Hey, there, this is Heather.
I've been thinking recently about personal history; of course I'm always working on sorting through some of my own, but this post is in relation to my kids. I have 5 children, and their dad and I have been divorced for about 3 years; I may be downplaying things just a bit when I say that Daddy and I have not yet learned to get along post-divorce. It was difficult enough when we were married.
For the past three years, my kids' dad has been trying to change, not only our history as a couple, but our family history. For his own reasons, he's trying to erase me. The first major sign was when he remarried and told the kids to call his new wife, "Mommy." I talked to my kids and explained to them how sacred that title is to me and asked them to reserve it for me alone; they understood, I think - at the very least, they respected my request. For about the past year, the kids have been forbidden to refer to me as "Mommy" at daddy's house because their dad says he "shouldn't have to hear" them using that word. They have to say, "my mom." He generally refers to me as, "Your parent in Idaho," or to my husband and I collectively as, "The grown-ups that live with you."
There have been other things. Since we moved a state away last year, the kids Skype with their dad about three times a week in place of weeknight visitation (we're close enough that they still see him every other weekend). During a recent conversation, the kids mentioned a Christmas tree that I made in, I think, 2008. Times were hard, money was tight, and we couldn't afford a Christmas tree. The kids had a cool teepee that my aunt and uncle had given us, and I had a pattern for a teepee cover. Eureka! I got out all of my green fabric and spent hours measuring and cutting squares and rectangles of fabric and sewing them together in long strips, which I then sewed together side-by-side to make 11 yards of roughly 45" wide patchwork fabric. Then I cut out the pattern and sewed a green cover for the teepee, which we strung with lights and set up for a Christmas tree. It took me a week. I have never before (or since!) worked so hard for so long on a sewing project. It. Was. Awesome. Daddy told everyone about it - all about how creative and resourceful and smart his wife was and that the Teepee Tree was even better than a real tree. He went to a tree lot and got some boughs to put inside the teepee so that it would smell Real. He used wood scraps he had in the garage to make a big base for it, with a divot for each pole, so that it wouldn't slide around and scratch the floor. We even used it again the following year when we could have bought a tree - he thought it was THAT cool.
However, when the kids mentioned the Teepee Tree, he shrugged and said, "Meh. I never liked that tree much. A real tree is better. That thing wasn't very good," and other such things. The kids were visibly affected. They LOVE The Story of the Teepee Tree, and we still have it (we use the cover as a tree skirt now). They love that mommy spent a week making it and that daddy got branches so it would smell Real. They love the pictures of daddy using safety pins to get the lights to stay on and them with their small hands trying to get the ornament hooks through those little safety pins and how the star sat up in the little nest of poles at the top just like it was meant to be there; how we could stack presents inside of our tree instead of under like everyone else. But now, according to daddy, that experience was, "Meh." Where does that leave them?
That night, the kids talked about the Teepee Tree and how they still think it's cool. I re-told the story of the tree, including all of the good things that daddy did to help make it.
I haven't forgotten this incident. Not because it made me angry or because I hate my kids' dad; neither of those things are true. It struck me deeply because it was a blatant attempt to change our family history - to alter our kids' lives. There have been times that the kids will relate a story daddy told them and when I say, "I remember that," they say, "You weren't there!" And for some reason I still can't believe that he tries to totally erase my presence in these stories. I was there! You can't erase me, that was a part of my life, too!
I get it - I divorced him and he doesn't like to remember when "things were good," or when we were together. But this isn't about US anymore. This is now the story of our children - parts of their own personal history that are being altered because daddy doesn't want mommy in his memories. I get that - seriously, I do. I don't want him in my memories, either. But the fact is, he's there. We were married for 13 years. We made five awesome kids together. We made a lot of memories, and even I can admit they weren't all bad. If his present is made easier by changing our past in his head, so be it. But as regards our kids, I don't think it's right to change their history to ease our own minds.
When my kids talk about how big and strong their daddy is, does it make me want to gag? Maybe a little, lol - even more so when they say he's funny. But I say, "He sure is strong, isn't he? He can do lots of cool things." When they say, "Why does daddy call us mean names?" does part of me want to say, "Because he's an abusive narcissist and he will probably always do that to you when you dare to cross him?" Damn straight. Do I say it? NO, and I never will. I stop. I think. I say something like, "Your daddy struggles to be kind sometimes." Believe me, it can be HARD to come up with his stuff. But my children are worth it.
I'm not perfect. I've botched it a few times. Once when they asked why daddy was blocking the driveway so we couldn't leave our house I shouted something like, "Because he's a controlling jerk!" I could argue that I was scared; I was. But that doesn't justify what I said to my children. My son had the guts to say, "Please don't talk about daddy that way." And he was right to say it. After family prayer that night I apologized to them. And I haven't always been careful when speaking to my current husband about the former; I say something flippant or insulting and then realize that the kids who share that man's DNA are within earshot and they have a right not to hear those things. They are worth the time and effort that my self-control sometimes requires.
It's worth it to me to do what I can to help my kids maintain as healthy a relationship with their dad as possible. Some days the temptation is strong. Some days they lob me the biggest softballs you can imagine. My oldest son has said, "I can see why you divorced daddy." His big sister has wondered how I stayed married to daddy for so long. I always thought I'd appreciate hearing them say those things, but when it happened - sooner than I expected - it broke my heart for them. And for him. But it's not for his sake that I hold my tongue and struggle with my mental filter to find ways to speak kindly about this man. I do it for my kids, because they're worth it to me.
My kids didn't choose their parents. They didn't choose the circumstances of their birth or family life. Those choices were made for them by their parents. They didn't choose the divorce that shredded their life. That was my choice. I stand by my choice...but it was still my choice, not theirs. Now I choose to support them in their relationship with their dad, despite his attempts at changing our history. I choose to honor what they remember about our life as a family, and about their dad. In my own memory, a lot of those "good times" were actually dark times, but they don't need to know that - it wouldn't be right of me to tell them.
I remember at a church conference last year, a speaker quoted our Church's Proclamation on the Family: "Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children....Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live. Husbands and wives—mothers and fathers—will be held accountable before God for the discharge of these obligations."
The words, "mothers and fathers" struck me. My ex husband and I still have these responsibilities, even though we are no longer married or in love, because we are still the mother and father of our children. We still need to care for each other, in the sense that we care enough about our children to still treat our relationship - and their relationships with the other parent - with care. I'll admit that makes me cringe a little....maybe a lot. But again, it's not about me. It's not about him. It's not about how much we'd both like to just forget each other and get on with our separate lives. It's about our kids, and about us respecting their history - accepting that we are each a part of their history and that we don't have a right to change that in order to soothe our own conscience or de-clutter our own stories.
