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I learned about the concept of divorce when I was just seven years old.
I remember running around the narrow hallways of my home, carrying my newest Optimus Prime action figure, playing out scenarios in my mind without a care in the world. Nothing could’ve bothered me.
That is, until I accidentally stumbled across my parents’ room.
Now, one thing to note about my childhood home is that my room was right next to theirs. As a child, I could hear them talking through the walls, but I always found it annoying and wished that they’d stop. Sometimes, I could hear them arguing, and I never knew what it was about. They could plan, relax, laugh, converse, or do whatever they wanted in there, but my world was always separate from theirs. Whether that was my choice or theirs, that’s the way every day was for me.
That wasn’t the case today.
I stopped making (totally epic) battle noises when I passed by their room’s cracked open door, and I caught a glimpse of my mom sitting at her desk. From where I stood, I couldn’t make out much, especially since her desk’s position had her faced away from the door. I could see that there was an opened envelope there, and folded up documents right in front of her. Normally, I wouldn’t make anything of such an occurrence. I’d simply sneak a peek in, and keep moving on with my busy seven-year-old life. But there was something different about this time, something that caused my entire world to pause.
The expression on my mom’s face.
In all my years of life up until that point, I’d never seen such a look on her face. I’ve seen her tired from work, or concerned about another person, or upset about something I’d done, but this wasn’t anything like that. My mom - the strongest person I know - wore an expression that could only convey one feeling: defeat. She looked as if there was nothing she could do about these evil, twisted papers in front of her - like they held powers beyond her control.
I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t know how mere papers could sap my mother’s super strength, but, at that point, I just wanted to stop them from hurting my mama. So I went into her room.
“Mama? Are you okay?”
Even at seven years old, I could figure out that I wasn’t supposed to be in there when my mom’s initial reaction was a startled gasp. She folded the papers up quickly, making sure to keep them out of my view, and stood from her desk to turn and face me. She smiled.
“Of course, baby. It’s just been a long day.”
A lie. Even I could feel the absence of truth behind those words, how little weight they carried. What struck me more was how tired she seemed.
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t know what else to ask, but I knew I couldn’t just leave her room. I could sense the sadness of her words, see the darkened circles around her eyes. I knew she needed somebody, and I couldn’t afford to leave my mama alone.
She prepared to tell me the same thing again, but the words got stuck in her throat. Instead, she sighed out, and knelt down in front of me, so the two of us were face to face.
“No, I’m not. I’m sorry, baby.”
“What’s wrong, mama?”
“It’s just… something between your dad and I, that’s all.”
Dad? What did these evil papers have to do with my dad?
“Is he okay?”
“Of course he is, honey. It’s just that… things are changing between your dad and I.”
I had no idea what that meant. Nothing my little kid brain could come up with could account for what my mom had just said. Changing? How?
“Where’s dad?”
“I dunno. Somewhere. He might not be home for a while. We’re separating.”
“Oh… does that mean me and dad are gonna change too?”
Little did I know, that was the question that broke my mom’s heart. I will always remember the way tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes, and her sniffles evolved into convulsive sobs. She pulled me into a gentle embrace, where I could feel her tears roll onto my skin. I hugged her back as tightly as I could, not knowing what any of this meant.
After a while, she pulled back. She set both of her hands on my shoulders, and looked me in the eyes.
“... Maybe, honey. But nothing about this is going to change how much either of us love you. It’s all going to be okay. Okay? Do you understand?”
I didn’t. But I nodded anyway.
She nodded back at me, flashed a sad smile, and stood back up.
“Alright, now go play.”
I did as I was told, exiting her room and relocating Optimus Prime. Not even two minutes later, I had resumed my life of intense Transformers warfare. However, when I passed by her door again, it was shut and locked.
This short conversation couldn’t have been longer than five minutes, but this memory lasts eternally in my mind, as this was the moment my family began to break up. From that day forward, I saw both of my parents less and less. My dad stayed away to avoid my mom, and my mom went away for work more often to provide for us both.
I wasn’t aware that “separating” meant having to see both of my parents less.
I wasn’t aware that “separating” meant I never got to have a ‘normal’ family growing up.
I wasn’t aware that “separating” meant a strenuous, nearly-severed relationship with my father.
I was only told that “”nothing about this” was going to change how much they loved me.
At seven years old, on that day, I learned that “nothing” was a lie of omission.
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