like the flip of a coin

As painful as it is to look at this picture, I needed the reminder. This was my family once. This is what we looked like. Many of you might not have read long enough to remember who Brad was. I sure did love just about everything about him. I thought he felt the same way about me. I thought we were awesome together....

Today started out absolutely wonderfully: * I had the humbling experience of using my writing talent to help a friend, the recipient of a double lung transplant, write a letter to his donor's family. *A writer that I admire greatly gave me the most sincere, glowing compliment. *I got to do a little online interacting with the insanely talented, Jennifer Paganelli, who has read my blog off and on for years (and I, hers, of course!)

I was thinking how long has it been since I had a really great day like this? It feels wonderful! I love 2011 so far!

And then it was as if the universe decided to flip the heads-up coin of my life and land it on tails. In the dirty gutter. On top of a dead rat.

The text came.

From Brad.

To "please call him when I had a minute."

So I did.

And he told me he was engaged...to his live-in 20-something girlfriend that he swore he didn't leave me for. The one I got down on my knees in front of during the whole separation and begged, frantically, for  her to leave my husband alone and let him come back to us. And though he didn't have the guts to tell me, I discovered through another family member that she was also pregnant.

It's been nearly 3 years now since our divorce. I've known he's been dating her for over a year, though the boys had no clue. Most of me was prepared for the eventual inevitable...but I didn't expect it like this. That one, small part of me that had continued to hold out the flame of "maybe, just maybe, because all things are possible with God" -- well, it took the bad news bullet right to the heart. This is something you just don't come back from.

I am most concerned for my boys, of course. Up to this point, their dad had at least been "playing along"-- a shadow of himself, but vaguely recognizable. Now, he can't hide just how far he's moved from that man they think him to be. Then there's the pain they will certainly have to deal with seeing that dad has one child that gets to live with him all the time, and knowing they are only visitors. I used to think that at least we had the fact that we were putting them first going for us. He won't have to deal with much of the fallout directly, of course. The boys seem to save up their sadness for me. Besides, Brad's in some freaky, wa-wa, numb land where he just doesn't seem able to see the carnage he's leaving in his wake. It seems fitting that he should think he can just start all over again...new wife. new child.

And I suppose that's where the selfish, me-related part comes in.

Because when he left, it was under the repeated reassurance that I'd done nothing wrong. That it wasn't me he didn't want anymore, but the institution of marriage. He swore he'd never marry again, that he could never hurt someone again the way he'd hurt me. I have multiple letters stating this. I took a small measure of comfort that maybe he meant it.

That thin scab has now been ripped off and once again I doubt that my best was ever good enough. That I wasn't thin enough, pretty enough, attentive enough, interesting enough. I feel awful. And ugly. And like I will never be good enough for anyone. I picture the two of them discussing how pathetic I am. Laughing at me.

Despite my best attempts to hide my tears and that deep, deep sorrow for the final loss of hope--my boys knew something was wrong immediately. They wouldn't leave me alone until I told them. My E was even growing frantic in his need to know. So, I told the two older boys. And for as much as I tried to make it sound like a somewhat maybe happy event, they could see--plain as day--the absolute wrong-ness of it. They said they hated him and never wanted to see him again. And, what, as a mother do you do then?

More talking about the effects of bad choices. More prayers. More trying to get them to accept that they can love an imperfect person. More trying to bind up their wounds.

Good things DO happen for good people eventually, right? Right? Please tell me they do, because I really don't know how much more of this I can take.

For now, I can only keep going on, keep doing what I'm doing, keep trying to come up with some plan for our future. Deal with one day at a time. Hoping, praying, that one day all this mental, emotional, physical brokenness will be healed.

A friend shared an old Japanese proverb that seems to fit my life, what it is now, what it may be: Fall down seven times. Get up eight.

Trying, trying to get up.