To My "Practice Husband"

Hi. It's been a long time. Twelve or 16 years, depending on whether you're counting from the last time we saw each other in the courtroom, or the last conversation we had. So you're probably wondering what's prompted this letter: it was a song.

I was listening to country music radio (yes, still a country fan) when I heard the singer's words: "I just miss you, and I just wish you were a better man." My heart stopped, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn't believe your face had flashed before my eyes. But it's true.

I held onto bitterness for a very long time. The bad outweighed the good, but there were good times. I had to dig pretty deep to find them, but it helps to remember them now. It helps to speak them out loud to our children, who were too young to remember much of those days. They don't remember us dancing or playing Ping-Pong or serving at the soup kitchen together. But I tell them, because I want them to know those days happened. I'm OK with saying I miss those days, when your laughter was contagious. And I'm OK, too, with saying I wish you were a better man. Because just when I had begun to find a place of forgiveness in my heart, you stabbed it with a new knife.

Back in the day, I chose you. I chose you to be my first husband. I chose you to be the father of my children. I chose you as my eternal partner. I chose you to grow old with me. And now, I'm sorry.

I found out later you married me on a $5 bet. I'm sorry that $5 bet cost so many people so much.

I chose to marry you when the options before me were to marry you or never see you again.  I'm sorry I wasn't level-headed enough to see the value of taking more time to truly know each other.

I chose to stay through flaring tempers and swinging fists, because I believed our children deserved to know their father.  I'm sorry I made you a father, and kept you in that role too long; it is abundantly clear to me now that you either did not want, or were not ready for, children.

May I pause for a moment to brag here? Our children are beautiful. They are my treasures. In a world of hurt and anger and things we got wrong, I got it mostly right with them. Sure, there were teen moments ... but we got through them. And those kids are two of the world's most amazing adults to date. They are hard workers with kind souls, freckles and deep blue eyes. They are astonishingly protective of each other, and of their friends and chosen family.

I asked them if they wanted you at their high school graduations. I have kept tabs on you through the years via a "creeper account" on social media. I always knew the day would come that I would have to answer questions, and I wanted to be ready. Confession: I had years to prepare, and still wasn't ready. There is no way to prepare for the emotions associated with a moment like this.

Although they were not ready to have you attend their high school graduations, they are ready now. A daughter has questions. A son seeks a conversation with a man he doesn't remember. And your response? Classy as ever. You refused to acknowledge him on social media. You accepted her friend request, but refuse to send a single message. Not even "hello." Clearly, you were done with them the day you pulled their photos from your wallet, threw them on the windowsill and walked out. You're a special kind of demon.

Am I angry again? Yes. Will I let it weigh me down again? No. You were my practice husband. You taught me how to identify a real man. You taught me how to choose a real father. You taught me how to raise strong, intelligent human beings. You taught me more than you took from me. I will not let you win now.

I am grateful for all I have learned. I am sorry for all you have thrown away, without knowing the beauty it held. I am saddened for the tears in my children's eyes. I am blessed to see those tears absorbed by the shoulders of a man who carries a weight that was never his by rights ... but it's his by choice. For all the choices I have made, the greatest choice of all is the choice made by a man to step into a broken home and love it whole again. Thank you for being my practice husband; you allowed me to get it right with the man who matters most. My second-and-forever husband. The real father of my children.

I wish you no harm. I wish you no luck. I simply wish you were a better man.

Farewell,
Vicki

When Christmas Brings Change

It was our first Christmas with just one little in the house. All our teenagers have begun their own way in the world, but we were looking forward to having them all home for the holidays. What parent doesn't dream of having all their kids under the same roof, re-establishing the level of noise, traffic, and hunger to which we gradually become accustomed during 18+ years of raising humans?!

It became evident to me early on that our daughter would struggle this season. With severe anxiety and OCD, she "peoples out" quickly. I try to follow her lead with regards to how often she visits, how many people will be present, etc. I also try to ensure there is a quiet space provided for her to get away, and check in often if she needs to step away or is ready to go back to her own little home. Still, a mother has to try to include her girl in Christmas celebrations.

The starving student was first to arrive home for the holidays, bringing his adorable other half with him. They settled in easily, and presented their plans for the next few days. We found that celebrations with her family coincided easily with our plans, so neither of them would miss anything.

Next came the mancub, with his other half. She is also precious; together they are the picture of young love. They bring the humour and spontaneity I often wish for, as it seems to have disappeared over the years in my own marriage. Their plans lined up easily with ours as well, and I was pleased that the coming and going provided times of rest for the girl who desperately needed to feel loved this season.

I found it was a balancing act: sharing in the excitement of the 5-yr-old, listening to the hopes and dreams of the young adults, entertaining and just being present. Emotions can quickly become a roller coaster, and the serenity can turn to senility if you let yourself worry about every. little. thing. Somehow, we found our way through Christmas Day with no arguments or tears ... save the girl whose significant other refused to show up.

For the first time this year, I had completed an online Advent Bible Study with the ladies from my church. I truly believe it prepared my heart for all that Christmas would bring this year. It is strange to welcome one's grown-and-flown children through the door and realize they feel like guests here. It is fun to realize we can be friends with them now; our days of effective parenting - for them, at least - are over. It is amazing to observe their choice of life partners, and to watch all the personalities mesh. For me, the best part of the day was watching them all sit tightly together on our couch/floor and catching up on each other's lives since the start of the school year.

We have worked hard to get to this day. I have worried myself sick that my teenagers fought so badly they would never keep in touch after leaving home. I see now how needless that was; they are doing fine. The siblings who live close often have supper or attend hockey games together; sometimes they pair up for a road trip to see the one who lives away. There is a generalized belief that the middle child of any family is neglected, so it is especially delightful to see that our middle boy appears to be the "glue" of their circle, always knowing what is happening in everyone's world. My heart actually swells with pride, watching them all do life together, even from a distance.

At the end of the day, I sank into bed with the 5-yr-old. I was exhausted, the child not so much. I couldn't shake the image of the tears in my daughter's eyes as she prepared to leave. Showing me the last text message received from her boyfriend, the hurt gleamed in her eyes. She just wanted to be worth the effort. And she deserves that much, and so much more! So I played the mom card.

"Immanuel, Jesus Christ, You'll never let me go;
My Shepherd King, You're watching over me - Immanuel."

The words rang out clear from the YouTube video on my phone, and I began to pray. That Immanuel, God with us, would come and be with my girl. That she would sense her Prince of Peace holding her heart and know her worth. That God, who fashioned her in His image, would allow her to see her own true beauty. That as His love shines on her, it begins to show as a twinkle in her eye. And there in the moonlight, Immanuel showed up. The 5-yr-old fell to a sound sleep, and my own heart was quieted.

I spoke with my girlie today. She sounds much better after a good night's rest. We laughed at how Jordan is dating a girl who started as his brother's best friend, and Zach is dating a girl who started as Michaela's best friend. Perhaps she should examine her brothers' friends and choose someone who already works well in their circle, we said with a laugh. And then we discussed the possibility of her coming home for a (shorter) visit today. With all the boys and all the noise. And Immanuel.

I am so grateful for all this season has taught me! Immanuel - God is with us. Cheering our success, correcting our mistakes, and sitting with us in sadness. We cannot escape His grip ... but who would want to?! The hands that hold the world, hold my world together ... and my heart sings. "Immanuel ..."