Like most of my stories, this one starts in the middle. Someday, I’ll have the courage on this blog to write about my past life and how far I’ve come because of it, but for today, the middle is where we’ll play.
I’ve decided that the most difficult thing about being the mama in a broken family, is deciding the difference between truth and, well, untruth.
I could write you novels on the pain and emotion that comes from gossip, rumors, advice, assumptions, and lies that circle around the choice to get a divorce, and moreover, the choice to move on. But the emotional inflictions that come with that, is nothing compared to the truth asked of you when you least expect it, in your own home.
Since the day I chose a different life for the three of us girls, my goal has always been to lead an exemplary life for them. While I hide them from little truth, I protect them from the ugliness of it. But the questions are starting…
“Daddy won’t answer his phone, is he ok?
Does he miss me?
I think daddy wants to come our house for Christmas, can he?
Why didn’t daddy come to my school program?”
Of course, at this point, I respond with things like:
“Of course your daddy misses you.
Your daddy is just too busy right now, he’ll call as soon as he can.
Daddy probably found a job that keeps him from coming down too often, I’m sure he’ll make it when he can.”
But the problem I’m facing lately, is that I feel like I’m lying to my kids by making excuses for his absence. They’re walking around like little sponges, and while I may be telling them something to temporarily bandage the moment, they’re soaking in emotions and lacking phone calls, and weekends spent away. They eventually will face the music that’s playing, whether I’m ready or not.
Integrity in this brokenness is and will always be present. But as a mama (with her wildly supportive, protective support system) doing her best to preserve that, and protect her girls, it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever faced to not shield them entirely from the person hurting them most.
We all make mistakes. I’m not the perfect role model either. I’m just asking him to lead a life that he’d want his girls to someday find a man to model just that.
I want those girls to know that I did my very, very best to preserve what’s theirs for as long as possible. I want them to only have good memories of their daddy (ones that when he wants to, are really good!).
Thank everything, their little lives are surrounded by the world’s greatest, most incredible men. They have the best sort of examples in their little lives (men, that if I were to write novels on, would totally outnumber the novels about everything else…Brandon, Daddy, Grandpa(s), Uncle Ben, Darrell, Uncle Scooby, Gustin, and the list goes on, and on…), and even on my most bitter days, the gratefulness overwhelms and wins that battle.
I couldn’t ask for anything more, really.
Living, learning, sighing, and preparing for the next stage in our journey.