I think the hardest part of the entire divorce was telling the children and trying to keep life “normal” for them. My oldest son intermittently wore anger as a mask for his hurt and disappointment. My younger two were just un-masked sadness. I had determined that for as long as I possibly could, I would avoid any other changes to their lives, so I made every effort I possibly could to keep them in the same activities and same home. I’m good at managing a budget, so though I knew I couldn’t sustain that big house, yard, and pool forever on my own, I could do it for a while. The kids needed time to adjust to their parents being apart before they lost one more thing that they loved and that was a familiar comfort to them.
Even harder than budgeting one income to keep a two-income house was budgeting time for one parent to juggle the activities – sports, school, and church – that two had divided. My mother-in-law was a tremendous help and became my new juggling partner during the week. When there was more to do than she and I could make happen, other moms and coaches helped also. The saying that it takes a village to raise children was proving true for us, especially during Winter and Spring sports. There were days when I took the youngest son and the baby to one practice in one location while my mother-in-law took the middle child to another practice in a different location, and the oldest went with a coach or teammate to practice or a game in a third location, sometimes in another town. (Or some other distribution of kids with adults, but you get the jist. A team effort.) I would finish one practice for the day and make rounds, trying to get to as many of the other boys’ activities as possible. Baby girl in tow. If we didn’t get to do homework in the van or while waiting on other activities to finish, we would have that to do at home afterward while simultaneously rotating through showers, washing a never-ending mound of laundry, and tending an infant. We ate on the go more than I would like to admit, but it was survival.
All three boys are athletic and enjoy sports – traits they got from their daddy. In our town, youth football is divided into A, B, and C teams. We had a child on A team and one on C team, which meant we were there from around 9 am Saturday morning till about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. It made for a long day, especially with away games and travel time. My husband’s new job was out of town, so he would come late to the boys’ practices during the week but be off on Saturdays for their games. For as long as we both shall live, whether married or divorced, we will be the parents to our children. So no matter what I was feeling on any given day, I tried my best to tuck it away and be civil with their daddy. They needed to feel they could be with either of us without hurting the other. They didn’t need to feel like they had to choose. And they needed to know that even if their daddy and I were getting a divorce, we both still loved them enough to act like adults.
This caused some confusion around town. And I can see how, I suppose. When he came to practice, he would sit with us, often inside the vehicle, and we sat in the same vicinity at games. He took the baby and cared for her much of the time we were there, unless I needed to nurse her or one of the boys needed him. He walked with us to the van after games to get everyone and all their gear loaded. The boys would talk through the highs and lows of their games with their daddy, and I appreciated his help. We were cordial co-parents at best, but since I said very little to anyone outside my close circle, many had no idea that he had left us months before. Most of the community knew only what had gone on the previous Spring – he had an affair, but we were trying to make amends. They thought from what they were seeing that we were mending.
Very few imagined what was really going on. They didn’t know where he was when not with us or what I was feeling as I sat there desperately missing the way things used to be, knowing that though we were nearby in the van or bleachers, we were miles apart in what we wanted for the future. That I missed the days when he would sit by me for some reason other than proximity to the children. That when he walked away to answer calls, I fought back tears, nausea, and anger. That him holding the baby at those games tore me up because, at the time, it was the best way our daughter had to get to know her daddy. That when the kids went home with him from games, I was sad to be alone. That divorce was in the works, and I would then be truly alone.
It was hard for me, after being a family that did so much together, to watch him and the kids leave to go do something from which I was completely excluded. It was probably the most lonesome I had ever felt in my life, and with divorce pending, I had to get used to nothing more than cordial co-parenting.
As time went on, some people saw things outside of our kids’ sports that clued them into the reality I was living. Some people asked questions about what they’d seen. Others asked how I did it – typically referring to my efforts to be civil and even gracious. Still others who remained blind to our situation would sometimes unknowingly blindside me with well-meaning questions that punched me in the gut. Altogether, it just was not the easiest season of life.
Unlike seasons of the year or even sports seasons, life seasons don’t have set time frames. There’s no date on the calendar or championship game to mark the end. You just press on until you feel your soul shifting.. and accepting…and making the best of what remains. Then you eagerly look forward to what you don’t yet know – some undisclosed season that awaits you in God’s timing.