Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Grace Triumphant 018
March 15
Oh why did I come back on the unluckiest day of the year? Surely that's superstition. (Well, it was certainly a bad day for Caesar!)
From far away, the house was merely home. But now that we're here, the emptiness is huge. We all feel it that Greg is gone. The children are suddenly in tune with the fear they felt that horrible night, with the inexplicable mystery of what happened between their mother and their father. And half the dishes are gone. Greg may have taken several for himself, and I have no idea how many I broke.
His clothes and shoes and jackets are gone. The house is immaculate. There was a single note, sealed and addressed to me with the words "Mom only" on it, so that neither of the children would open it. Benjamin brought it to me, and both of them waited, almost looking like characters from Japanese cartoons with their eyes so big and anxious that I couldn't open it in front of them. Poor Rachel had her little hands knotted together.
"Children," I said. I crouched down to get on their level. "I want you to put your things away. You're both old enough to unpack your own things."
"What about Daddy?" Rachel asked. Her voice was reduced to a whisper.
"Children, your father and I are having a difficult time right now. But we both want you to be happy, and we both love you. We'll work out the best solution for everybody. But you have to give us time, and you have to let us work and let us make the decisions."
"But where is he?" Rachel asked.
"He has to live someplace else for a while."
"Will we see him again?" Ben asked.
His innocent question, another marker of my failure to assuage their fears, brought tears to my eyes. "Yes darling, I promise that you'll see him soon. I promise. In fact, that's my most important promise right now. You know he wants to see you, and I don't want to keep you from seeing him. But for now, we're going to live here, and he has to live someplace else."
I didn't want to cry in front of them, but those tears that I can no longer control came down my cheeks. I couldn't look into their faces and say it without tears. To hold my children close and look at their frightened faces and tell them their father could not come home. No pain in my life has been worse. In fact I don't think I knew pain until I inflicted this pain on my innocent children today.
And Benjamin said again, with that uncanny intuition, "Mama, has Daddy stopped loving you? Were you mad, or were you sad, that night?"
Poor little Rachel's face went stark white at reference to that awful night. For her it had been an incomprehensible nightmare.
"Son, I can't discuss it with you because there are things between parents that they don't discuss with their children. You'll understand when you're married. You and Rachel have to work on loving both of us and loving each other." I stroked their heads. "I am so sorry that you saw what you saw that night. I hope you can forgive me---"
"We do, we do!" they exclaimed, and they threw themselves into my arms. We did what we hadn't been able to do at Jim and Amy Carmichael's. We cried together. In fact, we sobbed, our arms around each other, our grief at last coming out into the open. They were so frightened and they've been suffering, and I am causing it, but I don't know what else to do.
"Mama, we love you both," Rachel said. "And we'll be good."
So we got through the day. They cleaned their rooms, and I tried to get life back into a recognizable routine for them. With practically no dishes left, I ordered pizza. We looked over their neglected lessons, and I did laundry and got things ready for them to go to school in the morning.
Only after my poor children were safely tucked up in their beds, and I had kissed them and looked in on them a dozen times over, did I open the note. It simply said, "I am sorry. I love you, and I want you back."
You don;t want me; you just want your life back to normal, I thought.
|
Oh why did I come back on the unluckiest day of the year? Surely that's superstition. (Well, it was certainly a bad day for Caesar!)
From far away, the house was merely home. But now that we're here, the emptiness is huge. We all feel it that Greg is gone. The children are suddenly in tune with the fear they felt that horrible night, with the inexplicable mystery of what happened between their mother and their father. And half the dishes are gone. Greg may have taken several for himself, and I have no idea how many I broke.
His clothes and shoes and jackets are gone. The house is immaculate. There was a single note, sealed and addressed to me with the words "Mom only" on it, so that neither of the children would open it. Benjamin brought it to me, and both of them waited, almost looking like characters from Japanese cartoons with their eyes so big and anxious that I couldn't open it in front of them. Poor Rachel had her little hands knotted together.
"Children," I said. I crouched down to get on their level. "I want you to put your things away. You're both old enough to unpack your own things."
"What about Daddy?" Rachel asked. Her voice was reduced to a whisper.
"Children, your father and I are having a difficult time right now. But we both want you to be happy, and we both love you. We'll work out the best solution for everybody. But you have to give us time, and you have to let us work and let us make the decisions."
"But where is he?" Rachel asked.
"He has to live someplace else for a while."
"Will we see him again?" Ben asked.
His innocent question, another marker of my failure to assuage their fears, brought tears to my eyes. "Yes darling, I promise that you'll see him soon. I promise. In fact, that's my most important promise right now. You know he wants to see you, and I don't want to keep you from seeing him. But for now, we're going to live here, and he has to live someplace else."
I didn't want to cry in front of them, but those tears that I can no longer control came down my cheeks. I couldn't look into their faces and say it without tears. To hold my children close and look at their frightened faces and tell them their father could not come home. No pain in my life has been worse. In fact I don't think I knew pain until I inflicted this pain on my innocent children today.
And Benjamin said again, with that uncanny intuition, "Mama, has Daddy stopped loving you? Were you mad, or were you sad, that night?"
Poor little Rachel's face went stark white at reference to that awful night. For her it had been an incomprehensible nightmare.
"Son, I can't discuss it with you because there are things between parents that they don't discuss with their children. You'll understand when you're married. You and Rachel have to work on loving both of us and loving each other." I stroked their heads. "I am so sorry that you saw what you saw that night. I hope you can forgive me---"
"We do, we do!" they exclaimed, and they threw themselves into my arms. We did what we hadn't been able to do at Jim and Amy Carmichael's. We cried together. In fact, we sobbed, our arms around each other, our grief at last coming out into the open. They were so frightened and they've been suffering, and I am causing it, but I don't know what else to do.
"Mama, we love you both," Rachel said. "And we'll be good."
So we got through the day. They cleaned their rooms, and I tried to get life back into a recognizable routine for them. With practically no dishes left, I ordered pizza. We looked over their neglected lessons, and I did laundry and got things ready for them to go to school in the morning.
Only after my poor children were safely tucked up in their beds, and I had kissed them and looked in on them a dozen times over, did I open the note. It simply said, "I am sorry. I love you, and I want you back."
You don;t want me; you just want your life back to normal, I thought.
