Finally, after about four years, the horrid hard candy shell of my divorce is cracking open. In order to leave my marriage, I donned my protective armor in order to bust out. Frankly, I had to make the shell out of resolute thoughts--I must leave, I must leave, I must leave. I had to forget about the good times because good times have long arms. I had to push and push, like the monster child struggling to be born. Every ugly metaphor you can think of I became.
But now, over five years into the process of trying to leave, leaving, separating, divorcing, fighting, fighting, fighting, some air and light have come back into my memories of marriage, my feelings about my former spouse.
Last night I had a dream that summarized the way we parented. In the dream, there was a small feral child living in my home, the one I recently bought with my boyfriend. In some twist of dream chronology, my oldest son was very young, about ten or so, and he'd befriended the feral child, who liked to stay in the bathroom, sitting in a pool of water in the shower pan.
I called my former spouse, and together, we went into my house, called child protective services, and turned the feral baby over to the proper authorities, counseling our son about it as we did. After the social worker took the child, my former spouse and I walked to my car so I could drive him home. For a second, he leaned against a wall, and I thought that he was feeling bad again about our divorce, wanting me to come home. Wanting me.
But no. He was just upset that he was having trouble remembering things. Words. He was forgetting things. He laughed a little, and we kept walking toward my car and the dream ended.
And I am forgetting things. I'm forgetting why I had to hold him in opposition. Why I was fighting. I'm forgetting the pain, and remembering nice things, like the game he used to play with our small boys. The boys would lay down on the bed, and my husband would run at the bed, jumping high, certainly, truly, absolutely going to crush them. As he fell, he said, "King Mountain!" Of course, he didn't crush or splat them, and the boys squealed with happiness. My husband would get up and do it again.
Causes Jessica Inclán Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org