My parents separated when I was 16. It was warm outside. At the dining room table my Mom told us things just weren't working out. I honestly don't remember anything she said specifically. Just that lead weight feeling in my stomach. And then I was in my room packing my life. I grew up in that room. I used to dance around on the hardwood floors in my barefeet instead of napping. I got ready for my first middle school dance in that room with April. I painted that room purple, and mint green. I had a cherry tree outside my window that dropped bitter, red fruit too early every year. And I would rearrange the furniture when things seemed a little complicated my life. The floor is scarred because of me.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad they divorced. They weren't happy. And the only thing I want for the people I love is this: to be happy. But it took away a family that I'd had for 16 years. It took away the long drives to Connecticut to visit the Aunts, and Uncles I so love, and so miss. It took away Christmas eve with all the lights off, and just the crackle of the wood stove. God I loved Christmas eve. So much promise of the magic to come.
It took away the third step in the staircase that creaked, the smell of blooming dogwoods, the basketball hoop where I perfected my foul shot, and the inexplicable feeling of having something to come home to.
But it wasn't all loss. Oh, not at all. It was so much more. It was learning that I am strong. That my Mom did what she thought was best even though she risked comfort, safety, and security. The separation, the move, the heartache, the eventual divorce: well it taught me that love, real love, conquers all. My parents still love me, and I them. And really, I can't think of any more important lesson I've learned so far in life.
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