Joel & Julia...too close to home

It's been a long time since I've written a "PYHO" post, but this was on my mind and my heart. A good friend and excellent writer recently wrote about good writing being that which scares us the most to write. The two things came together and, well, here I am, pouring my heart out. Please be gentle with it.

Whether it was adrenaline from having watched "Captain Phillips" or it was too many Diet Cokes (yes, I'm off the wagon), I stayed up much too late on Saturday to watch three episodes of the TV show "Parenthood." One continuing storyline is the decaying of the marriage of Joel and Julia. Without going into a lot of detail, I'll bring you up to speed by saying that Joel has decided to move out of the house. That was hard to watch because it hit too close to home.

It was, in the relatively recent past, me and my husband sitting on opposite sides of the room, opening a conversation with our children with the words "First, we want you to know that we both love you very much." Honestly, if you hear those words, brace yourselves. Hard times will follow.

The reasons that Mike and I separated were different that what is being played out on the television show, but I recognized the look that Joel and Julia gave each other as they were wrapping their arms around their children, attempting to make it all better, even momentarily. It's that look that says "What are we doing?" and "This is how it has to be" all at the same time. It's really an awful feeling, one where you want to show a loving, united front to your children when what you feel is torn apart at every point where you used to be connected.

I wish I could tell you if my kids reacted the way the children on the show reacted, but honestly I don't remember. That probably makes me a bad mom, but I was so wrapped up in -- and broken down by -- what seemed like the end of my marriage, I can't tell you what my kids said or did when we delivered the news that we were separating.

Then, there were the days and nights that followed. The ones that were so full of relief it felt as though this must certainly be the first breath I'd taken in months. And the ones that were so empty that no amount of television noise or bowls of ice cream or Facebooking could fill them.The kids would ask "when is Dad coming home" and I wouldn't have an answer that satisfied them, in part because he was away because that's where I'd sent him.

There were moments of uncertainty, when prayers where hastily thrown up with hopes that they would stick. And there were moments of enormous grace, when prayers were answered in ways we least expected.

I don't know what will happen on "Parenthood" with Joel and Julia (and I don't really care). If you'd told me that at this point, my story would have us living again as a family of 5 under one roof when two roofs -- permanently -- seemed like such a certainty not that long ago, I wouldn't have believed you. I can't even tell you what happened to bring our family back together. My only explanation is that same enormous grace...delivered moment by moment in prayers whispered and cried out, by me, by Mike, by plenty of people who love us. Grace that gave us each the courage to trust and to forgive, little bit by little bit.

Yes, it was hard to watch Joel and Julia walking that path, but nowhere near as hard as it was to walk it myself, not knowing where the road would lead. We are not far enough on the other side that I can be grateful for it having happened, for it shaping me as a person. But I'm grateful we are, indeed, on the other side.

To read more PYHO posts, click the graphic at the top of this post.

Separation anxiety

We took Charlie to his first sleep-away camp yesterday.

We arrived toward the tail end of check-in, thanks in part to some shoddy navigation by someone who should have been paying attention to the Google map instead of playing 13 games of Words with Friends on the phone. By the time we checked in and walked up (and up and up) to his cabin, his group was gathered out front, ready to go to the pool. While he changed into his swimsuit, Mike and I made his bed and tucked his suitcase away.

Charlie seemed a little nervous,  but mostly ready to go make some new friends. I gave him a quick kiss and hug and off he went. There wasn't a lot of time for long goodbyes and really, I was excited for him to have the opportunity.

By bedtime last night, though, I was starting to miss him. It's not like Charlie's never slept away from home before. In fact, he spent Friday night at a slumber party. I'm not sure "missing him" is the right phrase. I just wondered whether he was warm or cool enough in the cabin, if he'd liked what they served for dinner, how he was getting along with the other boys in his group. I said a quick prayer for his safety and his experience and went to bed.

This morning, "missing him" certainly fit the bill. Did he sleep ok? Did his pillow fall off the end of the bunk bed? Did the nurse remember to give him his allergy medicine? Had he lost anything yet? (I'm pretty sure he won't come home with everything we packed.)

As I walked from the parking lot to my office building, I was thinking that this will be the longest period of time in Charlie's whole life that I've gone without talking to him. Again, I said a prayer for him and walked into the building.

When I got to my desk, the red voicemail message light was lit up. As I waited for the laptop to warm up, I punched in my voicemail access code to listen to the message. It was Charlie! He'd left the message for me after I'd left the office on Friday, so the question he was asking was no longer relevant. But the sound of his voice was just what I needed to hear.

I smiled as I listened to it and thanked God for this small reminder of his faithfulness and for that kid at sleep-away camp.