Tuesday, March 28, 2006 at 2:02am
A shotgun divorce
Column: Writing Down Your Soul
On November 1, 1996, I told my husband I wanted a divorce.
He responded by buying a shotgun and calling to say goodbye. He didn't kill himself that night, but for the next two years his rage and pain were so explosive that my family was afraid he might kill me. I spent my days in coffee shops, moving from one to another, until it was time to pick up my son from school.
At home, I wore a panic "necklace." If I pressed the button, the police would come—immediately. In the car, 911 was pre-dialed on my cell phone, and several times I pushed send. When his father's behavior became particularly volatile, I took my son into hiding. Not a lot of people stick around to see how you survive this kind of divorce. Overnight, I had no business and few friends. I had nothing to do all day but survive.
Out of sheer desperation, I started writing to God. In black ink I screamed: Are you paying any attention? Do you have any idea what's happening here? Just in case God missed it, I described all the wretched things that were happening, how my child was suffering, and the worries that caromed around my head all night. I noticed that when I finished venting, something happened: A little bit of wisdom appeared on the page, an answer here, a shift in thinking there. Bit by bit, day by day, I followed that trail of guidance, like the crumbs in Hansel and Gretel. On my hands and knees, I crawled forward.
Today I know the names of the seven "countries" of spiritual healing I crawled through, but during my divorce I didn't realize I was going through a process that made sense or had any meaning. I didn't realize I was on a spiritual pilgrimage, and I especially didn't realize that it would end, and end well. I didn't know where I was or where I was going. I just stumbled along, feeling my way, day by day, prayer by prayer. I knew only one thing: Personal prayer was changing (and saving) my life.
I crawled through every inch of the countries I had come to define: Betrayal, Pain, and War. Exhausted by War, I staggered into Illusion where I learned my thinking was part of the problem. When I finally stopped complaining about anyone else, I crossed "Not-a-Victim Bridge" and entered Surrender, where I lost much, but gained even more, by learning to trust. With growing confidence, I slowly and consciously built my new life in the Country of Choice. I was almost there, almost finished, almost healed. But to enter the Country of Peace, I had to forgive my ex-husband.
On Sunday morning, March 25, 2001, I wrote a prayer of final, complete, and total forgiveness. That afternoon, a small miracle occurred. I went to the McDonald's parking lot where we were legally required to exchange our son. As soon as I pulled in, my ex-husband got out of his car and headed to mine. He hadn't approached my car in months. But when he had in the past, the incident had invariably ended with police cars and flashing lights and bullhorn commands to stay in his car while my son and I drove away. My cell phone was in my purse on the floor. There was no way I could reach it before he reached me. I took a deep breath and lowered the car window three inches. His fist came flying through the crack in front of my face. He opened his hand and something fluttered to my lap. "Here," he said and turned to walk away. I looked down. There was a check for $38 dollars made out to me. "What's this?" I called out. "Half our son's last dental appointment," he said as he strode away.
Now, $38 dollars may not sound like much of a miracle, but for five years he had refused to share our son's expenses. He owed me thousands of dollars, and I had given up even asking. That un-requested check was nothing less than the parting of the Red Sea for us. It was also, I discovered later, a harbinger of a much bigger miracle to come.
A year later, our son looked his father in the eye and said, "Dad, I'm not going to come to your house for visitation any more." I was proud of him for standing up for what he needed. His father's behavior had become increasingly strange, and it was no longer safe to be in his car or alone in his house. But at the same time, I knew they needed some kind of contact. I discussed the possibilities with my son and, with his permission, called my ex-husband and invited him to come to our home for visitation.
When my mother found out, she was furious. My sister screamed at me. Friends hung up on me. How could I possibly let someone who had tried to hurt me, back inside my home? Simple, I told them. I have utterly and completely forgiven him. I am completely unafraid. And now I want our son to see that I'm not afraid, to see that he need not be afraid. I want him to have the opportunity to meet his father again, for the first time. They thought I was nuts, but something in my heart and my gut and my mind said, "This is right and good and necessary." For the next fifteen months, the son and the father slowly, tentatively reconnected over dinner on Thursdays and Sundays.
On October 6, 2003 — Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement — my ex-husband died from a massive stroke. There was no one else, so I became the executor of his estate. Going through his papers, I discovered that the week I invited him to come to our home —something I could never have done if I hadn't completely forgiven him — he began a six-month battle with his life insurance company to reinstate his lapsed insurance, increase it, and name me as the beneficiary.
On November 13, 2003 I received the largest check I've ever seen. I knew that check was more than a check, more than money, more than even atonement. That check was tangible proof of the power of forgiveness.
(Next week: the miracle-inducing prayer of forgiveness.)
— — —
Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is an expert on the power of practical spirituality to heal your broken heart and transform your world. She is the cartographer of the map of spiritual healing and author of the seven travel guides in the Spiritual Geographyseries. In addition to divine dialogue, she welcomes human conversation at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}. © copyright 2006 by Janet Conner.
— — —
UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum is a big tent for all expressions
of faith and spirituality, neither excluding nor favoring any.
All opinions expressed belong to the writer alone, and are
not necessarily shared by UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum.
He responded by buying a shotgun and calling to say goodbye. He didn't kill himself that night, but for the next two years his rage and pain were so explosive that my family was afraid he might kill me. I spent my days in coffee shops, moving from one to another, until it was time to pick up my son from school.
At home, I wore a panic "necklace." If I pressed the button, the police would come—immediately. In the car, 911 was pre-dialed on my cell phone, and several times I pushed send. When his father's behavior became particularly volatile, I took my son into hiding. Not a lot of people stick around to see how you survive this kind of divorce. Overnight, I had no business and few friends. I had nothing to do all day but survive.
Out of sheer desperation, I started writing to God. In black ink I screamed: Are you paying any attention? Do you have any idea what's happening here? Just in case God missed it, I described all the wretched things that were happening, how my child was suffering, and the worries that caromed around my head all night. I noticed that when I finished venting, something happened: A little bit of wisdom appeared on the page, an answer here, a shift in thinking there. Bit by bit, day by day, I followed that trail of guidance, like the crumbs in Hansel and Gretel. On my hands and knees, I crawled forward.
Today I know the names of the seven "countries" of spiritual healing I crawled through, but during my divorce I didn't realize I was going through a process that made sense or had any meaning. I didn't realize I was on a spiritual pilgrimage, and I especially didn't realize that it would end, and end well. I didn't know where I was or where I was going. I just stumbled along, feeling my way, day by day, prayer by prayer. I knew only one thing: Personal prayer was changing (and saving) my life.
I crawled through every inch of the countries I had come to define: Betrayal, Pain, and War. Exhausted by War, I staggered into Illusion where I learned my thinking was part of the problem. When I finally stopped complaining about anyone else, I crossed "Not-a-Victim Bridge" and entered Surrender, where I lost much, but gained even more, by learning to trust. With growing confidence, I slowly and consciously built my new life in the Country of Choice. I was almost there, almost finished, almost healed. But to enter the Country of Peace, I had to forgive my ex-husband.
On Sunday morning, March 25, 2001, I wrote a prayer of final, complete, and total forgiveness. That afternoon, a small miracle occurred. I went to the McDonald's parking lot where we were legally required to exchange our son. As soon as I pulled in, my ex-husband got out of his car and headed to mine. He hadn't approached my car in months. But when he had in the past, the incident had invariably ended with police cars and flashing lights and bullhorn commands to stay in his car while my son and I drove away. My cell phone was in my purse on the floor. There was no way I could reach it before he reached me. I took a deep breath and lowered the car window three inches. His fist came flying through the crack in front of my face. He opened his hand and something fluttered to my lap. "Here," he said and turned to walk away. I looked down. There was a check for $38 dollars made out to me. "What's this?" I called out. "Half our son's last dental appointment," he said as he strode away.
Now, $38 dollars may not sound like much of a miracle, but for five years he had refused to share our son's expenses. He owed me thousands of dollars, and I had given up even asking. That un-requested check was nothing less than the parting of the Red Sea for us. It was also, I discovered later, a harbinger of a much bigger miracle to come.
A year later, our son looked his father in the eye and said, "Dad, I'm not going to come to your house for visitation any more." I was proud of him for standing up for what he needed. His father's behavior had become increasingly strange, and it was no longer safe to be in his car or alone in his house. But at the same time, I knew they needed some kind of contact. I discussed the possibilities with my son and, with his permission, called my ex-husband and invited him to come to our home for visitation.
When my mother found out, she was furious. My sister screamed at me. Friends hung up on me. How could I possibly let someone who had tried to hurt me, back inside my home? Simple, I told them. I have utterly and completely forgiven him. I am completely unafraid. And now I want our son to see that I'm not afraid, to see that he need not be afraid. I want him to have the opportunity to meet his father again, for the first time. They thought I was nuts, but something in my heart and my gut and my mind said, "This is right and good and necessary." For the next fifteen months, the son and the father slowly, tentatively reconnected over dinner on Thursdays and Sundays.
On October 6, 2003 — Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement — my ex-husband died from a massive stroke. There was no one else, so I became the executor of his estate. Going through his papers, I discovered that the week I invited him to come to our home —something I could never have done if I hadn't completely forgiven him — he began a six-month battle with his life insurance company to reinstate his lapsed insurance, increase it, and name me as the beneficiary.
On November 13, 2003 I received the largest check I've ever seen. I knew that check was more than a check, more than money, more than even atonement. That check was tangible proof of the power of forgiveness.
(Next week: the miracle-inducing prayer of forgiveness.)
— — —
Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is an expert on the power of practical spirituality to heal your broken heart and transform your world. She is the cartographer of the map of spiritual healing and author of the seven travel guides in the Spiritual Geographyseries. In addition to divine dialogue, she welcomes human conversation at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}. © copyright 2006 by Janet Conner.
UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum is a big tent for all expressions
of faith and spirituality, neither excluding nor favoring any.
All opinions expressed belong to the writer alone, and are
not necessarily shared by UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum.