One thing is for certain. Raising children ranks somewhere way high up on the list of hardest things you'll ever do. Then you have raising children with another person; manuvering around questions of discipline, schools, how to dress them, what to name them, hairstyles (the faux hawk fight can get pretty nasty in my house). And then there's those who face parenting their children with a third party.
Now, our situation is a strange one. In a way, I feel it's the best it could possibly be, but I know it's one that isn't possible for all parents who have chosen to separate.
Nine years ago I was 18 and making interesting judgement calls all over the place. One of them, which certainly made life rough but I'd NEVER change, was getting pregnant with A. I was a college student in a small northern Maine town, living on my own and more enjoying life than really learning anything. There I met "B". A year later we were pregnant.
I wasn't ready, neither was "B". Something I never considered at that age was the impact of A on not only me, but the people associated with both me and B. At such a young age I didn’t yet know how deep love can go
and how it connects people, how love for a child can (in some instances) mend broken bonds, heal
the nastiest wounds, brighten stormy skies that span for miles. So when I was at the height of my own brand of “crazy”, I thought I’d never be
forgiven. I saw no reason to be pardoned
for the wrongs I committed and I saw no way to ever fully right them. Most 18-year-olds are pretty egocentric...but after A was here I learned and I learned quickly.
A was the bridge. A
was the olive branch. Our common love
for A brought us together year after year, and it was seeing that love for this
same child that I think built a trust between us adults. I proved myself a competent parent, that I
would provide a functional and stable environment for A. I found a man that treated her like a
princess, that loved her as his own.
I’ve never lied to A.
She knows she has a different biological parent, she even knows who he is
now. She sees him every year we come out
to visit just as she sees her grandma and her aunt, her papa and her cousins,
great uncles, aunts and grandmother/grandfather. I’ve grown attached to them, as attached as I
am to family of my biological descent.
Her grandma loves N and W just as she loves A and her grandson inherited
from her husband, (“D”) and B’s new baby girl P. (I'm getting ready to spell out full names because I'll soon be running out of alphabet, won't I?)
Most people wonder if it’s awkward for us. For my current husband. Wonder why we’d travel so far to see my ex
and his family, even though his rights were signed over to my husband and we’ve
no obligation. At some point it
transcends obligation, I feel. It’s no
longer about who is legally entitled to what, who paid what and deserves
what. It’s about enjoying each other’s
company, wanting her great grandmother to see her and have time with her and A
to have that experience too. It’s
because life is way too short to hold any sort of grudge, because I want them
to know they’re loved by so many, that even if we’re far apart that love never
dissipates and when we come back together it’s still there and strong as it
ever was.
Will I ever explain what happened to my kids? Yes. I
will tell them every excruciating detail (well.
Mostly. Age appropriate.) so that
they understand that people mess up, people ruin things and people don’t always
do what is right in this life. But so
they’ll also see that it isn’t the end of things, that something magnificent can come of the disasters we create, it won’t kill them. So they can see that people are capable of
amazing leaps of forgiveness. To teach
them that they can forgive and move past wrongs committed towards them and that
life doesn’t have to be weighed down by all of the turmoil and pain of the
past. That your past does not have to
dictate the rest of your life; that power is in their hands and theirs alone.
How can I be sure I was completely forgiven? I guess I can’t. I guess I’ll never know 100% for sure. All I can do is keep pushing forward and keep
doing right by them, and by my daughter.
 |
| W and Auntie Kate. |
What I am certain of is that I’ve moved past anger and
sadness and resentment and into a calm zen sort of acceptance of what our
family is. I still call them my in-laws,
as if nothing had ever changed, because my love and respect for them is still
intact. I still hang out with my
sister-in-law and have probably more fun than I should have, because she
reminds me I’m still young. I still sit
and talk over coffee with my first mother-in-law because we can relate on so
many levels and I admire her strength and wisdom. We do a big family gathering every year and I
happily partake in the festivities and catch up because I do still share that
link of love for the little girl we call A and she is woven just as much from
them as she is from me and mine. I feel
that I get along quite well with B’s new wife and with him as well. I respect her as a fellow mom and I'm confident she
loves A just as much as he and I do.
That is why we came to Maine. That is why we’ll always come to Maine. Even if I get so sick and tired of the ocean
that I stay inland. Even if I cease to
enjoy whoopie pies and my husband decides he actually hates Moxie. Even if we have to drive because we have four
more kids and can’t afford the airfare.
A’s roots lie in locations more than a thousand miles apart, and to cut
her off from one would be a disservice to helping her reach her full potential.
Oh, but I will never hate whoopie pies. Ever.
 |
| And neither will N. Ever. |
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