Of Divorcées, Widows, and Orphans

I drive a Honda Odyssey like any other mother, run errands and carpool like it’s going out of style, and take deep breaths when my kids complain about the supper I just prepared. Again.

I’m also divorced.

As a single mother for quite some time, the anguish of living without a spouse and raising my kids alone is generally a small, quiet fire, conveniently located on the back burner of life’s pressing needs. I go to work. I drive to appointments. I take care of a sick child. I prepare for Shabbos, clean up from Shabbos. On a typical day, the expectations and rigors of my life don’t allow the pain to get in the way.

And it doesn’t. Almost.

But then there are other times, times when the tears burst forth, reminding me of the pain inside that burns deep and strong. Other times means Yom Tov, means family simchahs. These are times that while I may go through the motions like everyone else, I couldn’t feel more different. The loneliness pushes forward, drumming a violent tattoo on my fragile, hurting heart. During these times, the divorce can feel as raw and fresh as though it occurred today.

Something I heard long ago comes to mind — that there’s an invisible line of connection between married couples, even between those with a stilted relationship. The baby rolled off his bed? I’ll tell my husband later. The heating bill was extra high this month? We’ll kvetch about it over dinner. The report at the parent-teacher conference was disappointing? We’ll have to figure out how to help our feisty adolescent succeed in a different way. No matter what happens, there’s a connection between them that gives some level of support to get through the daily challenges.