Divorce & Kids
Monday, March 29, 2010
By: Michelle Wiginton

The Girl Next Door

Trailers do not have soundproof walls or doors. But I did not need sounds to tell me something was going very wrong with my fairytale existence…for me, once upon a time would not end in happily ever after. I was just starting school, in Brownies and in the middle of a divorce. One day, my mom just wasn’t there…six months later, the girl next door, Jean, married my dad and we moved into her trailer with her son, Robert. The new marriage was not started before the old one ended, but it sure felt that way in my heart. I vowed to never marry anyone with children…never say “never” to God.

Twenty-four years after my dad married the girl next door, my husband did the same with me. We were neighbors, our children played together and spent the night together, and we became friends almost as an afterthought. How could my Dad marry someone other than my Mom? I found from personal experience that it was not that hard. Growing up with a “step monster” was almost too easy. If anything was wrong or bad about my life, I could blame her. “Her” could be my stepmom or my real Mom—whichever one would fit better in whatever situation I happened to be in at the time. I spent all my time blaming others for my problems and no time dealing with those problems—yes, I had it good.

Robert, my stepbrother who is a month or so younger than my younger sister Ann, was quiet and thoughtful…much like his mother. He was dark, we were light. He was silent, we could not shut up. He was different, we were the same. I didn’t want them in my life and I wasn’t shy about it. I wanted my Mom, my life and me back. How could I be a momma’s girl when I never saw my momma? How could I learn to be a good mother on our monthly weekend visits? How could someone leave me…I was special. It took me years to realize, it was not about me.

I spent a great deal of my time as a kid trying to figure out what I did to make my parents split and what I could do to get them back together. No matter what I tried, the pages on the calendar kept turning. Looking back, I now see that I could not appreciate what I had because all I saw and thought about was what I had lost. My mother lost her mother at nine, my Dad lost his father at 13…I believe they did the best they could with what they knew. I had looked around at other kid’s parents and wondered why mine could not be more like them. I talked with many friends years later who had looked at my parents and wondered why their parents had not been more like mine. How ironic…I guess the grass does look greener on the other side of the mountain.

Today, I am the daughter of two mothers and one father. Maryann gave birth to me, we shared a face, and we shared many stories, memories and a French heritage (she is now with the angels). Jean raised me, taught me how to keep house, cook and clean, and we share many triumphs, challenges and spiritual strong towers. I call them both “Mom” and, more importantly, my heart can no longer tell the difference. They are as different as night and day and I love them both, each for their unique qualities. Neither is/was perfect, but neither am I. Tom, my father, has still never told me, “I am proud of you,” but I had to stop holding back my love for him until I heard those words, because I may never hear them. I found that forgiveness is freedom, the past can haunt the present if you let it, and that parents just get you started in the race…it is up to you how you finish it.
 

Below (I'm the second tow-head from the right)!

Comments

I loved your story, it brought so much light to what my two children have faced since my divorce from their father. I am printing it off for my daughter to read as I think it will enlighten how she feels.

Stephanie, Tuesday, March 30, 2010

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Thanks so much Michelle for sharing your story and your heart!

Sandy, Tuesday, March 30, 2010

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