If we as adults experience this horrific effect of the force of divorce, how much more do our children ache and groan from an unreachable wound? A wound that will fester and spread an infection, if at some point they never get healing. Even though I was blessed with my period of beforeness, the force of divorce crashed down on my little life, sending the foundation of everything I held as stable and true into a violent whirlwind.
And I was one of the “lucky” ones, by the our society’s perspective. I was never physically abused by my father; never had to sleep under the bed at night for fear of what the night would bring. I was swept away in the middle of the night by my mother and a priest who rushed us to the airport. Somehow my dad caught up with us and I remember he had one of my arms and my mom had the other both of them pulling me in opposite directions. How about that for a visual of a broken family? My mother won the tug of war and I boarded an airplane with her to her home state, Louisiana. I can’t imagine the shame she felt. Leaving home as a beautiful bride with a wonderful future, returning home embarrassed, disgraced and alone. The future, not so bright, in fact, downright scary as she embraced her only valuable possession, me. I was four. I wouldn’t see my father again until I was twelve. What is divorce? A child’s uncontrollable fairy tale tragedy . “Ashes, ashes, they all fall down.”
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