Building AWOL

I have never felt joy like the day my first daughter came out of my body and was placed on my chest. I can remember unwrapping her and gazing into her eyes with such wonder. Life before her, I didn’t know. I was so proud and terrified and…hungry!

If I ever wondered if there was a God in Heaven, I was just given my proof. This little girl, with the tiny birthmark on her nose, she was all I needed. Well, her and the best cheeseburger and fries on speed dial from the hospital cafeteria. And let me tell you, it was a dang good cheeseburger and fries! My body went from depleted to energized in about 8 freakishly fast bites.

I was a mom. Yesterday, I was just me. But on that glorious Sunday, in July, I was a mom! And, I thanked Jesus.

Two years passed, almost to the day, and my chest became the home for yet another baby girl. This time I was ready for the rush of emotions that came over my body. I was not ready for the faulty epidural and the pain that ensued. It nearly broke me. I could feel my body just give up. Thankfully my older sister was coaching me. Her, along with the surgeon who came in to threaten an emergency c-section, gave me the boost that I needed to slingshot my 2nd kid into this world. As areas of my body were being sewn back together, legs raised to the clouds and absolutely no energy to give, I still managed to worry. She wasn’t crying. I was. Then, out came a familiar noise, a beautiful melody to all moms. I knew that another miracle had happened right before my eyes. Tiffin, Ohio had a new resident. And, again I thanked God.

I was madly in love with my husband. I settled into life as a wife, mom of girls and partial provider. It was challenging to juggle it all and the devil crept in at the most inconvenient of times. Rightfully so. Things were too good. My husband started being secretive. I could tell that something wasn’t right. And soon learned that he was buying street pills with our money. He would text with his dealer and I found the exchanges one night while rummaging through his phone as he slept. I was so inexperienced in this area. I was always an athlete. I didn’t drink. I didn’t know the first thing about drugs. Aleve was typically my go-to when I had a headache. And if that didn’t work, I took a nap. I just didn’t see this in my 5-year plan. Our 5-year plan. I cried to Jesus.

He told me that it was a one-time thing and that he would never do it again. I wanted to believe him so bad. I wanted to have the house and the porch and the yard and the babies and the husband. I wanted exactly what we planned pre-this. We didn’t have time to slow down for speed bumps. We had a plan. I had a plan. And I wanted to share all of the glorious photos of our plan on Facebook. You know, the important stuff! I wanted to thank God…on Facebook.

My husband was an Army Vet. Unbeknownst to me, he had PTSD and a lot of mental issues due to the things that he saw over-seas as a kid. He was a true-life hero and all I saw was deception. The more that he holed up and refused to help me understand, the more I pulled away. I pushed for counseling near and far. We sat in front of strangers trying to connect with each other and then would go home and pass each other in the hall without even looking up from our phones. It was pure failure. He didn’t want to stop self-medicating for his past. I had already labeled him as my past. And I thanked God for helping me see that this man, the one that years before I swore to love forever, was not a good addition to my future. I thanked God for the few good years that we did have, for the lesson learned and for the little girls that we created. Then I hastily searched for ways out and new love. I guess I chased our plan alone.

We played the back and forth game for a year or so. I quit. He cried. He quit. I cried. We would yell and say and do things that we shouldn’t, sometimes in front of the girls. It was apparent that we loved each other. It was also very clear that the Devil had a tight grip on our marriage, and he wasn’t letting go without a championship bracket. And, sadly, he got the W. So, we parted ways with restraining orders and hateful words, violent outbursts and threats. I funded my lawyers’ way to Jamaica, twice. And while he soaked up the sunshine and relaxation, we made sure that “we” didn’t exist any longer. Our promises of forever were replaced with promises of getting even. And boy did we. I didn’t thank God for any of this. I was too busy to pray. And you could definitely tell.

In the midst of our divorce, my dad battled esophageal cancer. He fought hard, but God called him home pretty quickly. I thanked God for the time that I did have with my dad. I remembered all of the football that we played in the house. I laughed looking back on his hammer pants and silly dances. He was goofy and fun. I knew that I was blessed for 35 years. But, I struggled and hit a rock bottom that I had never felt before. I was a zombie, or maybe more like a robot. I struggled to get through each day. Naps oiled my rickety joints and I definitely lost the remote to my mind. I cried randomly every day and probably looked rusty more times than not. Losing a parent is gut wrenching. It is so final. One day they are here. One day they are gone. No more phone calls for advice or a cheering up that only he could provide. My dad would always say (about my divorce): “Man, you guys have real problems! I just have cancer.”

He was dying, rapidly, and he would rather be there than in my shoes during our implosion. That hit hard. I still prayed that God and my dad watched over me. I tried to imagine my dad in every red bird and butterfly that lingered a little. Sometimes I went to church. Sometimes I slept right through. After all, God would understand right?

The weeks after my dad passed are a blur. Home didn’t feel like home. The house that we brought our babies home to, felt more like a prison. Our small town felt like hard memories, broken promises and shattered dreams. In an instant, I sold our house and my soul in order to stop feeling. I deleted everything and did what I thought was best for the girls and I. I found a new fairytale and a new prince. I was marveled by God’s ability to restore my life with happiness. I felt Jesus touch me and couldn’t get behind on life any longer. As we drove away, the girls crying for their dad, I swore it would get easier. And, it did, for me. Their dad hit catastrophic lows after we left. I begged him to be active in their lives long distance, but also felt that supervision during those visits was necessary. The judge agreed. So, we saw him once a year and he called occasionally. The girls and I prayed for him nightly and the world kept turning.

Five years have passed since the turmoil(s) that wreaked havoc on our lives. I am writing from a new state, a new marriage, a new church and a new me. A lot needed to change. I didn’t see it then, but it was all take and no give. I had life plans so tightly squeezed into a cookie cutter, that I didn’t realize that the cookie was stuck on the pan. It burnt to a crisp and I threw it away. I was being unrealistic when it came to the father of my children. I didn’t give him room to make mistakes. I just kept adding tally marks by his name. When it seemed like he had too many, I walked away, and I thought that I did it without fault. I didn’t have the addiction. I didn’t put faults above family. After all, I fought for my girls. I wasn’t mad any longer, because I saw that silver lining. Or maybe it was because I had gotten exactly what I wanted.

The girls and I still pray nightly. I really was blessed with a fairytale after the divorce. I pinch myself often. My husband is so supportive and adores me. We have a nice house in the country in a small town in Missouri. We have 8 rescue dogs and I started my own business boarding client dogs as well. I am able to go to every sporting event and school program. I get most every holiday, tooth fairy surprise and most of the memories too. But, it all came with a price. Our life, pre-addiction, pre-judgement, pre-failure, pre-burnt cookie, is gone. My kids now live 3 states away from most of their family. They miss grandmas and grandpas who continue to age. They miss cousin birthday parties and old friends. They cry sometimes for their dad. And they dread 12-hour car rides that feel like forever. We manage. We have a life here now. We have blended a family, which has proven harder than the divorce some days. We have therapist appointments, family meetings, anxiety meds and tears here too. We have failures and set-backs and we have hugs and promises. I thank the good Lord above for all of the current triumphs and this life. Getting here was an obstacle course of emotions that I can’t believe I survived.

But, until today, I thought that God was the one that I was the most indebted. After all, he helped guide me through some of the biggest challenges of my life. But, my hero is actually not one that I planned (or always like) giving credit. My hero helped me make 2 amazing little girls. He co-parents from 3 states away. He wanted their happiness bad enough, that when he was at rock bottom, he gave permission for them to move. He wanted them far away from him, his mistakes and his lifestyle. He sees them a couple times a year and it is usually pretty brief each time. But, he continues to allow them to grow elsewhere. He laughs with them on the phone and he cries sometimes too. He watches their life unfold through texts and facetime, instead of in person. And, I am so thankful that he has given us the opportunity to move on. He gave us the do-over.

Love is challenging and is also easily tarnished. God continues to mold me and my family and unselfishly polishes the areas that need it. I am so thankful every day for the answered and unanswered prayers that landed me here. But, because of my ex, I have learned that it isn’t always about keeping score or winning. Sometimes, it isn’t about you at all. Sometimes, it is about what is best for someone else. Even if it hurts you forever.

Thank you to the men and women that serve(d) our country so selflessly. Especially my ex-husband, Derek Hess. You are my hero. You are our hero.