HEALING STICK

If you’re a gamer, you’ll probably know what this means. I’m not a gamer, but my son is.

The other day the kids and I were talking about making summer plans. I mentioned Water World, one of our usual summer fun things to do. Last year I vowed to never go again, told the kids they were old enough to go by themselves with friends from now on. But heck, who am I kidding. Of course I’ll go again. First of all, I don’t really want to let my kiddos spend all day there by themselves, even with friends. And second of all, I do love going to Water World, despite this old body. (I know, I know. I’m not that old yet. But it doesn’t take much these days to get a back ache, headache, or joint pain, pinched nerves, and swollen feet from diabetes, and the list goes on and on).

David, almost regrettably, mentioned he wished we could all go to Water World, as a family, even though we weren’t a family who does things together anymore. He shrugged after he said it. (This is the first summer after the divorce, and it's still hard for him to talk about it).

I told him there was no reason why we couldn’t make plans to all go to Water World together. I told him to look at it as the more, the merrier. We usually all end up splitting up at some point anyway, a couple of us wanting to go here, while a couple of us want to go there, and in a water park that’s good. Then everyone gets what they want and it saves time. It seemed to perk his interest up a bit.

I then asked both kids how they were feeling about the divorce now that it had been about 8 months. (I take any opened door I can as an opportunity to talk with my kids about serious stuff). They both said they were ok with it and that things were getting easier. Abby mostly just listened while she played on her lap top. I know with her that what I’m saying is sinking in, even if she doesn’t have much to say. David opened up more than I thought he would, and a great conversation followed. He’s 13 and I think he’s taken the divorce harder than any of us...

I remember the night the kids and I moved into our little rental house. We’d made several trips of carloads of little things that the movers didn’t get the first time--things that were more personal and that I wanted to move myself. Finally at about 7 pm we were on the last trip, but David didn’t want to leave the old house he’d lived in for the past 3-1/2 years. Abby was her usual gung-ho self, eager to spend the first night in our new home, but I found David hiding in his room, buried under his blankets, and crying. I felt so bad for him, my heart broke. When he buries his face like that, I know that what he’s feeling are some pretty tough feelings. I sat down and cuddled him and told him it was going to be ok, but he told me he didn’t want to leave. He said it didn’t feel right to leave this house. This was all he knew. But I explained to him that we’d make new memories at our new house, and that soon it would feel like home too. I told him we aren’t just taking our stuff there, we’re taking ourselves there too. Nothing gets left behind that you don’t want to leave behind, I told him.

When we arrived at our new home with our last load of stuff and unpacked the car, there were a couple of items that we’d forgotten, so I asked David if he wanted to go back to the old house for one more trip with me that night. He said he did, while Abby asked brightly if she could stay home at our new house all by herself.

So we left her there, while we made the quick trip back to the old house which was only 2-3 minutes away. We grabbed the couple items we’d needed and then headed back. David was still quiet, still wiping away the tears. When I pulled up to our new house, all the lights were on and the front door was open. I heard what was going on before I even walked up to the door. Abby had "Grease" in the DVD player full blast, and when we walked in the front door she was singing and dancing all over the living room to one of her favorite songs. It made us laugh, but she didn’t get embarrassed and just kept bopping and singing. I joined her and David watched, enjoying our silliness. I think Abby had planned this whole picture.

Later I pulled her aside and told her how proud I was of her being so mature about all of this. I told her I loved seeing her so upbeat and spunky. And I asked her if she’d help me make things easier for David by going out of her way to make him feel positive about the move. She did, and she was wonderful. Her spirits and attitude really helped perk David up. She helped him unpack some of his personal things to make his room feel like his own place. She joked a lot and made us laugh. And soon we ate dinner and watched TV. Only a couple hours later David said to us, “You know what? I feel a lot better. It does feel like home here.” That was a really proud moment for me.

So, here we were talking about the divorce 8 months later. We’d talked minimally over the months about the divorce, but only in small bouts. I wanted to once again open the door a little more. I started out by sharing some of my feelings, both the good ones and the hurt ones. It made David begin to cry again, but he managed to keep his composure and listen. Then he shared some of his own feelings. Abby continued to listen, dry-eyed, seemingly focused on her computer game, but obviously keeping one ear firmly tilted in our direction.

As David and I wiped away our tears once more, I told him that even though talks like this are hard, they are necessary to aid in the healing process. He said, "You know what this reminds me of? In D&D there's a thing called a healing stick. I always imagine someone getting whacked with it because they say "hit me with a healing stick". It's funny to think of getting whacked with something that's intended to heal you. Isn't that ironic? But that's what these talks are like. They bring up a lot of pain but they also help us heal. It hurts to talk about some things but it makes me feel better afterwards. Sorry to interrupt. I just thought that was a good analogy."

I just looked at him in amazement. For David to take what I was giving him and turn it into his own frame of reference was amazing. I told him it was a perfect way to describe what we're going through. He asked, "Really? It is?" I told him yes, it definitely was.

"Healing can be a very painful process to go through, especially with emotional pain, but dealing with pain is part of healing. It's better to just get our emotions out and deal with them rather than to just bury it all and act like it isn't there. If we keep having talks like this, in small doses, it'll make the process easier to get through."

I'm so proud of my kids, and proud that I can instill in them a sense of self esteem and spiritual well being. I'm proud to see the effect in them.

I think the next time I see an opportunity to open this door again, the cue will be, "Mind if we whack each other with a healing stick?" The kids will know exactly what that means.

HAPPY MOTH'S DAY

No, that's not a typo. If you don't believe me, see photo.


This home made card was found waiting for me on my bed when I came home from work the evening of Mother’s Day. My ex offered to leave the kids with me that evening but I said it was fine if he had them, despite the holiday. It’s just another day. Besides, we had already technically celebrated earlier, on Friday, when I had my parents over for a visit.

The kids had made me smaller cards earlier in the week, had done favors for me, and had even given me massages.

In my book, a foot massage beats anything. And as much as my daughter hates doing that for me, I knew that when she offered one it was a gesture of true affection. My son, on the other hand, is a natural when it comes to massage and gives it freely. It’s his usual gift to me.

So all in all, I got tons for Mother’s day, pampering and home made cards all week…but then this last one was the topper. Its rustic home-made-ness was endearing—cardboard taped together with masking tape, with finger-painted designs and “YOU ROCK!” all over the inside of it—but the icing on the cake was the spelling error. I laughed so hard when I saw it. My daughter is the first to admit that spelling and reading are not her “thing”.

When she came home that evening from her dad’s, she beamed. “Did you happen to notice anything on your bed?” I told her yes I did, but that I didn’t know what it was for. She said, “What do you mean? It’s for Mother’s Day”.

“Oh really?” I asked. “It doesn’t say that.”

She marched right up the stairs and into my room. “Look, right there. See. It says, “Happy Moth… oh. Dang it!”

I hugged her and said it was absolutely perfect.