A Summer Memoire

A Summer Memoire

Heidi Katharina Wiedemann

It was my first summer as a divorced, non-custodial mom. The whole divorce process had been and still was quite difficult and the children and I had not spent much time together to talk about all that had happened. We were fortunate in that we now had ten days together, alone, at my father’s cottage. For the most part we had a wonderful time. We swam, had picnics, went on long walks - but all the while I had my children talk. We talked about our feelings about the divorce, their feelings about my leaving, their feelings about the changes in their lives. I now look back and think what a wonderful gift I gave to all of us by giving each of us the room to grieve - and yet to grieve together. I knew this would not be the last time that these types of conversations happened but I believe this was a major turning point in all of our lives.

As the days went by, we were able to fall back into our old roles, Mommy, Amy, Holly and Derek, were simply up at Opa’s country place - we’ve done this for a thousand years. For a short while we were a family again, the same family we were before the divorce. Aches and pains were put aside in favour of playing hide and seek in the woods, of reading bedtime stories together, of eating sweet and sticky watermelon on the front porch. Anger was put on the back burner for a while, and so was guilt. We loved, laughed, fought and ate like families do. My heart aches for those times even now.

Two days before we left, we were sitting quietly and solemnly around the fire. No one seemed to be talking, we were all contemplating going home. All of sudden there was a shudder of emotion among the four of us and we all started to cry. I can not speak for my children but I know for myself that that was a defining moment for me. It was then, at that moment, that the hugeness of my decision had hit me. It was then that I realized we would not be “going home”, not in the sense that we had gone home before. I was no longer the mom that lived with them, we were no longer going home as a family. We were no longer a family - as we had once been. Now I can look back and say we have developed into a fine family because I have learned to define it differently but I did not feel that way on that summer afternoon. My children too felt the weight of this realization and cried all the more. Mommy wasn’t coming home with us. It was scary and hurtful, and together we grieved again.

I was certainly in transition. I have never felt so strongly the letting go of an identity. It felt like a shock to me that I was no longer who I used to be. It felt frightening, as I stood there comforting my four year old, that this would not be mine to do much longer. I felt confused, who was I going to be? What role would I play - the pull to return to my marriage was strong because of how I felt about my children - but I could not bring myself to feel anything about my husband that would allow me to go back home. But my children, how I ached for them, how guilt ridden I felt for the pain I caused them, it was unbearable.

We spent those last two days huddled together, not swimming much, not playing much, just sitting together in front of the fire, or on the porch, quietly holding on to each other. I was clinging to the last vestiges of my broken little family. When my father came to bring us home we looked like a sad little bunch. No one spoke much on the way home either. When we got to the childrens’ home Derek said good-bye in his customary crisp fashion, Amy, my baby, gave me a quick hug and ran into her home, and Holly clung and sobbed, begging me not to leave, telling me how much she would miss me. We wept together for a few minutes, Derek came back and hugged me and then I got into the car. My father, bless his soul, remained quiet for the rest of the trip. I rode the rest of the way home staring out the window wondering “Now what”?

My life was beginning anew yet again - this piece was different than the original walking out on my husband. This was different - because the sense of loss around that fire place was real - far more real than anything I had allowed my self to feel before then. I no longer had a family the way I used to. I was no longer a mother in the way that I knew. My life was changing and I give myself credit for hanging in the neutral zone long enough to sort things out. It has been a long and sometimes difficult journey. My choices have had their consequences but I regret nothing.