I just returned from my second Divorce Care small group meeting. Most of the folks returned, and everyone at our table was there. It was beautiful to see how everyone surrounded one woman with words of wisdom and comfort. She seemed less overwhelmed when she left. I think she had some action points she could address and a friend from the group to accompany her in one of the more difficult ones. How cool is that?
Two points jumping out to me tonight were:
The reminder that grief is a tricky thing. In my mind, it’s like a roller coaster. Normally, the only reason I would choose to go to an amusement park is to ride the roller coasters. I always love the anticipation of the long, click, click, click, climb of the train as it traverses the initial, tallest hills. Then, just as you get to the top… looking at the majestic view…. the bottom falls out with an adrenaline rush of the fall…. Hands up…. slightly weightless yet held securely within your car. The process of divorce is like a roller coaster where you physically climb each hill to see some part of the bigger picture, then are hurtled down the other side unexpectedly… and you tumble, head over heals with adrenaline rushing, for sure, but usually not in a good way… In most roller coasters, the tallest hills are in the beginning, and the succeding hills are increasingly smaller, and every so often, with some unexpected curves thrown in for good measure. Divorce grief is no different. Tonight I found a drop I didn’t see coming.
One of the tasks the video portion asked us to do was make a list of our personal losses we experienced with the death of our marriages. We are to make a list… get it out on paper… see it… hurt over it… grieve it. During the sharing part of the evening, our discussion leader asked us to share one individual loss we had experienced. I was the last in line. I listened to each one, mourning with each one… each fall down the hill. Then it came to me. The thought came to me suddenly, unexpectedly….
“The loss of the concept of Home…” Our culture has stopped using the term “broken home.” We, instead, have tried to redefine what home is…. single parent home…. blended family home…. same-sex parent home…. But, for me, home is where Mom and Dad are. Where I am connected by blood. Where I am accepted, as I am. Where I am loved…. I no longer have a “home.” I have a place to live, but it doesn’t feel like home. I may form a new home someday…. I may not. I KNOW I will someday go to my REAL home, to live with my Father…. But that is not now…. and yes, I know my Father is with me… and that He loves me… and that DOES give me hope… but it isn’t the one I have known…. the one I dreamt was possible…. That one is broken.
….and I didn’t see that hill coming…