"Run Home Susie, Run Home"

When the kids were little, we owned a house in Andover, Massachusetts. In the inflated Massachusetts home market of 2002, the place was a dump but really only in need of lots of cosmetic work. It was a corner lot and had a wonderful side yard. Gary did much work reclaiming that side yard that had been so overgrown when we moved in and we affectionately called it the "meadow".

I have some good memories of the kids playing in the meadow. One Saturday, Gary and the kids decided to play softball. Bases were created out of odds and ends from the garage and the game was set. With Gary as pitcher and a big over sized yellow bat the game began. Soon it was Abby's turn to bat. Although not even five, contact was somehow made with the ball and she took the base. Eventually she made it to second. The next batter hit a double too and the cry went out " Run Home Abby, Run Home". Abandoning her base in the meadow she ran to our front door and proclaimed that she had scored a run. Even at the tender age of four she knew where her home was. We still laugh at that story today.  When you are in the midst of creating a life it is hard to know what stories will become family lore and those that will soon be forgotten. When I think of that story I think of a little girl not even able to read who clearly knew already where home was.

One of the most rupturing things about divorce is losing that sense of home you have with another person no matter where you live.  Not long after Gary and I began to live separate lives  I rode the train back from Poughkeepsie to Albany after a visit with my parents. For most of the trip I held back tears grappling with the concept of where I would be buried someday. My parents had long ago picked burial plots in the cemetery in Hurley where so many of our relatives had been buried before. Who would I be buried next to and where? As with most life changes you can only take so much on at once and to deal with this, I buried the thought in the back of my mind.

As an adult I've had many homes. In the past thirty years, I lived in Buffalo, Rochester, Albany, Philadelphia, and Andover. At each place I have made good friends and enjoyed my life. Would I call any of these places home though?

Here, interestingly enough, my three closest friends are all a few years older than me. One, a single mom like me has roots in the community. She is not leaving anytime soon. My other two friends though, have spoken openly of concrete retirement plans in other locations in just a few years. I feel a sense of panic and loss thinking that in just a matter of time these emotional touchstones will be gone. I know I must guard against jumping into something just to know these anticipated voids will be filled.

For now I am floundering. Like a fish out of water, I am gasping for air and not knowing if I will perish on the shore or make it back into the stream. Some days I hope there is a greater force and a bigger plan that will make sense of all this pain and angst. In the darkest moments I deal by remembering that even if a little girl can find home maybe I will too.

What Doesn't Kill You, May Almost Kill You

Once when leaving a job after two very difficult years, I was asked to say a few parting words. What immediately came to mind was the phrase "What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger." While I restrained myself on that occasion for obvious reasons, I have contemplated that phrase many times in my life. Do setbacks and loss really make you stronger or do they wound you in ways in which you never quite recover?

I am in the final stages of my divorce. We have successfully agreed on terms which we both think are fair and papers just are left to be filed. There is one catch - even in the days of no fault divorce one of us must still be the plaintiff and one of us the defendant. As a final indignity, the plaintiff must serve the defendant with the divorce papers. This involves as you can imagine, a visit from a process server. Yesterday I learned that I will be the defendant.

Those out of the stream of emotion of this event remind me what does it really matter. To me, if you are the defendant, the assumption is that your bad behavior brought you to this juncture. To me, who has felt in the last four years I have cried enough to fill Lake Erie, this was a final insult and a terrible blow.
Like all marriages mine was not perfect. Over the last three years as I have worked through this process I have examined over and over what happened. John Grey says that at a time of breakup women blame themselves and men blame the women. Wow, just another thing we women take on our shoulders. I spent  a lot of time blaming myself - was I not attentive enough, did I spend too much time taking care of the kids, was I too fat (this one, which still haunts me, took up way too much time). In the end, it began to dawn on me - none of that really mattered because for this family I had done the most important thing of all. I had shown up. For almost twenty years, I had put myself on the back burner for a husband I loved and a family I adored. I had my dreams and aspirations but to me their happiness came first. Love, a poet tells us, is an action. And I truly loved them all. The last thing I should do is defend myself.

This year I celebrate a special anniversary. I try not to talk about it too much because I think somehow it will jinx my luck. In June, it will be ten years since I finished initial treatment for breast cancer. Back when I was diagnosed Abby was just two years old. During a particular terrible round of chemotherapy, I remember thinking if there is a God, just let me live at least until this little girl is eighteen. On that front, life has been good. Next month, my two year old toddler will hit the ripe age of thirteen. Despite the typical mother daughter ups and downs we are close and if I am gone tomorrow she and Dan and Kate will remember me. When all is said and done all that is really left is that we loved others in our life enough that even after we are gone they can still feel that love and can pass it on.

At this point in life, I thought I would be coming down the backstretch enjoying some time in the sun. While I didn't expect to be the beautiful horse in the Winner's Circle, I didn't want to be in a place where I wondered if I was headed for the glue factory.  I am not dead yet, but the jury is still out if this whole experience has made me stronger. All I can tell you is that I am hanging in there. I am still showing up.

The Inventory

Whether we want to admit it or not, every newly single divorced woman looks to the past to see if the new special someone is hiding there. Donna Hanover, Rudy Giuliani's ex-wife even wrote a book about it. Donna was lucky. Publicity over her divorce caused her old boyfriend to give her a call. From what I know, they are still living happily ever after.
In my fifty-two years, there were twelve special somethings in my life. I use that term loosely, because a two week relationship in eighth grade may not really count as something special. The purpose of this exercise though is to make one feel better about one's self so at this point, if I brushed up against someone on a crowded street I'd be tempted to count it.Some I should add were real relationships - boyfriend/girlfriend while others could be better described as near misses. I was dating someone or he was but the attraction was certainly felt.
First of course, I had to discount my soon to be former husband. One down, eleven to go. Certain relationships also seemed immediately out to me - the transition boyfriend in college, my friend in eighth grade, the fling I had during graduate school. Then I had to deduct the now happily married - four that I knew of right off the bat because we had remained friends. Ah, the list was narrowing.
Two of the remaining four struck me as the most appealing of the remaining prospects. Both were near misses -one from high school and the other from college. I knew through mutual friends that the college prospect had asked about me over the years even as he had married and had children. Maybe he was unattached at this point? Ah, it was not to be - a google search and a few quick emails determined that he was enjoying family life in the country's heartland.
The high school near miss came front and center. He had a wonderful sense of humor and was an all around nice guy. I learned in short order that he had three children almost grown and had been divorced for nine years. Oh, this was too good to be true. And of course it was. We friended each other on Facebook and I discovered he was newly remarried to a stunning thirty-five year old woman. So much for my trip down memory lane.

All and all I'm not discouraged that lightening didn't strike a second time during this foray into my past. I take it as a sign that I am meant to move forward and not look back. Here's to lucky number thirteen where ever he may be!

R E S P E C T Find Out What It Means To Me

There is something to be said for writing at 4 am. In the quiet of the morning, before the day's distractions have set in, my mind feels clearer than any other time of day. Sitting here, with a steaming cup of joe, the world is my oyster.
The upside of being single at 51 is that the pressure is gone. My biological clock has long stopped ticking and having a man in my life will not define it but only add to it in a positive way. For the first time, I feel like I can afford to be really picky about what I want in a partner.
Early in this journey, as I hoped to save my marriage. I had a discussion with someone regarding the biggest indicator of marital satisfaction. "Take a guess," my friend said. Like backgrounds, few money problems, a good sex life came to mind immediately. "Not even close" said my friend." It's respect." At the time, I have to admit that I thought he was crazy. I guess in hindsight that was pretty disrespectful of me.
In my late teens I dated the first real love of my life. He was hard working and to me very sexy. He was the youngest of five and his parents and two brothers and sisters doted on him. They would invite me to Saturday night dinners and I loved feeling a part of this wonderful family. Years later I was shocked to learn that his mother left his father and moved to the opposite side of the country. Even as he battled heart disease and a premature death at 75 she did not return. What had happened? I took another look at those idyllic dinners. Wasn't a part of them always the merciless teasing of my boyfriend's mother. A common response to things she said was for a member of the family to jokingly tell her how crazy she was for rendering that opinion. Who could blame her for fleeing to California.

Yesterday I had my second date with a very nice man. He is smart and certainly a good father to his children. I enjoy listening about his life but I realized yesterday besides talking about my children he never asks me about mine. Mom is just one of the many hats I wear and Mr. Right, if he is out there, will love and respect me for not just that role but the total person I am. While it is comforting to want to take shelter in a safe harbor, I know great opportunities may await me if I venture forth. Aretha, thank you for boldly reminding us what good relationships are all about.

For Eric Segal and Kate - where ever they may be

At the tender age of eleven, with my best friend Lori, I went to see the movie "Love Story". For those of you old enough to remember this cinematic gem, the tag line of the movie was "Love Means Never Having to Say You are Sorry". I never thought about it much at the time - after all I was eleven and you could argue why would any parent let their eleven year old see that film. It was 1970 though, before the age of hyper-parenting and in those days we all played outside all day without telling Mom and Dad where we were every minute. Anyway, I digress.

Forty years later, in the middle of the night, I awoke to realize that what Eric Segal was really saying was that love means saying you are sorry again and again and making sure you are doing it in the moment if possible. I may now hold the world's record for the most time between seeing a movie and understanding its meaning. At this rate, I will need to live to be 90 to understand "Inception".Why, might you ask is this important especially at 3 a.m. on a workday?

Last night, I had a bad parenting moment. Instead of just cutting my losses and saying I was sorry, I argued and argued. My challenger was a formidable opponent - my sixteen year old daughter, Kate. Anyone who has parented a teenage girl knows that unlike a teenage boy who will sulk and ignore you, a girl is willing to take you to the mat. A innocent remark sparked the argument and soon I was determined to have her fully understand the loss I had felt as her father and I worked through the divorce process. When I finally regained my senses I knew I had said too much and even a trip into her favorite Italian bakery would not heal the situation that night. The good news is that I am learning and growing from things like this and next time when I am tired and cranky I will think twice about making sure everyone around me knows exactly how I feel. Eric, as you look down upon me from writer's heaven, be proud to know for this reader, the synapse has finally closed.

Where to Begin?

My good friend Kevin reminds me that marriages end in one of two ways - either divorce or death. When you look at it that way, divorce does not seem as bad an alternative. Still, after fourteen years of marriage and seventeen years as a couple, that August day when my husband announced that he no longer wanted to be married still reminds me of being hit with a sledgehammer.
My story is not about that marriage and its demise but rather about an unexpected life born anew. It is about finding myself again at a time when I didn't even realize I was lost. Most of all, it is a celebration of the people who have and continue to make this journey such an interesting one.
I hope you will join me as I move forward in this new life. We may just learn something from one another!