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“Dad’s in the hospital.” The text came from my daughter on Dad’s night. “We are with grandma, so we are all good.”
My ex-husband was in the hospital — again. He had been in and out of doctor’s offices, emergency rooms and hospitals a lot over the last year, so this text wasn’t entirely surprising. My kids would sometimes discuss their dad’s health with me, but mostly, they seemed unworried, content and like their normal, (mostly) happy selves. They were handling things well. I, on the other hand, was quite frazzled. These are the post-divorce moments no one prepares you for. No clause in the divorce decree says what happens when one parent is hospitalized or how to communicate about health issues when you aren’t on speaking terms. This is where we were as a divorced couple: no communication whatsoever.
We had our ups and downs over the years. It was the ups that I was very proud of. At times, post-divorce, we were the poster couple for co-parenting. We sat together on the sidelines of every sports game, celebrated the kids’ birthdays together year after year and even spoke on the phone several times a day. My kids even commended us on our relationship. “I am so happy my parents are friends because most of my friends’ divorced parents can’t even be in the same room together.” I thought back to those times when it felt easy, light and organic, when we created our own unique, loving family dynamic, and when we did everything possible to make divorced life stress-free and full of love and laughter for our children. Thinking back, I wondered, How did we get HERE?
What I do know is that one very tense and emotional disagreement over finances, tax returns and college expenses catapulted us back to the same place we were pre-divorce: a bitter, angry, selfish and resentful place. We cared more about proving our point than we did about our kids. We were so wrapped up in the little things (money and ego) that we completely lost sight of the big ones (love and family). We let go of all the work we had put into co-parenting even though doing so hurt our children, and they quickly became the middlemen, delivering messages from mom to dad and vice versa. My oldest had no problem voicing how much she hated it. “I am not the messenger, Mom,” she quipped. Eyes would roll when I accidentally let a rude comment about Dad slip out. But, not to worry, my kids assured me, “Dad’s talking bad about you, too, Mom.” I knew my kids deserved better, and I knew that I was capable of better co-parenting because I had done it before. Still — I remained way too proud and stubborn.
Then something changed.
My nephew died. My sister lost her son. The unexpected loss and the deep grief began to change me. At the same time, my oldest daughter had been developing a spiritual path of her own. She was calling and texting every day with stories about how she responded to hate with love. “He ghosted me, Mom,” she said, “But I am still praying for him and it feels so good.” She is teaching me what I once taught her — that love is always the answer.
“Dad’s in the hospital again. Can we come stay with you?” Another text. Another hospital visit. With every new hospital admission or worsening symptom, my heart broke a little more for my kids: They must be worried. I am sure they miss their dad terribly. Then, my heart started to break for Evan, too. He has suffered his own losses. He has spent the last year struggling with his health, a fear of the unknown and a sudden diminished quality of life.
I wonder how he is holding up emotionally? Finally, a loving thought.
My walls and my pride were breaking down. Even though I fought it like hell, deep down, I knew it was time to let go and forgive. He was, after all, the father of my children. There was a time when we loved each other. More importantly, my kids still love him more than anyone else in the whole world.
When I think back over the last year, I chose anger and hate so many times because why? To prove a point? To make myself feel better? (Spoiler: I always feel worse when I am living in resentment.) I wish I had the answers, but I don’t. What I do know is this: Life really is short. Relationships are complicated, but the answer is usually simple. If ever there was a time to choose love over hate, humility over ego and family over all else, it was now. It was time to swallow my pride. I picked up my phone and sent a text:
“I am sorry to hear you are back in the hospital. I am praying for a speedy recovery. Let me know if I can help with anything.”
As my daughter, my sister and my nephew have reminded me, love is always the answer.
Are any of you still friends with your ex-spouse? Let us know in the comments below.
María Hergueta
Follow Article Topics: Relationships
