As a father, I have had numerous occasions to shed tears for my children. Luckily, many of the tears I have shed have been tears of joy, tears of pride, and tears of thanksgiving to God Almighty for the wondrous gifts I have been blessed to experienced because these children are part of my life. Unluckily, however, I have had more than my fair share of tears shed in pain, anger, fear, worry and frustration. The worst tears of all have come from watching my children in tremendous pain and knowing that there is not one single thing I can do, no matter how great or small, to take that pain from them. Over the last five years I have worked very hard in order to live up to the words I pray in the serenity Prayer, "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." It is because of this monumental effort that I have been able to weather the most difficult and painful storm in my life, watching my young children deal with the death of their mother.
The pain that I speak of is deeply embedded into our lives over time, thus giving it momentum, which in turn creates a pain so exponential in nature that it can devastate us both unmentionable and spiritually. For me the pain had taken root long before 1998, when I divorced my wife, in a marriage that was doomed to fail for a multitude of reasons. After my divorce, the pain grew like hundreds of meandering vines which engulfed the whole of my mind, body, and spirit. I had read in a self-help book on divorce, that loss through divorce is far worse then loss through death. This is because in death the person you grieve is gone and you are able to eventually recover. On the other hand, with divorce, you experience that pain over and over again because the other person is still around to reopen all of the festering wounds from which you suffer. As always, in my oblivion, God was quietly guiding my life. I was lead to the Ala-non program, in which I was able to recover from the effects alcohol had on my life, because of another one of my family member's drinking problem.
One of the first things you are taught in the program, is that life's many problems will never go away, the only thing that can change is the way in which we choose to deal with them. It didn't happen over night, but I eventually started to recover from the effects of alcohol on my life. With these new tools I was able to more effectively manage the stress and pain caused by my strained relationship with my ex-wife. Though I was becoming better able to make appropriate choices, in an effort at achieving a more serine life, I was still experiencing a great deal of pain.
At this point the pain and heartbreaking my life had a mind all it's own. My ex-wife, by this time, had been diagnosed with Breast Cancer. It was evident to me, and to others I knew, that things were starting to get bad, but my ex-wife kept telling me that everything was fine. She would say that it wasn't getting any better, but it wasn't getting any worse either. (Even after she went to M.D. Anderson in Houston for what was to be a an extended stay, but was sent home after two days of tests.)
She was in such deep denial that she wouldn't admit to anyone, including her parents, that she was dying. I begged her to come clean with me. I felt is was extremely important to tell our children so they could have what little time was left to make memories and say goodbye properly. She would then respond with even greater resolve that she was not dying. (Even though I saw hundreds of warning signs to the contrary.) Thankfully, because of the program, I had gained many wise friends who reminded me daily that this was a first step issue, and that I could not control the actions of my ex-wife, regardless of how helpless I felt.
Little did I know, I had yet to experience what real pain and tears were, but I soon found out. About two and a half weeks before she died, my ex-wife began fading in and out of reality. (ironically, she still held fast to the fact that she was not dying, while lying in a hospital bed with tubes and wires everywhere.) It was then that her parents had been told by the doctors that she would die very soon. As a matter of fact, the doctors at M. D. Anderson had told her six months earlier to go home and start getting things in order, and make arrangements for her children. I also found out after she died that she had told a friend the doctors told her three years earlier that the type of cancer she had was not curable, and that she would eventually die.
Now, I had to move quickly because the doctors would only say that her death would come very soon. Thankfully God had been watching out for my children this whole time. They were already seeing a counselor, who just happened to specialize in helping children suffering with grief. I called the counselor the very next morning, Monday, and got them an emergency appointment for Tuesday evening. Even though I had wonderful people all around me for support, I was still a total mess. The pain I was experiencing on behalf of my children had literally taken over my life. I got very little sleep, and what I did get was not restful. From the time I woke up Tuesday morning until I entered the waiting room with my children, I had eaten almost an entire bottle of Rolaids. Frankly, I don't know why I bothered, they didn't help one bit!
The counselor took me into his office without the children and told me that he was going to bring them in, and send me out, then tell them that their mother was going to die. Since he was an expert I knew there must be a good reason for doing this but couldn't figure out for the life of me what it was, so I asked. He said, that down the road the kids would be mad about this, and it was much better to have them mad at him, than at me. While this made perfectly logical since to me, not being in that office when he told them went against every fiber in my body. The next fifteen minutes were without a doubt the absolute worst fifteen minutes of my entire life, before or since. I sat in the waiting room pushing back bile filled vomit and tears, like that was going to work, and shook, the whole time yearning to hold my children and make all of the life changing pain they were now experiencing fade into the clouds. I kept telling myself that I couldn't control any of this but it didn't do any good. Nor did giving it to God, or so I thought, in my altered emotional state.
The next two and a half weeks were miserable at best. Thankfully, I was busy moving my children and their belongings in with me, enrolling them in school that would start in one week, and getting all of their doctors and medications straightened out. When their Mother finally died their little world shattered around them. I had been able to pull myself far enough out of the haze I was and do what I needed to do to support them.
The final emotional blow for me was the funeral. Having to sit by and watch them in pity as they sat motionless in the front pew as the pastor spoke about their mother. What an emotional day that was for both them and me.
Looking back three months, I stand opened mouthed, as I contemplate all of the things my children and I had to deal with, and how I was able to provide the loving support they so desperately needed. There is no doubt in my mind that without the program I would have fallen into a million pieces. Which is exactly the opposite of what I needed to do in order for my family to make it through this troubling time without being emotionally scarred for life. I thank God for my alcoholic, and my ex-wife who enabled me to nurture the skills I needed so I could help him protect two of his most precious little lambs.
