Divorce is never easy. It requires courts, forms, signatures, a division of property, and, most of all, time. It can cause a lot of stress and tears of sadness as well as anger. After all that is said and done, and the divorce is finalized, the divorced couple still have to communicate if children are involved. But, imagine this from the child's perspective.
What I would give to go back four years ago. Back when we all lived together and were actually happy. Sure, the last couple years were rough, but it isn't always going to be rainbows and butterflies. Me and my sisters knew there was a divorce waiting to happen in the future, the near future. The thing that shocked us was what led up to it and how it ended.
At age 12, you feel on top of the world. My father was a stay at home dad while my mother worked all the time. I would come home from school and go play football in the yard with my dad or watch it on the television. If something was wrong, he would cheer me up. He would lay on the couch with me, listening to my petty problems and cheering me up. My mom did things to help too, but I was always a "daddy's girl." Everything was perfect; I lived the fairy-tale life. Two years before the divorce hit, though, it was like the beautiful snow-capped mountain turned into a raging avalanche.
Name-calling, back-stabbing, and screaming overwhelmed the home with the three children trapped in the middle. It was like tidal waves pushing us from side to side, forced to listen to the hissing words coming from the parent's mouth's. Caught in the middle, we were left to pick sides. My sisters mostly just nodded and zoned out as they talked; however, I, being the youngest and most influenced, listened intently. They sounded like kindergartners bashing each other on the play ground.
"Well, he said this!"
"I told her this but she wouldn't listen!"
It was a never ending downward spiral to the gates of hell. I would lay in bed, crying myself to sleep at night. I had, like every child victim to divorce, thought it was my fault at one point. I dreaded the thought of leaving my room in the morning. The tension was as thick as a brick. It was like you could smell their anger from down the hall. I tip-toed out of my bed in the morning and rushed to get ready for school. I was out the door as quick as possible and would stay out of the house as much as possible. The word home had lost its meaning. It was no longer a loving shelter but instead a homeless shelter, where everyone sleeps in fear.
A couple days before Christmas the house was dead silent; You would have been able to hear a pin drop. My sisters and I entered the living room where we found our parents sitting in silence. They said they had something to tell us so we all sat down in a row on the couch. We all knew it was coming.
"We are getting a divorce. It has nothing to do with you girls; we have done a lot of thinking, and we decided it's for the best."
No one said a word. In all honesty, we had seen it coming for about two years at this point. Then the real shock came.
"I am moving to Guam, though. I have a buddy who can get me a job there."
The word "Guam" echoed through the house. I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes, yet I tried to hold them back. My sister to my right began to whimper, and the sister to my left began bawling. A tear was released to stream down my cheek; I lost control. Tears began racing down my cheeks. I tried to maintain my mature look, but it was no use. I ran to my dad and hugged him tightly, telling him he couldn't leave. I needed him too much. He told me he was leaving New Years Eve and I began crying even harder (To this day, I have never cried as hard as I did in this moment).
That night, I could hear him crying in his room. That was the first time I had ever heard my dad cry. He was miserable and knew he had no other choice but to go to Guam. He didn't want to leave us behind, but he didn't have a choice.
Every day, since the day he left, he has been trying to get back to the states to finally live with his daughters again. The oldest, however, is already in college and the next is a senior in high school. Now, he finally thinks he is able to move back. Why? To get admitted into the Los Angeles hospital to get work done on his neck. He got nerve damage into his neck. He tries to get back once every summer to see my sisters and me, but last year he was unsuccessful. He had no money to get back here because he was spending it all on medical bills seeing as he got cancer for the second time in his life as well as having a collapsed lung. Words can not explain how much I miss him and how much I wish I could just be there to help him. I still cry at night because I miss him so much.
The first three years after he left, I contemplated suicide. I cried myself to sleep every night thinking I was incapable of living without him. I felt no reason to live. I never got to the intensity where I cut myself or attempted suicide, but the thoughts engulfed me daily. They never left me alone. My self esteem dropped and my grades slipped slightly. I hid my face and developed a stutter. Public speaking became a chore as well. Nothing was easy; everything was as challenging as climbing a cliff.
Looking back, I would rather be back in the house with the arguing. I don't Skype my dad often because it makes me miss him more. My mom and him still fight only ten times worse. They argue over email, making a scene every time my sisters and I want to see my dad.
I feel like a hostage that has a large value connected to it. And I do. Its called child support. So next time a parent out there feels they have it hard during a divorce, look at your child. They probably have it worse. They just hide it from you because it doesn't seem like it would matter to you. You have your own problems; why should you have to deal with your children's too?
No comments:
Post a Comment