pieces of us

(my son - my Dad - his wife)

This has been a hard post for me to tackle.

One, because it's public. 

Two, because as much as this is my place it is also my son's "baby book". 
Three, because I don't know what these relationships will look like in ten, fifteen, twenty years. 

And lastly, because there is a lot of heart break involved... 
heart break that can not be denied as I look through the beautiful photographs of what very little time we had in NC with my Dad and his wife/my mom/Louise/a friend and host who is very much falling in love with a grandchild while my Dad and I sludge the long journey of trying to salvage what's left of us in the aftermath of my parents' divorce. 

My heart wants to soar over how much fun we had. 

Over the smiles and making known the new wrinkles and patterns of skins we once viewed daily changes in. 

Over silly tinfoil man and duck taped shoe and how closely my Dad and I resemble one another on the inside. 

Over incidentally happening upon "hide the mom" in the face of a snake. And how the authenticity shook me. 

My heart wants to soar that I might have said "yes" to the cost of accepting her invitation back to their hotel 
for whatever further face-tracing we could each muster. 

But I couldn't, and I didn't. 
Instead I cordially spoke daggers into a void I couldn't stare at any longer, and we spent our last few minutes on top of the world (or at least the parking garage) silently crying out all that we've lost and fear that we'll never have back.

Hot tears brimmed my eyes, but my heart and body were worn and despondent. 
And I became painfully aware that my brother's coined phrase is spot on:

it was not supposed to be this way. 

I watched my baby take a back seat to caution and worry.

I watched him follow behind, seeking his place 
only to walk into a cinderblock pillar much the way his mom has done for years. 

I watched him waiting expectantly, anticipating the uncertain. 

And I watched as it arrived...

then passed him by. 

I rubbed my own calluses. 

He wanted in, but none of us were willing to put him through it. 

And it was in that moment that I think I understood something I've struggled with for the past couple of years; 
there are pieces of us that are stuck at the scene of our family's highway collision site, 
and my Dad does not want his grandson anywhere near such a place of wreckage.

It may have been years ago, but it put out the lights. And we were left broken in the dark street like crashed cars with pieces laying crumpled and hanging off by a wire. 
Some things survived. Some things were towed away. Insurance covered  the hard work of repair. And some things just died there. sacred or not.    

I realize now that everything logical beacons, let what is gone be gone. it's unsalvageable, totaled, irreparable
But I just couldn't help revisiting the site over and over, to commit to such a lingering, shifting through rubble, honoring and fighting with hope for the dead, 
fearing the stage that followed acceptance. 

I was terrified of who I might blame. Petrified that anything else should be taken away by the street sweepers. 
But all that is lost is gone and there is no one left to blame. And the living, impaired as we might be, are still here

For a long long time I have stood, fists clenched, screaming at the top of my lungs "THIS IS MINE AND YOU CAN'T TAKE IT". 
Like the girl who turns into a blueberry. I wanted to keep what my Dad and I earned for ourselves in growing up together. I thought my Daddy was my birthright.  

But in the definition of divorce it reads, "a separation between things that were or ought to be connected."
And that's our casualty count.  
Like my brother's hope and heart for love, my Dad and I shattered at the impact of this collision.

I've visited the scene for the last time.
I've torn my clothes and whispered through tears, Father God, rescue me
My hand stretches out to His Merciful Touch. I receive His Gift of Healing Grace. 

We have tried to salvage all that we could.   
God, have Your Way. Let only Your Will be done. 

Be Magnified.


  1. Beautifully written, although so sorry you're hurting ... Total surrender can be a life long journey. *hugs*

  2. Oh my, this is beautiful. How venerable and beautifully written. Thank you for sharing. Thanking the Lord for the honest window into the pain of divorce. Thank you.

  3. Heart felt, thank you for sharing a part of your journey with us.

  4. wow, you know how to write your heart. This made me teary...

    I love that you see hope from the One who gives it!

    I loved reading your words I am coming back!

  5. Visiting from Ann's. Beautifully written. I've walked that road too and the healing God offers is transforming. Rest and receive it. It's worth it because He is worth it! Praying for you!

  6. Divorce breaks! I know. It broke me and I was only 5. My dad met 2 of my sons briefly in a nursing home before he diedover 12 years ago from a lifestyle of bad choices. They were 1 and 3. I hadn't seen him in years. I love how you say "My dad was my birthright." It is so true - there are things that are our birthright that our dad's are supposed to provide: covering, protection, championing. I had to find my birth right with God. However, what I wouldn't have given for an afternoon with my dad and my sons, seeing him smile, seeing him reach out, seeing him try, seeing him give and only want what relationship I could give in return - him trying to re-build. Because I would have been there, met him more than half way, eagerly. No pride. Just so wanting to have a dad down here who was at least trying:)

    Like a phoenix reborn, this relationship can be reborn. What an opportunity. What a gift. Maybe I should have had more pride, but I was just a girl wanting a father.