Empty Hands, Full Heart
In most cases, there are no less than two sides to every story…
Earlier today, around 4p.m., I stood in the parking lot of a Flying J, just off Exit 138 on I-20, hands in front of me, palms up, whole body trembling. I was trying to let go of my version of the story while I stood in front of my soon-to-be ex-husband, his truck idling with our sons loaded in the back seat, their suitcases packed and exchanged.
I needed to tell him things—details about conversations with the boys over the weekend that he needed to know about (D’s preference for a packed lunch over cafeteria food, G’s struggles in navigating a tricky middle school friendship). I also needed him to hear my plea for grace, my humility in the dissolution of our family, and my desperation to find a peaceful (and equitable) version of our reworked “ever after”.
I think it’s human to feel this need arise days before an agreement is signed that forever alters your marriage to a person and significantly affects your path as a mother. The next time I see this man face to face, we should very well be a court date away from divorce.
I held my trembling hands in front of me with an offering of…nothingness.
No more fighting. No more pleading. No more judgement. No more anger. No more participation in what has ended us.
My entire body shook while I spoke. What words I used I cannot remember. Did I make sense? Did I say all that I needed to say? The moment passed in a blur. He used the word “distance” at some point, for exactly what I can’t remember, but I do remember stepping backward until we were at least ten feet apart, a palpable distance pushing me from him and us away from each other.
(The breaking happened long ago, but the detaching and unraveling has been years in the making. Seven, to be accurate. But maybe even longer than that.)
My hands. I couldn’t stop looking at my hands. Why did they shake? Why did they feel so empty, yet unable to hold the weight of the air between us?
I thanked him for his time, looked him in the eye, his arms crossed tightly across his chest (a familiar if not ironic sight). For the first time in a long time, I didn’t stand to linger in my own wonder of whether or not he had heard me or understood or seen me as I spoke into the truth I needed to share. I walked away and got into my car and sat still for how long I can’t be sure. He immediately drove away, our boys in his keeping. I stared at my palms in my lap, body still shaking, the emptiness of the moment blanketing my whole body. After I finally exhaled I put the car in drive, got back on the interstate, committed to the long drive home, and set my gaze on a glorious October sunset lighting my path west, back to Birmingham.
Mind
I had plenty of time to think on that long drive and I came to a reckoning…
The price of leaving my marriage was unbelievably high. But here’s what’s extraordinary: I’d take three delicious days with my sons in this new season of our family over three years of what we knew when their father and I lived in the same house. I am so much better (mentally and emotionally), which means my children get much better from me. I believe that can be the case with their father, too. I am faithful that’s the case.
Body
I wore my favorite sweatpants today. They are two sizes too big, enormously unflattering, and the perfect attire for enduring long distances.
Before we hit the road to meet their dad, the boys and I hit a trail and, as it always does, our time in the woods gave us the breath and expanse we needed. Seeing my sons take off running in front of me, sneakers dirty and a gleam in their eye—that’s heaven on earth. That’s the best of life.
Spirit
This morning I woke up next to my sleeping baby. As a mama, I know good and well to hold tight to the moments that are fleeting. That wonderful rest that comes when your baby is sleeping safely by your side—mama’s know…it’s magical.
Just before the sun came up, I awoke and put my hand on his little chest to feel it rise and fall (exactly the way I did when he was an infant and I had to check every two minutes to make sure he was still breathing_). I bathed in the sweetness of this gorgeous child and his old man snores right up until the moment his brown eyes opened and he sprang from bed ready to find breakfast and a kitten to tackle.
The day’s long drive also afforded me time to dive into my developing Fall 2021 playlist (which is, per usual, amazing.)
I enjoyed a spirit-quenching call with a dear friend and another with my Dad.
And I drove…
In the last year, I’ve logged 35,000 miles traveling back and forth to be with my sons. (I’d drive triple that if necessary.) All that time on the road has given me a chance to churn my story over and over in my head.
My side of the story is painful, and I know the other side is, too. I got caught up in that pain for a long time—I thought I had to endure it. Being here on the cusp of such a weighted ending is a new kind of painful, but the strength of what’s beginning feels like it’s being pushed up from the mud of all that’s been dissolved.
I didn’t choose to write some parts of this story—they were inarguable inevitabilities of living bravely. Some parts I’d admittedly like to rewrite, though we all know that’s not possible. Life doesn’t offer an “edit” button. It keeps moving…and so the story goes.
What lies ahead is what I’m really looking forward to. My sons, my darling angel boys, THEY are the whole story, and who they are becoming is fueled by the offering I give. I’m pretty proud of what I’ve offered. In fact, I’m comforted by it. I’ve given the best of what I had, and will continue to give the best of all I have.
The story that unfolds from here is one I know will be worth telling.
Empty hands can heal a broken heart. I believe it.
x,
lk
Photo: Mother’s Day 2020, Sullivan’s Island
