I was in a deep and tranquil sleep when the phone rang. It was my ex-hubby calling to tell me that the city was covered in snow and that I should wake the kids up immediately so that they could see it. I thought he was pulling my leg at first, but he was so excited, like a little boy himself, that I jumped out of bed to check it out. And, I'll be damned, the city of sin was covered in a blanket of beautiful white snow. It looked so clean, so promising. It was as though nothing bad could ever happen here.
As I sat in Starbuck's that morning with my children sipping hot cocoa and watching the snow melt almost as quickly as it had fallen, I felt very warm and fuzzy inside. I was grateful for the call from my ex, and I was glad that he felt comfortable enough to call with such simple news. Truth be told, as I sat there watching my beautiful children talking animatedly between themselves, I was thankful for him; the onetime man of my dreams, father of my children, the one person in this world who still, even after our divorce, I admire and respect more than anyone else I've ever known.
When we conceived our son, I was 23 years old. Had been for all of three weeks. We had been dating for a year, and even though it was still fairly early on, I knew the first time I laid eyes on him that I was going to spend the rest of my life loving him. He was so gorgeous, with his thick, dark hair and hazel eyes. He was very athletic and had the body to prove it. He was simple, with good values and strong morals. He was giving, thoughtful, driven and had a heart of gold. A heart that he promised would always belong to me. We married when our son was 6 months old.
Five years later, we decided, upon our son's constant requests for a little sister, to try for a second child. Things between us had been difficult at times, as is usually the case when you start out a relationship with a child, but we'd managed to make it through all the tough times. Our marriage was built on love, and we had a strong foundation. I used to watch them sleep sometimes, my boys, crashed out on the couch together after having watched a Disney movie or reading a book, and I would be overwhelmed by emotion. As tears of joy slid down my cheeks, landing on my protruding belly, I thanked my higher power again and again for blessing me with such a beautiful and loving family.
In March 1996, we had our daughter; she was perfect in every way and brought so much joy into our lives. My life seemed flawless. I had a handsome, successful husband who adored me, two beautiful and healthy children and a home that would make Martha Stewart envious. I had it all. Everything but the confidence to accept that I deserved the life I was living. It was that lack of confidence which inevitably led to the demise of our marriage.
As we sat in front of our fireplace discussing the splitting of assets and custody arrangements, he asked me to reconsider my decision to end things. But I explained to him that I was broken, and that as hard as he tried, he couldn't fix me. I told him that I had to get out there and find my own way. He said that he understood, and he let me go. He loved me enough to let me go. No one had ever loved me that much before, nor since.
The children and I finished our hot chocolates, and I drove home to get changed. I was going to Family Court to support one of my dearest friends, Dee, who was being sued by her ex-husband for full custody of their 5-year-old son.
As I entered the hallway in front of the courtroom, I caught sight of my girlfriend and went to put my arms around her. She was determined to be strong, but the stress and heartache were written all over her face as she conferred with her attorney, fearful of losing her custody rights. Ten seats away sat her handsome ex-husband, the onetime man of her dreams, father of her child, equally immersed in conversation with his attorney. The two of them plotting and scheming with their money-hungry lawyers to win the right to spend time with the son that they had once upon a time created out of love and respect for one another. The same child who now was a casualty of war.
My heart broke for all of them. How could they possibly look at each other and be so blinded by resentment that they could forget the love they once shared? The very same love that brought their son into the world to begin with. Why couldn't they just let it go?
I picked up my cell phone and called my ex-husband. I thanked him for calling that morning to share the magnificence of the new-fallen snow with our children. But what I was really thanking him for was for our ability as parents to put our children's happiness above all else. To speak of one another with the respect and reverence that we both deserve. And to remember that although our marriage may have failed, our co-parenting relationship can be successful as long as we never lose sight of the good feelings we once shared.
As I drove home from Family Court that day, I was very somber but still in awe of the snow on the ground. It seemed to me to be the perfect metaphor for my married life: It didn't last forever, but there was so much splendor and beauty in it that the memories will last long after it has melted away.