Pandora's Box

We went through our mountains of documents yesterday in search of the last piece the underwriter needed to wrap up our loan. We decided it would be a good idea to “organize” them. Files were started for birth certificates, immunization records, passports and fingerprints... As we pilfered the documents we had to sift through all of my divorce/custody stuff. I started a folder for it, the folder got too full, I thought about starting a second and then decided to just toss it all in its own box. Every document I picked up and scanned to determine its importance brought with it a merciless onslaught of emotion. Fury, heartbreak, panic, empty longing, and raucous triumph flooded my mind. When we finally scanned the last piece of paper and put the lid on the box, I thought to myself, “It's sealed up, it's done. Right?”

Wrong. Although I have forgiven the horrible wrong that was done to me, more importantly to my children, the anger and pain rear their ugly heads from time to time. We will all deal with the damage done during that time for the rest of our lives. The children will always carry gaping wounds from what was done to them. What was done to their young, innocent hearts makes me shake with rage. It only gets worse when I have to speak to or see the one that did this to them, to us.

You know what makes it worse? He won't ever admit that what he did was wrong. He ripped my babies away from me. He tried to keep them from even speaking to me. They found ways; if they were caught they were severely punished. He didn't parent them while he was holding them apart from me; he went out and partied. He didn't want them, he just wanted to hurt me.

And they suffered. They didn't know I hadn't abandoned them to this. They knew that they were not treasured where they were. They knew they were pawns in a sick and twisted game. And they suffered.

And they still suffer. Every promised call that never happens, every visit that gets canceled or was promised but never planned, every missing or late child support payment, every “I love you” with no action to back it up reenforces it. Every accusation that I am speaking ill of him to them, drives their pain a bit deeper, makes them feel as though they have to choose.

But they are strong. And they are beautiful. And they are bold. They are only truly jaded to one, the one who hurt them. They are moving on with their lives, letting the wounds scab and heal; in their place there will be a scar but, if viewed properly, scars are simply a road map of where we've been, not a definition of who we are. They know this. And onward they go.

I do pray, though, that the sealing of the box is also the sealing off of the pain and doubt. I wish that there was a mystical quality in that moment yesterday that brought this all to an end, as if we really had sealed Pandora's Box.