A Divided Spirit, Part I
March 2008
Piles of paperwork surround her in the kitchen. School notices, practice schedules, bills to be paid, and taking center stage: High school registration forms that need to be completed before the next morning’s meeting. Her eldest is selecting courses for his freshman year.
The phone rings. It’s him.
“Hello. Hello?”
It’s the usual “Hi, how are you?” and “How was your day…” In between the 6-year old’s questions and the 3-year old’s demands for more drawings, she strains to hear him. She scrambles for her Bluetooth headset and does something that surprises both herself and her family.
She leaves the chaos where it is to seek some quiet time in her bedroom.
And slowly… her heart begins to open up. She’s nervous about telling him everything. What she sees. What he’s doing about it. What he’s not doing. What she’s not doing. And especially, how they’re relationship has changed… how distant it’s become.
She misses him. But more importantly, she’s concerned for him. Never mind that their relationship has always been a bit skewed. It doesn’t help to remember how cold, how brutal she was to him as a teenager. She still flinches when she thinks about times that she’d whack him upside the head. In front of his friends. For what? She can’t recall. Probably irritating her in some slight degree with her reacting in full force.
She had issues. Problems. Things you don’t talk about in public. Or to anyone, for that matter. Things you know you'll take to your grave to protect your children, your family. To spare the same pain from those closest to your heart.
But the years have passed, and she brings up their childhood to apologize, but he won’t hear it. He had almost forgotten it all and gave her the unspoken pardon she didn’t think she was going to get. In spite of her unexplained behavior, he had forgiven her.
And now, she sits on the recliner in her bedroom, door shut.
The first time her husband walked in, he just stood there and looked at her. Wondering who in the world she was talking to... But it only took him half a minute. He quickly figured it out and took the boys outside to play before the sun set.
The conversation on the phone had turned.
Both are heated. And both have very, very good points. She can almost feel him slipping… in her mind she fast forwards 5 years from that moment and doesn’t see him and his family around the Christmas tree. The image forcefully kicks in. Something comes up and he puts her on hold. The timing couldn’t have been better ‘cause she doesn’t want to give away the silent flow of tears on her cheeks. She takes advantage of the unexpected stillness and silently finishes a quick prayer.
He’s back on the line now, and they take it up again in hushed, tender steps. Her husband comes back to check on her. Concerned and impatient, he stands in front of her, hands on his hips with his head tilted to the side to steal a glimpse of her face.
She refuses to make eye contact him. She knows that if she were to look him in the eyes, if she connected with him, if he even reached out to hug her, touch her… That the slightest human connection would fracture the dam. And then there would be nothing to hold back the flood.
(To be continued in next week's installment of "A Divided Spirit")
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