Crossing Paths

A few weeks ago I had a patient in her mid 70's, quite soft spoken with gentle eyes and a gracious smile. I completed my nursing assessment as she spoke about the great grandson that just left her room. Concentrating on the crumpled Kleenex in her hand, she quietly said he was there only to get money for pills. I sat at the foot of her bed as she spoke of the situation. I knew what she was feeling. I knew the fear of watching someone in the bowels of pill addiction. I knew the pain it inflicted on a family. The hopelessness. The frustration. Even the disgust. She spoke for several minutes, careful to concentrate on the tissue's wrinkles I decided to share a bit of my experiences with my ex-husband. Issues I still struggle with today. She looked up at me and said, "We just can't save them, can we?" I sympathetically agreed and she tearfully asked I not let her great-grandson re-enter. I promised.

For the next 45 minutes, I listened intently as she spoke of her tumultuous first marriage. I learned how she freed herself and four children from the alcoholic wrath of their philandering father. I learned how she worked various and multiple jobs to make it; how this petite, gentle woman chased her ex-husband down the street carrying the knife she was peeling potatoes with when he plucked their youngest son out of the yard. She spoke of the financial and emotional struggle just to wake up and "pretend happy" everyday. This happened some 50 years ago and yet, the sadness in her eyes would seem as if it were just yesterday. I told her a bit more about my struggle.... with my ex-husband, my children, with men in my life, with trusting anyone. She smiled softly, nodding ever so slightly each time reassuring she understood all too well. As we sat there a little teary eyed, I attempted to lighten the mood. Speaking in a happier tone I asked, "When you remarried, did this man come along and just sweep you off your feet?" I was secretly hoping for the "happily every after" ending I don't believe in but wish for more than anything. Chuckling lightly, she said he is 14 years her senior, and had a stable, well paying job in construction when they met and married a few years after her divorce. She talked how he has been a wonderful father to her children. They moved out of the city and built a large home on several acres.With a reminscent look, she added he came along when she didn't know what to do next and he literally saved them.

What she shared next has just stuck with me. It's filled the space when my mind wanders, when I'm driving down the road, or even scrubbing the sink. It's made me question the "refuse to settle" belief I've held for the past 5 years. Looking up from her hands clutching the now shredded tissue, her soft eyes filled with an almost apologetic look she said, "I never loved him like you're supposed to love a man. Like you're supposed to love your husband. I don't trust him, even now after all these years and he has never crossed me. Not even once. I never had "those" feelings for him. But my kids.......  my kids love him still to this day more than I could have ever hoped. He was exactly what they needed. And boy does he love them." Fully smiling now she said, "He's in his 90s now and they drive him all over the place. They don't miss any of his doctor's appointments. They love him and he loves them as if they've always belonged together. I would do it all again exactly the same for them." Pausing she quietly added, " But I wouldn't do it again for me. It's not all about us, now is it?"

I ponder her inner thoughts. Is this what happens when you've been scarred or jaded from life? Is this what it comes down to? You choose what your children need versus what you want? You can't have both? It sure feels that way. I find the man that would be a good, solid father figure for them to rely on ends up being a man I can care about but never truly love. Have I been selfish all this time, refusing to settle for anything less than that truly, madly, deeply feeling for myself but sacrificing stability for them? The sadness in her eyes tells me it can't be the right answer, but the glowing happiness her face beamed when speaking of her children and their "father" tells me it is somewhere in the answer. She did not come to this decision lightly. I need to think about specific choices I make and if it will benefit both me and the kids. The fact is, for women with children all on their own, it's never just about us. It's not about holding out for that fairy tale. I've prided myself on "making it" just me and my kids. The way I get by in life is more than acceptable but the men I spend my time with and keep completely separate from my children, deprives them of a very important relationship. A relationship I can't make up for. A relationship they need. This petite little woman chose her children's happiness and a stable life over her own butterflies. Feelings which fade somewhat as time goes by. While a part of me thinks I can still have it ALL, the reality is after 5 years I have yet to find it quite possibly because it does not exist. I want my kids to have the next 50 or so years with a good man in their life to love as a father and that will love them as his children. I may be lost at times, but I do know without a doubt, I want THAT for them. I am so thankful this insightful little woman and I crossed paths. I can't help but think there was a greater reason. Maybe the message isn't about "settling" but readjusting what WE need.    I do know the most private thoughts she shared have lingered in my head for weeks now and I intend to learn from her life as well.


Interestingly enough, the children's biological father never straightened up and eventually "fell out" of their life. When he passed, the man's wife called the now adult children asking them to pay his burial expense as they had nothing. They obliged only out of respect that they were born from him as well. It saddens me to know that was their final interaction with him. I fear a similar path for my own children...  I am, however, certain their life was much richer and happier with their one true dad.

The Mighty Oak

When restless, I start looking to make changes. Some for entertainment and others out of sheer necessity. My most recent is for the latter and to save my children from yet another splinter-filled summer. I've spent HOURS tearing the dilapidated deck off my house and rebuilding a new and greatly improved shade-quenching one for my sunburned outdoor space. The new house doesn't have a single tree planted to take roots. Far different from the mighty Oak at my previous house, there's not a a bit of shade here. It's all open and unprotected. I pondered this while hammering the 136 nails into boards on the deck rails one afternoon. Protection.... what an interesting word. Dictionary.com states it is: the act of protecting or the state of being protected; preservation from injury or harm.

I realize that while the old house was my old life, there are a few things I miss from it. I adored that great Oak tree outside my dining room windows. I miss the shade it would cast into the upstairs bedrooms. The greatest storms would roll through and that tree stood tall and never wavering. The roots were strong and I never worried about its vulnerability. While living there, I thought I was joined with someone that was my protection and security, if you will. The toughest acceptance was realizing my protector was the one that actually destroyed it and took trust and a plethora of other mind-calming traits with it. 

Moving to the new house on a treeless lot gave me the opportunity for a fresh, unscripted start. I could finally take a deep breath and no longer felt I had a cinder block restraining me. Although I never want him back and that life is long gone, sometimes it's difficult to rely only on myself. Sometimes it would be comforting to rest my head at night knowing someone else has my best interest in mind too. Security is something a single woman just doesn't feel. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE being independent, going about my business, and setting my own path. But it would be nice for just one night to hand over my fears to someone else and know I'm not in this alone.

The reality is I've only recently recognized the damage another person can do. I felt like I made it through the worst storms. I'm out, the kids are out, we are better now but the verbal and emotional abuse of the last few years have taken their toll. When things aren't as EX would like, I can surely expect him to spew every offensive and demeaning thought he has. Then it's a barrage of disgusting, belittling texts until my phone reaches capacity. Dependent on his "cycling" this may continue for hours, even days sometimes. I used to make a joke of it but the reality is I would rather be punched in the face repeatedly than subject myself to his immeasurable tactics. At least I could visibly see the damage and recognize this is NOT okay. I would never openly give him the satisfaction of crumbling, but it's difficult at times. The protection that was once so comforting is now what creates my biggest vulnerability. 

Tonight, I sit on the new covered deck looking into the yard. It's full of kid toys, swingset, pool and yet it feels so empty. Protection and security are not things you can see, but what you feel. It's having faith that those strong roots will hold even the heaviest branches up during trying times. I'm sure my mighty Oak in New Albany is standing tall even after the worst storms. I'm still standing as well and someday I will be as tall again too. Until then, I'm planting a few trees in this barren yard and you can bet one will be a mighty Oak.

From Where I'm Standing

The one fact is that life is constantly changing. I thought I had my world planned out. Like dancing through a field of daisies, I was oblivious to the looming thunderstorm ahead. Within a very short time, my dear Mom passed away, my marriage was ending, and I had an 18 month old and 3 year old relying on me to not fall apart. So I picked up the pieces (aka "putting my big girl pants on") and kept on going.

So here I sit, three years later in a different house, with a different life, even different furniture. I should admit I shoved all of the old out the front door and had an impromptu yard sale in a moment of indifference. But what relief, moving to a new house and leaving broken memories behind! Only one thing in my life has remained constant and that is to give my children stability, continuous love and affirmation that we were going to be FINE.... even better than fine. We were going to be wonderful and have a great life. So many changes and I often worried I just wasn't doing enough, that they would feel short changed from my decisions, that my best just wasn't enough for the three of us.

I was updating my daughter's baby book last night when I started thinking about transitions and separations over the past few years. I was SO worried about her riding the bus today. I was positive my heart would leap out of my chest before the moment arrived. While looking at pictures from the moment SHE arrived, I realized she's already been through some incredibly challenging times. She has always known I was here when she needed me- she could see me, grab my hand and look to me for reassurance. Sure, we stumbled here and there, but we always kept going. Getting on the bus today was the center point of her KNOWING I am still here, always. She climbed to the top of the steps, looked back at me with her half smile, I nodded reassuringly, she gave me a full smile back and off she went. As I watched the bus carrying my precious doll, tears filled my eyes. I halfway expected her to grab my leg, to beg me to let her stay home, to hold on tight. But she did none of those. Life has thrown my little 5 year old some curve balls, and today gave ME the reassurance that she can adapt to anything and she knows I will not fail her and I am always holding her hand....