Until Death Do Us Part.

Today, husband and I went out on a real date. Dinner, movie, babysitter, adult conversation, no need to flick anyone's hands for throwing food or purposely dropping utensils, etc. It was... refreshing. We saw the movie Definitely, Maybe. It was actually really good - funny, endearing characters. It's about a dad helping his daughter cope with his impending divorce from her mother by telling her all about his escapades with women leading up to his decision to marry her mom. After seeing this movie, I've realized a lot about myself... and how my life is still - 30 years later - impacted so deeply by my own parents' divorce.

As I watched this little girl on the big screen melt into her pillow, weeping about this divorce in front of her father, it reminded me of countless conversations I've had with my dad... the first of which I don't remember, but am told I held my tiny little hand in his while we were walking up stairs and I told him in my four-year-old voice, "I don't want a divorce, Daddy." The last conversation we had like this was a mere month ago while we were out to dinner and talking about my rocky relationship with my step-mother... whom I think not-so-secretly despises me at times. My insides became mush and my face was hot and the sting of my tears welling up was all too familiar. I became infuriated with myself... I was a grown woman with my own family and I was dining in a beautiful restaurant enjoying a grown-up father/daughter dinner and all I could do was cry. Again. I'm enraged that I cannot contain my emotions... or even that I have these emotions... still... all these years later. And it's ridiculous to me how quickly I can find myself swimming in the hurt of life as a child dealing with this very adult scenario. Why am I not just over this?

My mind wanders to when I was 8 and sobbing to my mom about how step-mother never talks to me and I was panicked about the bi-weekly 30-minute drive to their house with her alone in the car and how she made me feel so insignificant... or even that I was bad or like this was my fault. My sweet mom would rehearse conversation-starters with me so at least I could keep the cold silence at bay until we got home and my dad would ease the walls of tension she had so callously erected.

One of the only times I've seen my husband cry is after we saw an old home video of me when I was in 8th grade. It was Thanksgiving and I was visiting dad and the fam in San Francisco. I held the video camera and was enjoying doing a documentary of my trip when the camera turned to s.m. and the look she gave my dad as a result of seeing me with the camera nearly makes me want to throw up now. The disgust on her face. The complete intolerance in her eyes ... a tell tale sign of her true feelings for me... this is what brought tears to my husband's eyes. For me. Seeing that again quickly brought to mind all those awkward moments in my life... those quiet times where I was torn down by her... where I was reminded that I will never be a part of her family with my dad. Those moments I still live today and that I try to hide from my children so they don't have to wonder why s.m. doesn't like their mommy.

Turning back to the movie, there was a scene where the little girl watches an interaction between her parents... feeling the hope mount with every word they spoke... pleading and praying that somehow a spark would be lit again and the life she was dreading would be avoided... and then seeing the reality of her parent's relationship... the fact that no - they weren't going to be together again... the crushing blow she was feeling - it's what every child of divorce has felt at one time. It's like you know there's the fairy-tale ending that was supposed to happen with your parents and that you were supposed to be a part of, but it can never be. And you push those thoughts way down, into the depths where they should stay because that will never change and this is your life, so be a big girl and live with it.

I just want to be able to talk openly with my dad about all the stuff... and not hurt so much. And not feel like I'm so stupid for being grown up and a cry baby. I desperately need to be able to keep in control when I hear my dad tell me the details he's been revealing to me that put his perspective into reality ... about the 'cross he bears in life' being me and my hurt in all this. I want my lip to stop quivering when I think of all these moments in my life that add up to who I am today, and how I deal with my life. Perhaps it will take another 30 years to look back and say "it's OK. I'm OK, and this was all for the best." But, much like the little girl on the big screen, I will always try to imagine how it was when my parents were a family with me as their baby. How it was to see them hold hands or my father kiss my mom on the forehead as they stood looking down at a newborn me cradled in their arms. I still hold a place in my heart for the dreaming about 'what could have been' had my parents decided to hold true to those vows... 'until death do us part'.