I can still feel the bumpy bedspread on what had become my mom’s
bed in my grandmother’s aging home. Not the soft, quilted bumps—the small,
hard, almost pin-like decorative knobs of a thin, archaic bed covering.
The four kids—Amanda, 4; Kyle, 5; Jarrod, 9, and me, 13—had had
all been gathered into the quasi-antique room because Mom “wanted to talk to
us.” To this day, I can still feel the chill of the temperature, the yellow
glow of lights that weren’t quite bright enough for the size of the room, and
thet smell that often accompanies an old house with elderly people living (and
occasionally dying) inside.
Looking back through the spectacles of time, age, and experience,
I can now see so many indications of what was about, how my simple, happy,
secure world was about to be turned upside down. However, as a know-it-all 13-year-old
who had just moved to his second junior high of the school year (about to
become a 3rd) and 8th school since kindergarten and was
sleeping on the covered patio of his maternal grandma’s Southern
California home, I had missed all of the signs. My world was about to take another drastic and severe turn, and I was powerless to stop it.
I can see, smell, and feel all of it even 30 years later. And now, my
soon-to-be former spouse and I were about to do the same to my three amazing,
adorable, and innocent children. How did we get here? How could we
reduce their image of happiness and family unity to jagged, shattered pieces,
and their hearts along with it? Am I being overly dramatic? Not according to
what my experience had been going through it myself when I was 13 and the
subsequent challenging years thereafter.
So, I made this challenge a matter of meditation and heartfelt
prayer to a higher, more informed power than I.
While I knew I wouldn’t be able to eliminate the sting and pain
completely; maybe, just maybe we could share the news with the kids in a manner
that would be as painless as possible and nurture their transition to a healthy
result as quickly as possible.
The Answer Came
Since the time that the kids were little, when we went on
vacation, I had made it a practice to drive long distances overnight so they
could sleep for most of the trip. This made it easier for them as the
passengers, and me as the time-committed driver, to make the journey with fewer
potty and boredom breaks.
It was on one of these late-night trips that I had what I can
only refer to as inspiration or even a revelation.
After working the question for
quite some time, the answer came to me. The two youngest kids were asleep in
the back as I made my way across the High Desert of California. I continued
to ponder the question, as was my way on such trips. It came to me as a
voice to my mind, almost audibly.
Little by little, line upon line, the steps of how to
share the tragic news of the end to their “normal family life” was given to me
in steps. The whole process took about an hour as I committed to memory
each step as it was “shared” with me. There, while driving in the middle of the
night across the moonlit, barren California
desert, I received instruction from a true, loving Higher Power. Despite the
nature of the topic, I can still feel the vast amounts of gratitude for the
caring support from One who clearly knows more than I and loves my children at
least as much as I do.
P.S. If you haven’t already checked it out, Damon has also published a book, Divorce: How to Tell Your Kids. It is available on Amazon.com and Kindle. If you are interested in having Damon present at an event, he'll always check his schedule to see if he can assist helping a good cause.