There are many sides, facets, bits and pieces to the narrative of divorce.  More layers and levels than the obvious and glaring parts.

And there are plenty of aspects that I don’t talk about very often.  At least not publicly.  I’m not even entirely certain why.  I’m an open book sort of person but some thoughts just don’t seem to make their way to the wide world.

I carry a verse in my car – by the mirror overhead – that I’ve written down on a little scrap of paper.

This weekend I referenced it twice in two different conversations with two different friends about two different situations.

For some reason, this verse was on my mind again when I pulled into my driveway on a recent evening.  And one thought lead to another thought and I’m not at all certain that the thoughts that tumbled out can easily be traced back to this verse exactly but pulling it down and unfolding it to remind myself of the truths it contained is what led me to the other thoughts which led me to write this post ….

Here’s what I don’t talk about much …

During the times that my kids are visiting their dad, I feel a lot of feelings.  A lot of feelings.

I mean, on one hand, I like being alone.  Right?  What parent has not felt that?  An evening to myself?  Yes, please.  I can go to the grocery store alone?  Sign me up.  That’s normal.  I’m not anti-being alone.  At all.  Shoot, I NEED to be alone sometimes.

So, sometimes when the kids are gone, I look forward to being alone.  I schedule it in and say no to offers and invitations to do something else because I want to be alone.  Sometimes that looks like just being at my own home, quietly puttering around, reading, watching a movie that I pick, eating the salt and vinegar chips without sharing.  Sometimes I walk up and down the aisles of Target and don’t even look at my watch.  I wander around and pick up candles and look at whatever catches my eye.  Same for Hobby Lobby.

Some nights, of course, I make plans.  Or fall into one.  I go out to dinner with friends or watch a movie in the actual theatre with a pal or schedule some event.  I like those nights too.  I don’t dread the visit nights, I don’t live in fear of them.  I look forward to whatever I’m planning to do that evening.

But there’s this moment, the in between, this one moment, that seems to occur some weeks.  (And it was occurring when I unfolded my verse.)

Sometimes it’s when I come back home to a quiet house after wherever I have been.  Sometimes it’s when I know that most of my friends are married and busy with their own spouses and lives.  It’s a moment like the one that happens some times at night, that millisecond between closing the book I was just reading, turning out the light, putting my head on the pillow (flipped over for the coolest side) and then – THAT moment occurs.  That moment before I think – what will I think about before falling asleep tonight?  Should I rearrange a bedroom or assemble outfits?   (What – that’s only me? – whatever.) THAT is the moment I mean.  That split second.  It’s loneliness.  It’s the thought – will I always go to bed alone?  Is that what life will always look like?  Is that what nighttime means forever?

It’s not that that sounds like the worst fate.

It does not.

Of this I am confident – there are far worse things than being alone.  I have lived some of them.  I hope to not live all of them, the many myriad of things that fall into that category.  But I know a couple of them.  And there are worse things than being alone.  For sure.

It’s just – I wish I could know (what would I do with that knowledge?) but I still wish I could know.   Is this what it is?  I’ll be alone forever.  Okay, let me get prepared for that. Or – is there a future with a person? I don’t know. I don’t know any persons.

But that’s the moment.

That’s what I don’t talk about very often.

That same moment happens also on some nights when the kids are with their dad.  Because then I think – oh, I’m just here.  It’s just me.  No one to check in with and no one whose default plan is the same as my default plan.

My life is full now and honestly I don’t have a plethora of alone time just yet, but there will be a day when even Otto, my baby, doesn’t Iive in my house any longer.  That is good and healthy and normal and I will love visiting Grown Up Otto – and for the love, please son, marry someone who likes me.  I’d love to hop over and have dinner and have them over and I will love that.  It will be great.   I want to see Grown Up Otto.  Lord, let me live long enough to see Grown Up Otto.  

That’s the right and the good future – that children grow up and they leave their home and they make a new home.  That’s right.  That’s good.  I did that.  I wouldn’t have the home I enjoy now had I stayed at my parent’s farmhouse. I needed to leave.  That was good.  It brought my parents both heartache and joy.  I know because they’ve told me this.  I know because I watched it.  They love the grandkids.  My dad loves my children now.  I know it brings him joy.  I know because he’s told me.  He’s told me how much he loves and enjoys my children.  He’s told me how proud he is of me.  He’s told me how proud he is of the way I am living my life.  I know this.  He’s told me in words and in actions and in all kinds of ways.  He has told me.  So I know.  And my mom told me too.  (And I know what an indescribable gift that is.)

I’m not afraid of being alone.  I don’t know how to explain it in words actually.  That’s just what I feel – what I don’t talk about.

But maybe I should.  Maybe I should.  Talk about it, that is.

Because one other thing I’ve also learned through the writing of these words and pushing publish is that I’m never really alone in these thoughts, in any thoughts actually.  You know, you think you’re suffering and no one else has ever suffered.  That’s a lie.  You think you are the only person who has ever been sad.  Another lie.  The only person who has known loss. Also a lie.  

And when we counter those lies by just a little flicker of light in the dark …

Hey, over here.  Me. I’m alone.

Hey. over here. Me, I’ve been scared.

Light on.

I’ve been alone too.

Hey, I’ve been left.

Me, in the corner – I know what it’s like to hurt.

… when we turn on those lights, when we shine a little bit from our hearts and our lives and our stories – it all comes back to us – brighter.

I know that.

So maybe I need to share this little piece of what it looks like too.  Of what divorce tastes like in the milliseconds and in the gaps and the thoughts that need refocusing on the truth on the dashboard.

____________________________________