Sometimes a story is so big and messy that I don’t know how to tell it. Do I start at the beginning? Do I begin in the middle and move outward? Or do I give you the frame, the skeleton, and then fill in the color for you?
Here is the frame: in 48 hours, Bob Dylan won the Nobel prize for literature, my kids met their new half sibling, my son turned seven, and half of my house flooded.
I heard my phone chime on Thursday morning as I drove to work, and she was in labor at the hospital. The same date, as life would have it, that I checked in the hospital to labor with my first baby as well. It took almost two days to get him out, and her outcome was much faster, but a shift has been working in me these past few months somehow, and the dam finally broke. Now I see that everything has changed. Two parallel tracks now. Two separate families. Two entirely different worlds as our kids bounce between mom and dad’s houses. And most importantly, two different mothers exist now – each with her own children.
Divorce is real and final, and I have accepted myself as a single mother for almost two years now, but there is something different when someone you spent fifteen years of your life with has truly begun another family. It was surreal as they Facetimed the kids just an hour or so after birth and I saw the image on the screen. That tiny squealing baby, that other mother next to the father of my own kids. The image of him starting all over again. But all set against the contrast of mirrors and memories buried in my own mind from a time not so long ago.
My son turned seven yesterday, and my world is different than it once was. This is the first year I’m not posting his birthday letter on the blog – just quietly placing it in the safe with the others. He has his own ideas now, his own self, his own need for privacy and understanding. But I remember the beginning so well. Arriving at the hospital late at night, waking up the next day with contractions. The nineteen hours of work and the eventual surgery and those first few days when it was just the three of us, no one else.
It was the most incredible feeling to see that you created something with this other person, and that thing you created is a whole new life. A whole new family. Her reality is very different, I’m sure. And I cannot speak to any other mother’s experience. But a weird shift is happening where I feel compassion for her and a genuine sense of bewilderment at how different it must be when the other partner already has children. Do you still get that sacred bubble of time and space where you are the only people in the world who matter? That feeling that this is it; this is your family? I don’t know. I hope so because even now as I stand confused at the memories behind me and what they meant or didn’t mean to him, my earliest days of motherhood are among the fullest and happiest memories I have as my heart broke open to make way for the path ahead. I want so badly for her to have that growth as well, that enhanced understanding of the world around her and recognition of her own power. I’m rooting for her in a genuine way that I didn’t expect to manifest like this. Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?
So the kids went to sleep Thursday night, and I cried in the bathtub for a while, if I’m being honest. Not so much at the sadness of the situation but at the way that life hands you something that is such a combination of ugly and beautiful that you don’t know what to do with it. This is my path, and that is hers. But we are one and the same. As Bob Dylan himself says, “Behind every beautiful thing, there is some kind of pain.”
I awoke at 4:30 unable to go back to sleep, but even when my alarm rang at 5:30, I laid there a while longer. I stumbled to the shower, grateful it was Friday. And as I was stepping out, I saw water pouring from under my sink. When I say pouring, I mean an ocean of water flowing faster than I could think. I open the door of the vanity to see a broken pipe and water spewing with what felt like the force of a hurricane. I used every brain cell available before coffee which is approximately three of them, and I did what all 35 year old grown women do in a crisis. I called my mom.
As I’m flying through the house in my dripping bathrobe, Norah wakes up, and I tell her there’s water everywhere. She gets excited like it’s an adventure, and I am downstairs in my robe panicking on the phone to my mom and looking frantically for the main cut off. These are things I should know as a single adult and homeowner, but there seems to be no room for this information among the files of school permission slips and food preferences and doctor appointments and work to-do lists in my head. After about three minutes, I realize that knocking on a neighbor’s door at 5:50am is a good way to give someone a heart attack and why should they know where my water cut off is? We have a fire department half a mile from my neighborhood and there is water falling through my kitchen ceiling at this point, so I call 911.
“Ummm, hi. We are fine. No one is hurt. But my house is flooding and I’m looking for a main cut off outside and in my house and I cannot find one. I’ve been here a year, and I am the only adult here, and clearly I should know this but I do not know what I’m doing. Obviously.” The operator told me to head outside, and they would meet me there. And it occurred to me that I was not wearing real clothes. So I threw some on, and woke up Jude who was somehow still sleeping through all this, and we headed outside together.
Fire truck at the house at 6:00am. Kids on the porch wrapped in blankets waving at them. And I look down to see that I am bra-less with a shirt on both inside out and backwards. We are a circus.
In three minutes’ time, they had it off. From beginning to end, the pipe was open maybe 15 minutes – if that. The damage tells a far bigger story though.
I managed to get Jude on the bus at 7:30, homework intact and hair combed, which is perhaps the single greatest accomplishment of my life forever after. (And thanks to a neighbor who let him brush his teeth there and walked him to the bus stop while I called insurance.) One by one, I checked the things off the list. Insurance claim number, restoration services. Right, left, right, left. Just keep moving.
We will be okay, and I know this. The kids bedrooms are untouched, and the kitchen is clean now and usable without the ceiling. Fans are here, and we are almost dried out, and the work of renovations will come soon. But the ceiling fell – literally and in that other way, too. Life is reminding me that sometimes you just have to start all over and that I can do hard things.
I know a day will come when I will think, remember that 20 month period when my husband left, I moved two little kids, he married someone else, Jude started kindergarten, I got in a car accident, I had gum surgery, my grandmother died, my ex had a baby with the new wife, and my house flooded? All in less than two years’ time, and here I am still standing on my own two feet somehow. Nothing scares me anymore. Nothing at all.
The house is not uninhabitable, but my granddad heard what happened and offered that I stay with him for the weekend since the kids are gone anyhow. I happily said yes and brought loads of heavy, wet laundry and a weary spirit. We talked a good bit, but we sat in silence a good bit as well, and it was good for the both of us. Talking with him does me more good than talking to anyone else lately because he takes the long view. He’s never looking at the here and now that can overwhelm and scare me. Always steady and always keeping in mind the greater arc of my story and the bigger picture, he brings me calm. Who knows what the long view is with my two and their half-sibling and the challenges of blending families, but the three of us are the family I can feel and touch and support and fight for. The rest is not my story to write. It will write itself, as he reminded me. It always does.
My weekend felt eerily similar to when I would stay there as a little girl. The floors creak in the same spots they always have and the sheets smell a very particular and comforting way I can never bury beyond the surface of my memories. Though I haven’t slept in that house in more than a decade, I know his nighttime rhythms well. The television was playing Saturday night’s rotation of gospel hymns, and he offered me ice cream before bed as we sat together and listened. I’m looking now, just across a river, to where my faith will end in sight. There’s just a few more days to labor, and then I’ll take my heavenly flight.
I cannot tell what is across the river in this life. I don’t know how the story ends when my season of growth and labor is over. I have grown so much from this season in my life, but if I can be honest for a minute, I am tired of growing. I know I can do hard things, and I can do it all alone if I need to. But I’m ready for rest. I’ve heard it said that if your obstacles are bigger than you’d imagined and God is making you wait, then be prepared to receive even more than what you asked for. I hope this is true. The wait feels long, and I’m ready to lighten the load.
But despite it all, I fell asleep last night grateful to rest in a space I know well enough that my bones recognize it. So much can change, but what matters always stays the same, doesn’t it? Me, myself, here, now. Safe and strong.
18 thoughts on “it will write itself”
Wow. As I sit here on a Monday morning, just getting all the stuff done, I’m so happy I took the few minutes to read this and just sit with tears in my eyes for everything the last 20 months has thrown at you. I can not imagine the feel of permanence you are feeling now, that no matter what the future brings, everything has now shifted. I hope you get your rest period, you have certainly earned it.
Thank you so much. Beck. I’m ready for rest for sure. Hoping it is coming around the bend.
I was interrupted three times while trying to read this post, and each time I either ignored it or shushed it away because I couldn’t stop/wouldn’t stop reading. Even though we’ve talked and I’ve been privy to some of these last few days for you, I was curious as to how it all processed in you. I know writing helps that train move along. The dam. The cave in. The old to new. The diverging stories. And then you have it all mixed up with routine and work and three meals a day. Your surreal time is making for a stronger woman who deserves some rest for her bones. Thinking of you, Katie. 🙏
“Writing helps move the train along.” I love that. It’s the only way I make sense of anything lately. Thanks for your constant support and last minute phone chats, friend. ❤
There is so much that I have in common with you right now, though no flood and no baby…it was a real serendipity to have stopped for the moment to read your story. The layers of history and confusion about retelling a history that you thought you knew. Kids and their understandings of family in the midst of a mother’s confusion and new history-making. I’m in my first year of it, and unable to write at this point. Hoping that time will give the gift again… a beacon, here…
I’m glad you stumbled on it at the right time, Kate. Rewriting the past story is the weirdest thing, isn’t it? My daughter is only 4, and I was looking at photos of labor and delivery with her yesterday. He’s holding my hand and so connected in what looks like such a real way. It’s overwhelming to think 2 years later he left. It’s so confusing and makes you doubt everything else, too. Love to you as you navigate these waters. It’s tough stuff!
Reblogged this on Partial Disclosure and commented:
Talk about keeping your perspective! Love this woman.
I don’t know how I found you and started following you but have enjoyed all your posts for some time. But this one – wow. So much. In another life a long long time ago I was the “other woman”. Reading your story has made me relive all the old guilt that I lived with for years – and still do to some extent. I was never able to have children with the man I stole. I often wonder whether his ex wife took pleasure in that fact. I wouldn’t have blamed her. I am long out of the relationship now but your post reminds me of the long shadows that this drama cast over my life. How complicated it all was. How fraught, how lacking in loving innocence. I marvel at your kindness and compassion and maturity. I wish I had had more at the time. You are a good person. Your ex husband and his wife are very very lucky and I really hope they know it. Good luck. xx
Thank you so much for reaching out, Nancy. I love the ways that writing and this community has widened my perspective. Hearing from step-mothers and second wives is really helpful for me.
It is so so complicated, and that is one reason I feel sorry for her. She was incredibly young when they met, barely 24. And it seems like she hasn’t been able to enjoy any of the simplicity that first big love and marriage at that age usually brings. Everything so very rushed, and even with the birth itself, she brought baby home the very next day to two other kids underfoot and a husband focused on entertaining them. It is such a stark contrast to the simplicity of my twenties.
Thanks for your compliment on kindness and maturity. I am surprising even myself on that one. I still have a hard time when thinking about his decisions and the sheer speed of all of this, but the farther I get from the initial betrayal, the more my feelings dissipate. More apathy toward him now and no longer hatred. My sadness and anger were intense in the beginning though. I was not nice at all for the first 6ish months, no doubt. But you have to move through that to get to the other side.
It’s a long road and just beginning. I hope she wakes up – whether that includes staying with him or not, I don’t care. But I’m rooting for her to have some self-realization.
As always, your posts are perfectly timed. Reassuring to be in the same boat.
As always beautiful word. I teared up a bit. And then read them again.
You have a true gift. So grateful that you choose to share it.
Should be beautiful words. 🙂
So very many powerful parts here. Nancy’s words are so prophetic. The “long shadows” she describes are certainly part of what is informing and motivating decisions for them. Those shadows will cover all of their days. They can’t outrun them. That inherent loss of innocence and trust when you’ve been part of a wife’s betrayal is something to pity. You can never truly believe that it won’t happen to you when you’ve seen him commit the betrayal first hand. What a terrifying reality.
But… I am so glad that on some level you are “rooting for her.” To be able to see her as not ONLY the one-dimensional “other woman” but to see her also as a mother is revelatory! To leave room in your heart to imagine – and ROOT – for the transformation that takes place when you enter that new space as a woman. To hope for her growth and understanding through this experience… I think that means that your rest is near. And lord do you deserve it!
Because your shame was double, and they cried out, “Disgrace is their portion,” therefore, you will possess double in their land, and eternal joy will be yours.
Love to you, too. ❤ Thanks for this. My life is certainly less complicated than theirs now. And that is something I'm grateful for (on my end) but it saddens me to think of all the suffocating layers on the other side. Parallel tracks though… stay in my own lane. It's not my mess to sort out.
So beautifully written and so inspiring. I’m impressed with the way you have sprinkled compassion over this lady many of us would’ve portrayed as the other woman. Very kind and sweet. God bless…