five years

My years of singleness have officially passed but April 1 is still a day that's hard to let pass without recognition. Five years ago today Brad left. I thought it was only going to be for two weeks but he never came back. Still goes down as the worst April Fool's Day prank on me in the history of ever, ever, ever.

Once I was able to get beyond just surviving from hour to hour, and then day to day, I started to think about my future. Where would I be in a year? Three years? Five years? Though at times forward thinking overwhelmed and terrified me, most times--I felt okay looking to my future. Wishing. Planing. Working for stuff. Envisioning who and where I would be and who would be there with me.

At my worst times, I saw myself in poverty, lonely, with wayward children. In my best times, I saw myself at year five feeling more settled than not, providing adequately for my boy squad, comfortable in my circle of friends and in a community of writers, serving in my Church, making the very best of what I had been given.

I still marvel at all I accomplished, all I became in five years.  How much I learned about myself and my faith and the power of the Atonement to strengthen and make up the difference. 

I finished school with honors. I made a whole new group of friends in both Idaho and California. I landed a highly sought after internship and then a fast-paced, multi-faceted job I really enjoyed. I hosted a radio show and learned all the technical components it entailed. I won a well-known fiction contest, twice. I published on a regular basis. I ran the literary side of a magazine. I hung out with best-selling authors and up-and-coming musicians. I threw some legendary birthday parties. ***

*** I was blessed financially enough to be able to give to those who needed, and then--when financial hardship struck me--I learned the deep and humble gratitude that comes from being given to. I cared, as a single mother, for four children, my home, yard, car, and bills. I started to run and worked up to running 10-20 trail miles a week. I danced in front of a crowd. I read my work in front of a crowd. I learned to play the ukulele. I drove a car through the car wash with the top down. I drove on the 405 in Orange County. I white water rafted. I learned to kick box. I got into one of the best MFA programs in the country. I broke hearts and had my heart broken. I took the biggest, scariest risk of my life in pursuing Mr. Perfect, who had only ever looked at me as a friend--and then (once he figured out I was pretty awesome after all!) in agreeing to marry him and start all over again, voluntarily giving up the bulk of all that stuff I had built up in the previous sentences.

And after five years, I still carry some deep scars from my divorce. Some I didn't even realize I had until I got married again. I imagine they will always be there in some form or another: The fear in trusting again, the panic, the walls that can involuntarily go up to prevent me from ever being hurt again. Blessedly I recognize them for what they are--old scars, completely unwarranted by Mr. Perfect--and I am thriving in spite of, and maybe because of them.  I choose to let them go every day.

My boys, too, still carry some hurt. We all miss our Peterson family, and I miss the recognizable place I once had amongst them. The boys still bare the weight of shuffling between two people they love most in the world. Have still never fully grasped what happened or why or when. It is my most fervent prayer that they will be able to choose wonderful, faithful, kind women as wives one day, have 8794 children and stay married forever and ever. And I do feel ever so blessed that they still have a mother and a father who love them dearly, and a step father who loves and cares for and mentors them like they were his own. And we all got some awesome sister/daughters out of the mix as well.

At year five, I am happy. The boys are happy. Good things are behind us, good things are ahead of us, good things are right now. Healing is real. Progress is real. Forgiveness is real. Trials are relentless and fierce but miracles happen every day. I have collected pocketfuls of them.

And to show where I've been:
Year 4 
Year 3 
Year 2 
Year 1