Sainthood

It’s easy to turn those who have died into saints. You overlook obvious flaws and overemphasize the goodness. An ordinary, average person can become extraordinary the day they die.

Now that my dad is gone we only seem to remember his amazing attributes. This is a source of contention for my mom because we have not shown her the same forgiveness. We have turned my dad into a saint: St. William Arnold. He would get a good laugh out of the whole situation. His final revenge.

My dad was able to pull this same maneuver when we were teenagers. He left town for an extended period of time after my parent’s divorce. Even though I felt angry and abandoned at the time, I soon forgave him. Then and now, only remembering the good, bright and sunny moments can ease the pain. It somehow makes the separation bearable. I gain much comfort recalling the positive qualities my dad displayed. But he was not a saint. He had flaws, he made mistakes, he was human.

Around the time my dad died, I learned some valuable information about my great-grandfather, who had passed away when I was a child. All my life I had been told about his amazing, saintly attributes. But no one ever talked about his flaws. I was shocked to learn of his failings. To know he was human.

The irony is that when you die, you are forgiven of the mistakes that follow you when you’re alive. This is a natural human tendency: to memorialize those who are gone, to set them on a pedestal. The sad part is that we can’t seem to do this when the person is living. For most of us death may be the only time we achieve sainthood.

Divorce damages

I recently tried to explain, to my youngest daughter, what getting a divorce meant. I said, “It’s when a mom and dad can’t get along and they decide not to be married anymore, so they don’t live together.” I thought it was a simple explanation for a five-year-old, so I was caught off guard when her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she started sobbing. She then said, “Are you and dad going to get divorced?” I tried to reassure her that we hoped never to get divorced, and she soon calmed down.

This brief, innocent conversation made me realize something I had kept buried for many years: divorce damages! I remember the day my mom told us she was getting divorced from my father. She did all the right things: she sat us down and talked to us about it, telling us she loved us and that it was not our fault. Lastly, she said, “It’s going to be really hard for the next few years.”

I appreciate her telling us this, but for some reason it did not prepare me for the future. “It’s going to be really hard” was actually an understatement. I was twelve at the time, in sixth grade. I looked forward to school as an escape. My little sister, on the other hand, was five, and just starting kindergarten. She would cry every morning when my mom dropped her off at school. The tears lasted all day long, for most of the school year. Some days I would have to go to her classroom to try and comfort her, but to no avail. She was damaged. Seeing my own five-year-old sobbing brought back the sadness I had seen in my little sister’s eyes. A sadness that we will both carry for the rest of our lives.

I once read a quote that struck me: “As a child I grew up without any visible scars. But inside I battled monsters of rage, depression and insecurity with out knowing why … my parents’ divorce took away from me every child’s birthright—the feeling of being secure and protected.” It was if I had written that statement. A few days later, I was talking to my husband, who is also from a broken family. When I mentioned this quote, he said, “That is exactly how I feel.” We have both been robbed of our birthright; we are both children of divorce. Our scars are invisible, and our wounds are internal. They will never heal, and we will carry them for the rest of our lives, because divorce damages.

Are you a child of divorce? How has it impacted your life?

Appreciation is a protection

Saying my son hates the dentist is an understatement. After eight cavities, he knows what going to the dentist involves. We usually tell him the morning of his appointment. This will be followed by crying and moaning, until the dreaded event arrives. When it’s all over and the dentist gives him a wink with the words, “No cavities,” he will sigh and say, “That wasn’t so bad.” Yet I know that in another six months we will repeat the same routine.

His fear of the dentist does motivate him to do one thing: he will spend an exorbitant amount of time brushing his teeth each evening. He will floss, use a special mouthwash, and take as many preventative measures as he can to avoid the agony of another cavity.

In any relationship, appreciation is the preventative care. In order to have a good marriage, you must have two appreciators; two people who are indebted to each other, who overflow with gratitude, who never forget to acknowledge the other person’s efforts. Appreciation can be self-centered. It’s the realization that your life would not be the same without this amazing person. But at the same time it requires you to take the focus off yourself and put it on someone else. It’s not assuming that this person knows how you feel, it’s expressing it. Appreciation is treating a person with dignity: bestowing honor, giving worth, adding to their self-respect.

Why is this one preventative measure so hard for people to perform? One reason is that appreciation requires time and effort. It’s like cooking a good pot of chili: the more you let it simmer, the better it taste. If we slow down and reflect on our lives, the better the appreciation will be. It‘s easy to be rushed, overwhelmed and annoyed. This leads to complaining, fault-finding and minimizing. A second reason is that some people have never been appreciated. They have never heard the words, “I am proud of you,” “Thank you for being a part of my life,” “You are an amazing person.” So to them, showing appreciation feels like getting their teeth pulled. You have to tug and wrench on them before they will show an ounce of gratitude.

I have witnessed a lack of appreciation, and it can be as painful to watch as seeing my son get a cavity filled. I have seen someone’s hard work go unnoticed. I’ve observed efforts go unrewarded. Failure to appreciate is like the sweet, syrupy foods that get stuck in your teeth, slowly starting the decay, forming holes in a relationship. Appreciation is the toothbrush and toothpaste. It is the preventative measure that you perform every day, to keep your loved ones healthy and happy. In any relationship, appreciation is a clinically proven cavity protector.

Two wrongs never make a right

If my coffee is too sweet, I never add more sugar to fix the problem. It’s the same with our lives. Sometimes we get into difficult situations. We may have made a wrong turn and have lost our direction. Survival books will tell you that the best thing to do in these situations is to stay calm, stop and regain your composure. Usually we do the opposite: we panic and keep moving, ending up far off course.

This happened to my mom when she was in an unhappy marriage. Because she never stopped to regain her composure, she ended up far off her original path. Instead of leaving my dad and finding herself, she made her life much more complicated by finding another man. She says this was her escape route. This new man was the complete opposite of my father. He was young and immature and brought much heartache into our lives.

My mom still lives with this regret and apologizes for the pain this relationship caused her children. Looking back, she knows it was the wrong choice. From her experience, I have realized many valuable lessons. One of the most profound is that two wrongs never make a right. If you have made a bad choice, you can find your way out. The trick is to STOP. Don’t make anymore decisions, evaluate your situation and stay calm. Find a trusted, all-knowing friend, and brainstorm. Throw every possible solution into the air. Write them down. There is no right answer at this stage—just options. Think about them all, weighing the pros and cons. Who will get hurt? What will cause the least damage? Can it be fixed? Come up with plans A, B and C. Then make a decision. Hopefully it will be the right one.

You may know instantly that plan A was the incorrect choice, but don’t give up hope. Move onto plan B, and then all the way through Plan X if needed. If you have made a wrong decision, there is a 50% chance the next one will be right. And always remember, no matter how you add, subtract or multiply, two wrongs will never make a right.


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Loss is inevitable

There are two types of loss, and I have experienced them both. The first type involves losing touch with a person for one reason or another. This is the loss suffered from broken relationships, severed ties, damaged alliances. The other person is still living, just without you.

I felt this loss when my parents divorced. It was the first time my dad was gone. The man I knew, who gave me life, was no longer a part of mine. He had moved to Arizona searching for comfort from his own mother, sister and brother. The impact of the divorce left a crater in his heart. Who better to fill it than his children? That is what his sister hoped, when she brought us for a visit. But that is not what happened. After driving for ten hours, we saw my dad for ten minutes. At the time, I did not comprehend the depth of this loss. It wasn’t until I had my own children that I understood why my dad chose not to see us. His life was dark; it centered on alcohol, depression and hopelessness. Thankfully, this loss was temporary. After a few years, my dad found his spirit and started putting his life back together, which included seeing his children again.

The second type of loss is even more devastating, because it’s permanent. It’s the unimaginable loss of a family member. It might be a mate you have spent your life with, the person who brought you into this world or a child that was a part of you. It really doesn’t matter who it is; we all feel the same: utterly devastated. Everything in our world is thrown into to the air and, unfortunately, it never seems to land in the same spot.

The agony of loss has no limits—it’s endless. But it can still teach us a valuable lesson. This is what it has taught me: there are no guarantees in life, you may never heal, life is never what you expect, things are not always fair. Even though these realizations may seem morbid, they have changed how I view my life. They have taught me that, no matter how much it hurts, loss is inevitable.


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Love, the unconditional kind

The day I got married, I took a vow that went something like this : “I, Aubrey, take you, Jonathan, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.” These vows are spoken every day; they are also broken every day. But unspoken vows can be more important than uttered promises.

The love I have for my husband is not the same adoration I have for my family. Marital love is based on conditions. If your spouse cheats on you, abuses you, steals from you, lies to you, or ends up in prison, it usually affects how you feel about him or her. This can lead to divorce court or embarrassing yourself on Judge Judy.

That’s not the love most family members have for each other. I feel differently about my children than I do about my mate. If my children cheated, stole, lied, or ended up in prison, my love would not change. I might be embarrassed by their choices, but I would still love them as much as I did yesterday. This is the absolute love that you share with your flesh and blood. It’s not one many people talk about, but it is one I have seen displayed over and over again.

My parents demonstrated this hopeful love with all three of their children. They believed in us, they wanted the best for us, and they recognized hidden greatness, even if it might not have existed. I am pretty sure my parents did not make this vow the day I was born: “I take thee, little baby Aubrey, to be my family, in absolute love, unconditionally. For dumber or smarter, in bad choices or good. Through jail time, addictions, evictions, even when you’re misunderstood. I will hope for the best, with no expectations, and will hold your hand through all your afflictions.” They may never have uttered those words, but I have seen them in action, and it gives me confidence that, no matter what poor or wise decisions I make, whether or not they express it in words, my family will always be there with open arms to show me love—the unconditional kind.

They make you stronger

Being part of a dysfunctional family is much like getting an immunization shot. As a parent, you know the agony involved: the dreaded anticipation, holding your own flesh and blood down as the nurse quickly stabs multiple needles into a little leg, the tears, the aches that last for days and the trauma of willfully inflicting pain on your beloved child. So why do we allow it? First, for the stamps that will be required before your bundle of joy can even dream of starting school. And second, you hope the injections will somehow protect your child from a preventable disease. The little amount of a toxic illness injected into the bloodstream will actually make your child’s immune system stronger.

A similar thing happens when you’re born into a broken family. As a child, you’ll experience multiple stabs, many tears, long-lasting aches and trauma that is willfully inflicted by your parents. If you’re fortunate, you may realize at an early age that these small toxic substances that you were exposed to on a daily basis will eventually make you stronger. Better yet, they may help you avoid the dreaded disease in the first place.

I am not a sculpted masterpiece, and neither is my family. We are more like an average coffee cup that has been dropped, broken and glued back together. We still serve a purpose, but you will always be able to see the cracks. I hope that, despite the imperfections, you will still appreciate the usefulness of these lessons.

I am thirty-four, with a husband and three children of my own. Like most of us, my life has turned out quite differently from what I had imagined. There is no perfect world and no perfect family—and mine is no exception to that rule. Despite their obvious flaws, I am forever indebted to my family because of the life lessons they have taught. I have not been able to avoid the dreaded disease of being dysfunctional, but the small toxic substances I have been exposed to on a daily basis have made me much stronger.