A Day with the 'Rents

This weekend, my mom and dad came over to my house. The cool thing about my parents is, even though they're divorced, they're still friends with each other. The whole family still gets together often, and every time, Mom and Dad are perfectly respectful of each other and act as if they might even enjoy each other's company. While I'm sad that they are no longer married, I am so grateful that they have made the best of the situation. It would be easy for them to hold grudges, but instead they have practiced maturity and forgiveness. I really admire both of them for that.

On Saturday, Mom and Dad helped me put up all of my wall hangings. I recently moved to a new place and I hadn't yet decorated it, so on this day we practiced teamwork to get the place looking nice and cozy.

And the whole time, I felt guilty. I figured this activity could not possibly be enjoyable for them and surely they had better things to do. But here they were, helping me for the millionth time in my life. Why couldn't I just hang the stupid things myself? Why am I, in my late twenties, still eagerly accepting my parents' help?

But when it appeared our job was finished, and I told Mom that there was nothing else to hang, she said, "Darn! This is fun!" I laughed, first of all because my mother said the word "darn," and also because all that time I was feeling guilty, and they were actually having fun!

Later I was in my room and I heard my parents fussing with one of my windows, which was having difficulty closing. They were intent on fixing it, and they worked together—pushing and pulling on the window—to make it happen. 

And I started to cry.

Here were my divorced parents, putting aside their differences to help make my home as livable as it could be. They were doing physical labor, essentially, even after their original task was done, all to ensure that their little girl was safe and warm and happy. In my mind, they would be much better off doing anything else, but in their minds, hanging my pictures and fixing my windows was exactly what they wanted to do.

I couldn't imagine loving someone so much. It may sound like no big deal but in that moment it meant everything to me. On that day, like so many other days, my parents gave me a glimpse of what sacrificial love is supposed to look like. They put aside their own interests and time schedules, because to them, helping me was far more important than their own interests and time schedules. 

I don't think I've ever been that selfless. 

And it was then that I realized that this is love in its purest form... complete and utter selflessness. I also realized that this is what has been missing from almost every relationship I've ever been in. I've always been a receiver, and not enough of a giver. So that day, standing in my room, I made a silent promise to myself that I would strive to express sacrificial love, not only in my next romantic relationship, but also with my family and my friends and of course my darling little Julietta. And it is my hope that, like my parents, I will enjoy every minute of it.

Unpacking My Baggage, Part 1

I grew up in a family that was as nuclear as it gets. I had a mom, a dad, an older brother and a younger sister. We did everything together, as a family. We ate dinner together every night (each with our own assigned seats). We kids participated in the same activities (Like band. Don't laugh.), and our parents were involved in those activities too. (Mom was president of the Band Boosters Club. Again, don't laugh.) 

We had so much fun together. Our nightly dinners usually involved lots of laughter. My father, brother and sister are real comedians, so there was never a dull moment. On weekends, my mother would find fun, inexpensive things for us to do as a family. Twice a year, we took family road trips to the east coast. 

Good things always just happened to our family. We had some snafus every once in a while, of course, but for the most part, we were well-behaved kids with two parents who loved us and loved each other. People used to call us the Brady Bunch. Like we were too good to be true.

My parents appeared to have a good marriage. They were affectionate with each other, and as we kids grew older and more independent, they started to build their own little life apart from us. They went on dates and took swing-dance lessons. On Friday nights they'd hang out with one of their many couple friends. Life was good.

So that's why, when they divorced this past year, the world as I knew it was swept up from under my feet.

Now that I'm older and know more of the story, I can see where some of the pitfalls were, all those years. I can see how tiny little molehills eventually turned into mighty mountains. I know that my parents never fought in front of us—never gave us any warning—because they wanted to protect us. And I know that, even though they told us over and over again that "divorce is not an option," it became one, simply because it just got to the point where it needed to be.

When I think back to the memories I have of our family during "the good ol' days," there's one that sticks out in my mind the most. We were in the kitchen, teasing Dad because he had this habit of leaving the cabinet doors open. We were all laughing hysterically about it, and then Dad came up behind Mom, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the neck. My siblings and I were horrified by this gesture of course, throwing out trash talk like, "Gross!", "Eww!", "Get a room!"

What I would give now, for my parents to be hugging and kissing in a kitchen full of open cabinet doors.

When you grow up in a household that has such a solid foundation, and when that foundation starts to give way and eventually crumbles into a million pieces... well, it can be a mess. So you clean up and build a new foundation. But you may not trust that new foundation very much. After all, you thought the old one was sturdy but it wasn't, so what's going to happen with this new one?

I'll stop speaking in metaphors now, but surely you can understand why I'm so conflicted about this whole love-and-marriage thing. I want it more than anything, but am afraid that it will someday go away like my parents' did.