18 Months Status Post Divorce

"Sometimes I really don't like that you are divorced."
"I'm sure." I respond slowly, screwing the cap back on their toothpaste tube, reminding myself to let him lead, "Most kids whose parents are divorced don't like it." When my nearly 8 year old son, stopped brushing his teeth to bring this up, I knew it was not a bed-time delay tactic.  Even though I've been sort of waiting for this line of questioning to come, I was thrown. 
Not that he hasn’t dipped his toe in this once or twice before: After a year of all discussions of the divorce beginning with me (usually) asking, “How are you doing with all the changes?” and Jake responding very consistently with a “Fine. Good.” Time floated by with almost zero evidence of stress or upheaval or regression, and then he came at me one morning last January, like a sweet-talking salesman at a conference-hotel bar: “So, um…” he started with a sort of verbal swagger, “You must really be missing Mama by now.”
“What?!?”
“I mean we get to see her every few days, but you don’t… you must really be missing her.”
I was packing lunches and literally sweating, racing around trying to get them to school and me to work on time. “Um… I miss you and your brother, very much when you aren’t here…”
“But, I mean…” he continued, “When the heck is she moving back in here with us???”
I heard a crack in the supposedly soft tissues beneath my ribcage. Here was a kid that seemed to understand and be taking it all in stride and really, he was just biding his time – learning to read and write, add and subtract, ride his bike and climb trees – waiting quietly to get his life back.
“Well,” I tried to say it as gently as I could. “She’s not.” It hung in the air callus-sounding and abrupt.
“Ever?!? You can’t know that…” His turn to feel shocked.
“Well, yes. Remember? We got divorced.  That’s what divorce means, you aren’t married anymore and live in different houses. And I know that it is hard, but we are going to stay divorced.” (I thought of that Louis C.K. punch line: “Unlike marriage, divorce really is forever.”)
“Like forever???” He clairvoyantly nabbed the word from the thought bubble over my head. “Do you know how long that is? You can’t know what’s going to happen in the future”
His sound reasoning and cuteness forced a smile to rise within me and I clenched my jaw to keep it from reaching my lips. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, it’s true. But I know that Mama and Mommy are not going to get married again.” He moved his eyebrows and forehead into a lopsided crinkle and shook his head as if he pitied me for not understanding the world.
In the bathroom tonight, six months later, he pushed on: "Why are you divorced? Why can't you get married again?"
"Well, I know it's hard, Jakey, but how could we get married again?"
"Well, she could move back in here.  Or you could move in there..."  My brain was working fast, was my son really requiring me to point out that there has been another woman in bed beside his other mom for a year now? He lives with this woman part time and talks about her to me daily.  But in his mind she would just disappear and Katy and I would be back together like nothing ever happened? Like she never happened?
"Sweetie, I've been told that kids whose parents are divorced almost always want their parents to get back together.  It's a very rational and normal thing to want. But it doesn't happen.  Mama and I are not going to be married again."
"She said she might marry Trisha." There. He said it. He does know it's a factor.
"She did? How does that make you feel?"
"Well, I just think you two should be married."
"I know." I edit the comment quickly, "I know you do."
"Why are you divorced anyway?" I stare at him, uncertain what to say. He presses on: "Did YOU want to get divorced?!?"
I know in Post-Divorce Parenting for Dummies chapter 1, section 6 states that you are never supposed to dump any kind of blame on your ex- to or in front of the kids... but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what to say... I had to suppress the urgent: "NO WAY, I did NOT WANT to get divorced!!!" That rose up in my chest and throat. 
So much more was crawling up behind it: I was LEFT. Behind. You have no idea! She hunted for a new me while she was still here.  While she was proclaiming to want a new HER, she opted to become a new THEY. Divorce was the LAST THING I wanted, even behind “Single mom”! I would have stayed in a relationship for 6, 8, 10 or more years the way it was...I would have stayed until you were grown! I would have stayed... living with a woman who flat out told me she didn't love me anymore, who was on the prowl for the next big thing, who felt oppressed and trapped by our life and the commitments we made, who believed that you can't fall in love again with someone that you fell out of love with. Who took "Love Makes a Family" and "Marriage Makes a Word of Difference" and moved it up the street.  I'd be embarrassed to admit this to adults - that I would have stayed way, way too long in something that looked and felt like that.  But I wanted so very desperately to admit this to my son. Not to admit it, but brag about it.  To tell him that I was the one willing to fight to keep his family together.  And she was the one that broke it apart.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it!!!  But I knew that IF that was the truth then what was required of me was a lie.  And I knew that that version of the truth was at best- naive, simplistic mythology.
My identity is deeply enmeshed in the concept that I would choose to stay married no matter what; that my commitment was unwavering. But it is more honest to admit that I could only handle living in that existence for about 8 months. Living in close quarters with someone who wanted desperately to live away from me; someone that once loved and cherished me but then started to seethe in resentment. Who seemingly inexplicably bristled and winced when I touched her, who couldn't find a way to talk it out or explain it to me... “Forever” melted quickly in that environment. Little more than ½ a year was about as much as I could bear.  I got so angry and essentially told her: "Get back in it or get out" (thinking, of course, she'd get back in it)... and she ran as fast as she could.  Our conversations couldn't compare to the new ones she had with other people.  And my touches were familiar and cool compared to the unpredictable fire of what was just right there waiting to touch her. In desperation, I told her she was wrong to want to leave; a tactic that was swallowed whole by the budding relationships on the other side, patiently telling her that her thoughts and feelings could never be wrong. Growing increasingly contemptuous and agitated as I realized all that she was about to put me through, I became someone I didn’t even recognize, and “enough is enough” came much sooner for me than I assumed it would.
I've worked hard in the last two years to try to stop blaming her.  To try to stop judging her. To offer gratitude toward her (and the new girl) for never looking back at me. She never seemed the tiniest bit conflicted or remorseful except where the boys were concerned. I’m sure that at times she was, but that at least that was a blessing- she never ran back and forth.  She never tried to soothe my ego with "I love you but..." or a "Part of me wants to stay..." Her resolve was brutal but stoic in its own right.
She never even wanted to fight. Just wanted me to sign the papers as fast as possible. And I did.  Because it seemed the civil thing to do. And because my attempted expressions of love leaked out of me like acid and rage, and my feelings of abandonment and betrayal and self-righteous indignation only made her look at me with more disdain.
"Did YOU want to get divorced?" He asked again.
"I didn't."  It was my truth, I couldn’t deny it... but the truth is usually complicated.  My job here was to represent the truth of both of the loves of his life and protect his understanding of and ability to rely on the parents that loved him into existence… "But… Remember how I tell you that you can marry anyone that you want to as long as s/he loves you and you love him/her?"
"Yeah."
"Well, to stay married, both people have to want that and have to love each other. And Mama and I are divorced because we both decided we couldn't be married anymore.  And we will always be a family, but we don't love each other in that way anymore."  He stares at me.  I resist the urge to say too much. I might have already.  I want to leave no false hope (as I know from Chapter two, section 19, unless you pointedly tell children that you are not getting back together, they will always think there's a chance.) I quietly linger. I want to be sure I understand and have answered the questions he is really asking.
"Maybe you should talk to her about this?" He is in problem-resolution mode. He wants an ally. He wants permission: "Or me... Maybe I should talk to her..." He goes analytical, "I know that there's only like a 2% chance that she will listen to me, but it could happen."
I have to fight hard not to grin and bear-hug him.  He's so damn adorable and dorky.  I mean a "two percent chance", how fucking hilarious is that?!? He's probably been reading up on the topic and is exactly accurate, for all I know.
I tread lightly, offering him the respect he has earned: "You can and should talk to Mama," I tell him.  "Or to me, or to friends or family.  But talk about your feelings and what you need.  And what might help and why this is hard... because only adults decide who they marry... And I can't move into your new house because we aren't married anymore and I won't be married to Mama again.  And Mama can't marry me if she might marry someone else... Three people can't be married."
"I know.  I just wish you and Mama could be married."
I stare at him and let the quiet fog all around us for a few seconds. "I know."
It was all I ever wanted once. To be married to her.  For most of my adult life, it was everything I wanted.  But it wasn't true anymore.  If we'd had this conversation a year ago, I would have had to bite my tongue off to not say, "Me too".  But I NEVER would have said that to him any more than I would tell him, "Not in a million years." The latter is more true now than the former. And honestly, both lines are outside of my "I've never met a gray area i didn't want to waffle in" wheelhouse.
"I'm sorry this is so hard." I offer after a few more seconds of silence. "We both love you so much."
He sighs and nods and I see a sadness in him that makes me want to tear down walls. I see an exhaustion in him that was likely the catalyst for this conversation.  These emotions flickering in his eyes completely crowd out the innocence I’m used to seeing there and send a metaphorical 360-joule charge into the sadness and exhaustion that sleeps inside of me: failure and doubt, insecurity and fear and anger and resentment forced dormant by the heavy sedative properties required for human survival.  And for a split second, I'm not a mom but a deranged beast of a woman jolted awake into a blaze of raw emotion.  A woman who does not have any modicum of her shit together; I want to shout: “Who wanted this divorce indeed?!?” Our child is hurting because of this divorce, and I want a pound of flesh!!! And, this kid better stop staring at me looking for answers, because they are in short supply.  And I breathe.  And he breathes.  I’ve learned a lot these last two years about sitting in the discomfort of pain and grief, and also the confusion of wanting many opposite things at the same time. I’ve gotten pretty good at asking people to sit there with me and let me “feel the burn” and just “be” with me as I sit in this grief and sadness. I’ve reminded them (or sometimes they remind me) that I’m strong enough to let myself experience pain and grief. I don’t have to run or hide from it, or live in fear that it will track me down and ruin me at some point in the future.
Resisting the urge to bury or chase away negative emotions is a direct result of trying to be the parent and role model I want my children to have. I believe it is a powerful way to live, not to see “happiness” as the goal but to honor the emotional components of life – That sadness, anger, sorrow, grief, frustration, boredom, and disappointment are as valid and vital as joy, bliss, love, excitement, and contentment. What if I can teach my children (by example) to handle anxiety and disappointment, frustration and sadness? What if I can teach them that the “ideal” state is not the absence of these emotions, but gently honoring the human experience of them?  What if I can show them, that their most “scary,” negative emotions are normal and don’t frighten me at all. What if I can witness my children’s struggles while resisting the urge to “fix it for them” and instead help them learn the truth behind the lyrics: “You can’t always get what you want… but sometimes, you get what you need.” So I breathe again.  And try not to look creepy as I keep my eyes locked gently on his. And I give what I hope is a weak, but reassuring smile. And I settle back into my better self: "Is there anything that I can do that might help?"
"Are you going to sing me some songs in my bed?"
"Yes.  Absolutely."
"Okay."  He patters off to his room.  I finish brushing his brother's teeth.  Milo has been bouncing off the walls all night, but seems to have settled down to take in this conversation without interruption or comment.  Normally dictatorial in terms of our bedtime ritual, the little brother lays down and lets me cover him, kiss him goodnight, and doesn't say a word when I break with procedure and go up to the top bunk first.  The little guy uncharacteristically falls asleep without demands or a single complaint, and I know that we (Katy and I) must be doing something right.  Because that mop-of-blonde-curls is all noise and drama and begging for attention, but when it mattered tonight, our not-quite-six year old noiselessly created space for his big brother’s needs. If I didn't know better, I would think that he was listening appreciatively to Jake’s interrogation so that he might get some answers too.  And I lay 32 inches from the ceiling, wanting exactly what I have and wishing it could all be different at the same time, and spontaneously made up a 12 verse song about how much a mother loves her boys.