Once upon a time, a grandma and her four year old grand-daughter, Jane, were looking at pictures in an album. There was a photo of newborn Jane in her mother’s embrace and Dad had his arm around both them.
Jane’s parents divorced when she was two, so she has no meaningful memories of them living together or being a family.
Mom walked by just then and Jane called to her. “Look Mom, here’s a picture of me and you and Daddy when you loved him a little.”
I’ve been blissfully married (for the most part) for nearly 32 years. People think I have no knowledge of how hard marriage can be or what divorce is like.
I’m a child of divorce. If I counted every parent and step parent, I’ve had five parental figures in my life. More if you count a few girlfriends and boyfriends before my parents each found their final partner.
Several of my best friends are divorced. I’ve sat in courtrooms with them and cried and raged.
Other friends have put their marriages back together. We’ve watched, prayed, listened, encouraged, and cheered.
Jane will grow up. I hope she’ll know she’s loved and will feel secure. But there will always be a part of her that wonders what happened to the little bit of love her parents had and why it wasn’t enough.
Today I prayed for: Mackenzie, Kara, Sonia Sotomayor, and Rachel.
Currently reading: The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday by Alexander McCall Smith