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As I waited in the car, sweat broke out on my forehead — a vestige of the hot flashes that still occasionally plagued me. Or it could have been the fact that it was 70 degrees in the middle of winter and I was wearing a down parka.
I turned on the air conditioning. I wanted to appear calm, not like the hot mess I was when I picked my son up from the airport last summer, weeks after his father left me and our 28-year marriage, saying we were "better off as friends."
Luckily, my son bought my pretense. We talked about his annoying flight delay, and I teased him about his usual last-minute weekend plans. But just because we were smiling through it didn't mean the pain of my divorce from his father didn't still sting us both.
Everyone tells me, "You're lucky that your boys are older. It's so much easier." But I don't necessarily agree with that; it's been hard for us, too. Though most studies on divorce will tell you that it's harder on elementary-school-aged kids, others actually say that it's more difficult for children who are older and more cognitively developed.
My sons are 19 and 21. They attend college away from home, and I don't have to worry about shared-custody arrangements. I don't have to download apps for scheduling sports practices, daycare, or playdate pickups amicably with their father. I don't have to pack overnight school bags or coordinate packing lunches with an ex who may or may not be amenable to the "healthy choices" I would prefer they eat.
What I do have to worry about are the emotional effects of my marriage's dissolution on children who are old enough to understand that when I cry, it means more than just "Mommy's just feeling sad today." They that their father, who they love and adore, caused my pain. I worry about how they'll manage those conflicting emotions as they navigate first relationships, academic stressors, and career-choice pressures.
As far as I know, they've never paid much attention to our relationship and have mostly kept to their own activities; after all, we rarely fought, and when we did have disagreements, they were never that vocal. But now that we're no longer together, they're forced to see us as individuals, with all our flaws. Their father avoids talking about our break-up with them, as if that will make it go away. Meanwhile, in a strange role reversal, they comfort me when I cry too many times to count.
My sons are old enough to envision the practical effects of divorce on our family's financial situation. My older son's 529 plan has been exhausted. If he chose to go to graduate school, he would have to take out loans instead of having us significantly contribute, since our expenses have gone up from maintaining two households.
My younger son received a large amount of financial aid from the college he's transferring to in the fall. He seemed excited about it compared to the nonchalance with which he greeted previous scholarships, and I wonder if that has to do with him worrying about money. Both boys know that their dad and I split their weekly food costs when they're home. Their meat bill alone dwarfs my entire solo weekly shopping costs.
The boys stay with me in their childhood home during breaks and visit their father in his newly rented two-bedroom apartment, though they don't stay there overnight. After all, their friends are close to our home. They take great care to go out of their way to see him because they're sensitive about hurting either one of us.
Then there's the cynicism. My younger son has told me that he never wants to get married. "What's the point when 50% of marriages end in divorce?" he asked. I had no idea he even knew that statistic. I try to tell him that even though our marriage imploded, that doesn't mean that his future relationships will; he doesn't seem convinced. My older son clearly feels protective of me, wrapping me in his big bear hugs and saying he wishes he could give me $300,000 to buy a house.
I try to model emotional openness to make sure they have a good example of how to express themselves. I frequently ask them how they feel. You can imagine how popular a question that is for young men. They say that they're fine and that I should stop asking them. I hope that's true, but I don't know. They're so vulnerable but today's society still teaches them to keep it all in.
I assure them that even though I'm sad right now, I will be OK. I explain how talking to a therapist really helps me work through the grief, and that my friends have come through for me in ways I could have never imagined. I tell them the adage "you have to go through it to get through it" is painful, but true.
As my younger son's school break approaches its end, tears pool in my eyes while driving him to the airport. I'm still so hurt and raw, and I worry about the effects of my emotional fragility on him and his brother. He tells me that coming home is "depressing." This cuts into my soul as a mother. I make my best attempt to restore control and dry my eyes as any strong mom would do. I hug him tightly and whisper that we'll all be OK, we just need more time. And then I watch him go.
