Sometimes one just doesn't see how deep wounds go. Who would have thought that even at age 35, a married woman with four children of my own, I could spend half the night crying about the divorce of my parents? A divorce that happened more than ten years ago, and long after I was out of the house. A divorce that then, and now, continues to break my heart. I guess that there's still a little girl somewhere inside of me, and that little girl still just wants her mom and her dad to love each other. A little girl that wants both parts of herself to fit together, to welcome each other, to belong. A little girl that still mourns the childhood she knew, the people she knew in that childhood. For some part of her past to be recognizable.
I feel like a stranger in a strange land.
And I am reminded of how deeply my own children must ache from time to time, how their little lives were shattered, and the floodgates of tears start all over again. I never want my little ones to feel what I am feeling. And yet they probably do. I will more fervently resolve to never deny them both halves of who they are. I will never deny that each of them was born of tremendous love and desire, with carefully designed dreams for the future. We had such good intentions. And they deserved so much more.
I did too. I do take solace in the knowledge that I am known and loved above. It does bring me great peace that my pain is His pain too, and that my achings turn and till the soil of my heart for more deeply rooted compassion and understanding. I know that I have learned things that only the fire of loss could teach me. I did learn the lesson of the wildfire bringing new, stronger, greener growth.
And I see it. It's there and it's vibrant. But sometimes I just still miss the lushness of the old forest floor and the shade of tall pines.