Silent Hell

Divorce. God I hate that word.  No matter what the reasons, if it was a knock-down drag out fight or a civil litigation between two people ready to move on, it is a horrible occurrence. When I run into old friends, meet new people, or have to check a box on a form, I die a little bit when I have to say “divorced”.  My situation was probably like many others, but since it happened to me, feels uniquely unique. I had 13 years of martial happiness - then one day it crashed and crashed hard. After much uncovering, I found out I was married to a man who was hiding a whole crap load of craziness – from a federal fraud scandal to extra-curricular “activities”. He was drowning and trying to pull me and my daughter in with him. We tried to help, but we were not going to drown with him. The day we went to court, the judge took about two minutes to size him up and immediately put in a “no contact” order. So, after all being that being said, this long standing, practicing catholic, is divorced. My priest even said to me after our initial talk, “Get a good lawyer”. That is how grim the reality was.

So, back to the “Silent Hell”. Not only every time I have to use the word divorce do I cringe, but all the dates that creep up on you like a horrible case of hives. I will find myself thinking, what is important about this date? Then it will hit me – it was jackass’s birthday. Or I am signing a document, and somehow that date leaps off the page and I realize it was the day we got married. These days pass silently, but they hurt in such a way that is hard to describe. There are also the dates that are fun to celebrate (my birthday, mother’s day) that can grab at you. When someone asks, “oh, what did you do for your birthday last night” and you answer “my daughter was playing hockey – so nothing really” and then they give you that look. How I hate that “you poor thing” look. Damn it – I am a relatively well-adjusted professional mom, who quite frankly happens to be single. I rarely play the “oh, I am a single mom card”. And don’t get me started on the people who post on social media “husband gone for the week – I am a single mom! I don’t know how people do this every day!!”). Really – one week and you think you have an idea. It has nothing to do with the “busyness” of single parenthood, but more “I am making every decision on raising this kid by myself, I have no one who I can complain to when I get home from a crazy day, and I hope I don’t fuck-up” issues of single parenthood. And, I don’t have to deal with the kid seeing her dad, so I am sure that is another whole ball of mess.

My crazy life is my crazy life  – I make the best of it, work hard, and try to laugh more than I cry. My 15 year old daughter is the real rock star here and I just have to look at her and all seems right with the world. Maybe it is time to embrace the title“divorcee’ and give it a little kick in the ass!

My 9/11: 10 Years Later

My 9/11: 10 Years Later

We all have our 9/11 story. Mine is like many others. My family was fortunate – we did not have anyone on one of the flights or in the Twin Towers. Yet, every detail of day is burned into my memory.

It was the second week of Kindergarten for my daughter. We were driving to school on a clear, beautiful fall morning, listening to radio. As we crossed the intersection of Ford Parkway and Fairview Ave, the DJ broke in saying a plane had hit one of the World Trade Center Towers. He said, “You need to get to a TV and turn it on. You have to see this. Smoke is pouring out of the building”. I instantly knew to turn the radio off, so the five year old wouldn’t hear. I dropped her off at school and rushed home. I flipped on the TV. Then the second plane hit and I started making phone calls. “Did you see this – oh my God!” was pretty much the jist of those conversations. I remember calling my mom and waking her up. I remember calling my friend, who had little kids and would be watching Sesame Street. 

My husband worked downtown Minneapolis, and I begged him to come home. Reports were saying the attacks were moving east to west. He was working next to the tallest building in the Twin Cities. I drank a pot of coffee. My heart was racing all day. Finally, the downtown businesses closed. I went to pick him up from the bus stop. The busses were packed at noon – full of people with glazed over eyes and zombie like movements. No one was talking. There was a palpable eeriness to the air.

We drove over to pick up my daughter from Kindergarten, whose normal release time was 1:15. The teacher’s looked horrified. My daughter kept asking “why Daddy was in the car”. We got home and set her up in our room with the Cartoon Network on, as that was the only channel not broadcasting the unfolding events of the day. Confusion abounded. I was worried about my brother, who is a high level executive for one of the major airlines. I called my mom for about the 10^th time that day – she still had not talked with him or his wife.

 

We lived under one of the flight paths. The planes had stopped. In my entire life, the neighborhood five miles from the airport had never been so quite. At one point, we heard the roar of fighter Jets scrambling. I still get chills thinking of that sound. It was the first of many in the coming months.

September 11^th, 2001 was also primary day in Minnesota.  We put our flag out and headed over to vote – it was something tangible we could do. The voting poll was like walking into a wake. People didn’t know what to say or how to act. We figured we better eat. There was a little grocery store by house that was open. We picked up food to make tacos.

When we got home, my daughter was insistent we tell her what was going on – it was abundantly clear to her something was wrong. How do you explain to a five year old, when you can’t make sense of it yourself? She was always a bright child and understood in her own way. We all watched the President address the nation that night. It was moving and perfect. The nation was shocked and the president was providing some comfort. Patriotism was felt deeply. We drifted in and out of sleep that night, with the TV remaining a constant background noise. 

The morning of September 12^th, in practice was the same. The same business of getting ready for school and work, but yet, it was a completely different morning. The next ten years brought some understanding to the day’s events, a war, elections, family deaths, a divorce, moves, high school, first dances, driving permits, and new jobs. Life continued on, but in a post 9/11 world – full of heighten security and a new world awareness, full of patriotism and hope for a better tomorrow.