with my kids... sort of a "weekend on, weekend off" deal I'm trying to work out with Anne. It seems to be going well, despite the friction from Anne who peppers my efforts with vocal passive aggression and inflexibility. ("Oh, I want to go..." she announces when the kids tell her our Sunday plans, leading my 3-year-old to invite her along.)

Our weekend began on Saturday morning, long before I arrived to pick Sam and Josie up, with a heated phone call between their mom and I. She shouted angry words at me, accusations, abandonment, anything to make me feel small. I have to admit, for awhile it worked.

I stumbled briefly, mostly because of my unclear plans -- a few days earlier she had made comments opposing a Daddy Weekend, arguing, saying the kids wanted both their parents to take them to the apple orchard. (...I'm sure they came up with that on their own.) Saturday, it went about-face. Daddy Weekend on... no other plans. Logic spiraling. Head games. Frustration.

To worsen matters, Josie didn't want a sleepover at my house so I was relegated to sleep on the couch as Anne had "plans to go out" and could not be expected home for the kids. More games. I did my best, acting unaffected, unrattled by this curveball designed to thwart my confidence. "You look like a cowardly defeated man!" I was told Saturday morning.

But in reality, I was very strong.

I showed up and dressed the kids as Anne left for breakfast with friends. The weekend went beautifully, with lots of outdoor activities for the kids and lots of time to watch them laugh and smile.

But still, hurtful feelings crept into my head. "Abandoner!"

I fought those feelings for two days. Feeling the urgency to prove her wrong. Fighting the twisted feeling of guilt rising inside me in my moments of weakness.

But, I *was* there: laughing with them, feeding them, doing their laundry, teaching them, supporting their emotions, kissing their playground injuries, helping them with homework.

It all came to me in one moment... two actually. First, was a heartbreaker: Josie waiting anxiously all night for mom to come home so she could ask for the Guinea Pig we saw at Petco, only to be told "no. never." in one swift cut.

Desperate, painful crying and sadness.

I tried. "Don't get your hopes up," I had warned her on the car ride home, but a 7-year-old with a soft heart for cute, cuddly animals knows no restraint. As the tears flowed like I haven't seen, in this instant I realized I couldn't have helped her. I couldn't shield her from this letdown. No matter how, I wouldn't make a difference in this little girl's heartbreak. As much as I wanted to. As much as I felt it was my job to.

All I could do was listen to her cry.

This morning, a passing school bus offered me the same resolution. Initially, feelings of pain ran through me, of compassion, of worrying about my kids on the school bus. Would they be bullied? Would they be safe? How can I protect them from the world they're driving into?

Then, it suddenly dawned on me: there was nothing I could do. I can't ride the bus everyday. I can only talk to them about life, and about hardness, and hope to be there for them if things don't work out -- be it in-person or on the phone. Consistently as I am.

It's a lesson I learn everyday.

I am a good dad. I'll never abandon that post.






(heart)

Believe

I realized tonight that much of the moon's beauty is the result of being bombarded again and again by asteroids.

Its beauty endures and always gives hope for a beautiful day tomorrow. My love for the moon everlasting, grows stronger despite the hits, the bombardment, the distance.

Don't lose faith in what tomorrow offers.

(soon)

The little things...

The article that saved me today.

http://singledads.wordpress.com/2007/12/13/the-empty-room/

...........................................<

Some days are harder than others...

Hello Crazy

Things between Anne and I took a turn for the worse last night. I don't know where to begin, but I just want this to be over.

I should have known it was going to be one of those nights as I showed up to play with the kids. She was being too friendly, too involved.

"Oh, Hi honey," she said as I came in the door.

She told stories to me, she lingered around with the kids. She apparently forgot about the person who only 5 nights earlier called me horrible names. I raised issue briefly about Ava's homework being started at 8pm, so late, a topic I feel strongly about. She tried to defend herself, I wasn't letting her.

Then, a smile. "Can you come talk to me after you put the kids to bed?"

Oh no. This isn't going to be good. I can sense it. I do tuck-in duty and return. Finding her smiling on the couch. Telling me to please sit down and talk. I do that, wondering where this will go. Hoping, wishing perhaps that this might include a civil end to our deal.

Not so.

It starts out with pleas.
"Tell me why you're doing this?"
"What happened that was so bad?"

Then it went to commands.
"You don't just leave."
"We need to work this out."
"You need to talk to me."
"Sit down!"
"I know you love me."
"People fight. You need to get over it."
"We're not getting divorced. No we're not."

Then it went to crying and drama.
"I'm your angel."
"Is there someone else?"
"How could you throw away 14 years?"
"Why are you doing this to us?"

Then came anger. Lies. Accusations of infidelity over a journal she found. Calling me a cheater. A liar. Saying I've done worse things to her then she ever did to me. I tell her it's convenient for her to become a victim, but this isn't about that. It's about a life spent being manipulated, being marginalized, being made to feel wrong.

As I sat there trying to talk, I felt myself getting lost in it all. The logic spiraling out of control. My feelings of pain and manipulation getting lost in the shuffle. She interrupted my every word. I got up and left.

Then the phone calls began.

"You need to come back. You need to come back. You need to come back."

I said I'm through. Tonight and with this relationship. She refused to allow that.

"You need to come back." Then the yelling and insults began.

Hello crazy.

I told her I was hanging up. I can't hear the garbage anymore tonight.

She keeps calling. I answer each time. I talk, she says I'm abandoning my kids. I tell her I'm hanging up. We can't do this anymore tonight, and frankly, I'm certain the kids hear her yelling.

She keeps calling. I eventually stop answering.

14 more calls -- 11 voice messages. One of which puts Sam on the phone, crying, saying "no." He must have woken up. She's using this against me.

The last message comes at 2:15am, crying and accusing me of hiding her medicine. I have no idea what she's talking about.

I just want this to be over. I can't remember what I'm doing or why. I feel like I'm now the villain, caught with cheating "thoughts" in a journal. She tells me she loves me and wants to forgive me.

I can't live this crazy life. It needs to end.





(!)

To Everything There is A Season

Having a song stuck in your head can be a maddening test of your sanity, but one is calling my attention today.

"Turn, Turn, Turn..." I heard Bruce and the E Street Band covering the classic Byrds tune on my way home last night. And I haven't gotten past it. Its easy rhythm and harmonious refrain have been the background music to my morning.

"A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven"

I drove by a tree today that shocked me with its color. It sung to me the same song as I stopped to take its picture.

And now, staring out my window into the world I see the new season approaching me, encompassing me, physically and metaphorically. And, yes I'm mourning, and yes I'm dancing. Life is about this great big circle and I feel like the season changing does give me renewed purpose. Yes the leaves are dying, but there is so much beauty in the moment before they cascade to the ground. If you only fear the cold harshness that's beyond it, you'll miss out on the color.

I can't worry the approaching winter while I have the beauty of fall around me... my beautiful children, my friends and family, my health and spirit. My world isn't dying because my relationship ended. Summer is over, and I couldn't be happier.

And, I can't ever stop believing that Spring offers so much hope.

To everything, there is a season.




(faith)

A Lunchdate with Divorce

It seems divorce shines a light on the true friends in your life, sometimes for good and sometimes for bad. Today offered the former.

In my new effort to reach out to friends, I arranged a lunch with my friend Chuck. Ironically, he was never a close friend, more of a drinking buddy that I've known for the better part of two decades. The last time I saw Chuck was in July, the week his divorce was final.

LESSON 1: Friends come from where you least expect them.

Today, Chuck knew something was up when I emailed him, he feared it was divorce and was instantly sorry about my situation. He lived it too. As my story unfolded to him, he laughed. He explained that he wasn't mocking me, but instead found so much of what I said shockingly familiar to what he's already lived. He got it. He had been there too.

I welcomed his laughter. It was validating of my feelings. I suddenly didn't feel alone anymore in a life that included only one close friend, B (my source of strength). It was good to have someone else in my corner.

He understood the feelings I was experiencing...

- of feeling alone
- of questioning yourself and your pain
- of living "in-limbo" in someone else's house
- of a life being told there is something wrong with you
- of having your friends dance around you, not sure what to say
- of knowing when it's time to quit and save yourself

Chuck listened intently. He offered his version and concluded with me that I'm doing what's best for myself, my children, and ultimately... Anne (if she wants to save herself). He then told me that he had a divorced friend, Joe, who similarly and unexpectedly stepped forward in his time of need. Chuck was paying it forward. We spent the better part of an hour sharing, commiserating, even tearing up a bit.

LESSON 2: You are *not* alone. Someone else feels like you do.

Truthfully, it wasn't any sage advice being offered, but moreso it was a sense of comfort. It was my fears and uncertainties being brought to the table -- literally. Honestly, it shocked me how easily I opened up and shared my feelings over a chicken burrito. It was cleansing in the only way bad Mexican food can be.

LESSON 3: It's not about having something to say, it's about having someone to listen.

Chuck's words that did stick with me, front and center, were this: whenever I feel lost, to keep in mind the alternative... the not choosing to leave. The sad and broken life I would be living. Remember how the kids would see you today, in 6 months, in 2 years. Think about how bad that looks.

LESSON 4: Open your eyes to the reality of your world, don't focus on your emotions.

In the end, we shook hands, shared a "man-hug," and went our separate ways. He offered his number to call anytime I feel insane, which, lately comes at an hourly clip. But whether I ever call him or not, it doesn't matter. I have lessons I can't forget.

Today I know, you don't have to feel alone in divorce.

Thanks Chuck.



(87 B)

Believe

"What do you want to believe about yourself?"

This, my therapist asked after listening to my words and words of anger and

 sadness and fear. She asked what I *want* to believe about me.

Wow.

How many of us have actually entered that zone where we truly see ourselves for how we want to believe we are, as opposed to how we think we are, or how we think others see us? It's an empowering thought.

I want to believe I'm a good person, and that I'm worthy of others. I want to believe that I have created love in my life. I want to believe that I can be something better than what I am, and that I'm not entrenched in my mistakes of the past. 

I want to believe that I am making the right choice for myself, for the chance at love, and for the happiness and well-being my children. 

I am no longer tied to the burden of what I expected myself to do. I no longer have this self-fulfilling life sentence ahead of me. I can be free. I just need to step forward.

When I say this... I believe it. 

(ocean)

A Friend in Need...

One of the hardest parts of this divorce has been my ability to understand the need for having friends.

From the onset, it's not my strength. I'm known to be a private, proud person, not someone who reaches out. This isn't by design, I guess I've just found myself this way, not wanting to burden others with my troubles.  I don't feel comfortable. Short of one very close friend, I don't share my life. It's my struggle and it can be very lonely.

But, now is the time for friends.

"You need to reach out," my close one has told me. "You need to enlist others in your truth." I guess I never even considered this, instead hoping I could fly below the radar, and keep under low cover until the storm above clears. But this tends to tear you apart, inside. Bottled up fears and emotions can be poisonous things. You start to worry about stepping out of the house, wondering who is talking about you on street corners, what they think about you at your kids' schools, even what the grocery store cashier thinks. 

Truthfully, if you desert yourself on an island, you will likely die of anxiety long before you find yourself starving.

I received a phone call last week from an unlikely friend. One of those "couple friends" whom I had never counted on hearing from, and whom I decided would side with Anne. She called to ask if I was okay, and to say they are there for me. There for me... I was shaken. I was fallen. It really helped to hear those words. She further told me they (husband and she) hadn't reached out to me because they didn't think I was someone you did that with. She said lots of people know me well, and know I'm not a villain. 

I needed to hear this. I need to hear more.

My close one, along with my therapist, have challenged me to reach out. Insisting. Find some key people each week and bring them into my world. I haven't done a very good job at it, but here is my process for reaching out:

• Just be honest.
• Don't trash Anne, or make them choose sides.
• Tell them it's hard for me, and I need their friendship.
• Thank them for listening.
  

I'm not very good at it, but it has to be my reality. I can't sit on an island waiting for the ship to arrive. Likely, I'll wilt away inside before it reaches me.

I need to reach out.

Thank you, friend.

(happy89)