My husband and I went to a parent/teacher conference on Friday for our son. Imagine sitting in a room with your husband who has been cheating on you for a year and a half and try to carry on a conversation with your son's teacher about how he's doing in school. Every comment out of the teacher's mouth made me want to say, "The man who is sitting next to me is a cheater and a liar. How can he even be sitting here carrying on this conversation?" But somehow I got through the meeting and maybe even fooled the teacher into thinking that everything is just fine.
The kids and my husband and I all returned home from the parent/teacher conferences and the kids went outside to play. "We need to tell the kids," I said. "Let them play outside for a while," my husband said. "We NEED to tell the kids now," I said. "YOU just want to get it over with," he said in a mean voice. My inner voice yelled, "You're Goddamn right I want to get it over with! I haven't been sleeping at all worrying about how they are going to react to this." But I didn't allow my inner voice to be heard and instead said, "We need to tell them now."
I called the kids in from outside and they reluctantly came in. "Please sit down," I said. "Daddy and I need to talk to you about something."
My daughter looked at me and said, "Are we moving?" My heart almost broke in two because yes, we will most likely have to sell our house and move because we can't afford to keep it. But that wasn't the heartbreak that was going to come in this conversation, not yet.
"You know how Daddy has been sleeping on the couch for a while?" I said. The kids had noticed that the previous weekend and I had managed to just brush it aside and not acknowledge it at that point. The kids both nodded. "Well, Mommy and Daddy haven't been getting along very well lately. Have you noticed that?" Both kids nodded again. My husband and I have never been fighters, never yelled at each other in front of the kids, never really even vehemently argued in front of them but the kids must have been aware of the constant tension lately. I looked at my husband waiting for him to continue the conversation. This was after all the path that he had chosen when he had made the decision to cheat on me, on us, on his family. He said nothing.
I continued on, "Well, Mommy and Daddy haven't been getting along very well and we aren't going to be able to live together anymore." My son immediately simply said, "No" and I will never forget the look on his face as long as I live. That dear sweet innocent little six-year old face. He look so horrified and sad and disbelieving and he said again, "No". Finally my husband spoke up and said, "The decision has been made. Mommy and Daddy aren't going to be living together anymore but we both love you and it isn't your fault." I looked at my daughter sitting next to me and she was slowly sinking into herself. She still had her winter coat on and it was like she was melting into herself. She was slinking lower and lower into her jacket as if hoping it would swallow her whole. Tears silently streamed down her face. She's almost 9 years old and she knew what this meant. She had grabbed a book at the library last week, "Amber Brown", about a girl who had divorced parents. When I asked her what she was reading at the time and she told me what it was about, my heart almost jumped out of my chest. It was as if she had sensed this coming but was that possible? I have no idea if she was that intuitive or if it was just some type of unbelievable coincidence.
I asked my daughter, "Do you have any questions?" She just silently shook her head as more tears streamed down her face. I wanted to wail and weep for my children but somehow I squashed my emotions and just gave her a hug. "We both still love you and we both will always be your parents," I said matter-of-factly. "Nothing will ever change that. You'll still see Daddy and you'll still see Mommy." I looked at my son and asked him if he had any questions. He shook his head and kind of smiled and said, "Can I go back outside?" My heart broke again because of his innocence. "Yes, you can go back outside." So outside my son went. I have no idea if he laid outside in the snowbank thinking about the day that his father would be moving out or if he was really just preoccupied with playing with the snow. My daughter continued to sit next to me on the couch and I continued to hug her. "Do you have any questions?" She said no and finally went back outside.
I looked at my husband and said, "I guess that went better than I thought." And then I broke down and started crying and crying. "I just don't understand any of this," I sobbed. "I don't understand how you could do this to your family." Of course he didn't have a response. Then he asked, "Do you want a hug?" I almost weakly said yes but I just shook my head. I just wanted all of this to go away. I wanted all of the pain and heartbreak that my children and I are in for to go away. If he turned to me at that moment and said, "I'm sorry, it was all a mistake" I probably would have just taken him back to avoid what I know is to come. But all he said was "What do you want to do for supper?" "I have no idea," I said. He's the cook in the family, not me. That's about the one role that he plays in the family. I parent the children and run the household, pay the bills, do almost everything and he cooks supper and kisses the kids goodnight.
"Do you want to go out to eat?" he said. "Fine," I said, "if the kids want to go." The kids did indeed want to go to their favorite local burger joint so we got in the car and started off. Then the questions started coming from my daughter. "Daddy, where will you be living? How many bedrooms does it have?" (Two I found out, the kids will have to share a room when they visit Daddy.) "Does it have a porch? Does it have a kitchen?" Question after question poured out of my daughter's mouth. She was so matter of fact about it that I mentally patted myself on the back. Somehow, maybe this will be upsetting to my children but it will soon be normal life to them and they'll bounce back. God, I hope so. Even though the agony of this is killing me, if I can spare my children any pain or confusion I will gladly do what I can. Even if that means sitting across the booth from my husband eating a burger while the kids talk about his new apartment. This is my life now and somehow I will find the strength to roll with it.
I know I can be strong for my kids. I was their everything when my husband was gone on two deployments. The first deployment I had just my daughter who was six months when he left and a year and a half when he returned. For the second deployment my daughter was 6 and my son was 4. I know that these last two years since his return from Afghanistan that I have done more than my fair share of the parenting. My husband would hardly ever get home from work before 6PM and the kids go to bed at 8. And on the weekends, almost every single Sunday, he was either "riding his motorcycle" or "watching football at his friend's". I know that I am the rock that my children can depend on. I am the caregiver, the nurturer, the schoolbag packer, the permission slip writer, the playdate organizer, the one who gets them on the bus, the one who picks them up at after-care, the one who helps them with their homework, the one who tells them to get ready for bed, the one that tells them to brush their teeth. I know that I've been doing that for the last three years at least, so why does it terrify me that soon my husband will be moving out and I will solely be doing something that I'm already doing? Typically I have found that my anticipation of an event is worse than the actual event itself so I'm hoping that will be the case this time as well. Because I need to be strong for my kids. I know if they see me fall apart and cry, they will too. And maybe it's okay to cry when you're told that your father is going to move out but I don't want the tears to continue for long, life moves on. Maybe that's a callous way of looking at it, but I don't want my kids to be forever defined by this moment in our lives. I want them to look back at it and if necessary, remember the hurt and pain but I don't want them to think about this day as the one that ruined their lives.
Tonight at bedtime, my daughter asked me where her Daddy pillow was. Her Daddy pillow is a pillowcase that she received when he was deployed. It has a picture of his face on it and both kids slept with their Daddy pillows nightly when he was gone. "It's in the wash," I said. "It's been there for a few weeks." (I hardly ever do a load of whites, shame on me.) "You need to make sure it's washed so I can have it before Daddy moves out," she said as she snuggled down in bed. And she said it so casually that my heart almost burst out of my chest. An 8-year old girl should not have to be talking about preparing for her Daddy to be moving out. She should be talking about her friends, her dolls, her day at school. She should not have to be talking about such an adult topic. My anger at my husband's bad decisions rose again and I wanted to rush downstairs and scream at him, "Look what you've done to us, you effing selfish weak asshole!" But I once again shoved that down deep inside me. Because screaming and yelling and blaming and cursing can only bring more heartache to my children and I refuse to be a part to any of that. My husband has caused enough of that for both of us.
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