Coin

Dear H,

Blended. Well, shit. This life is beautiful, but some seasons are wrought with pain and complication.

The thing I struggle with the most is that being blended often means happy moments in your life are ones that usher in bitter sweetest to ours. It could be the same for you. As such, in your life, often some of the things you cling to with open joy are things have cut us deeply here.

Now, either way, part of that ache is unavoidable and natural rhythm of parenthood. It exists in all families. For us, part of it is parenting with your Mom who, when push comes to shove, considers us optional pieces of your life or general inconveniences to hers. Part of comes from the cadence of sharing two homes.

For a long time, I have worried. I worry you don’t know there is another way to be. I worry that your sisters, who know other ways to be, won’t understand your choices with your time as you all get older. I worry about all the things you’ll never tell us. Sometimes I find myself wishing you were shown that the responsibility of being with family is mostly a joy. That the burdensome nature of these relationships exists because good relationships are also a responsibility. It is harder to do, but it is good. I wish you grew up with the heftiness of it and the knowing that showing up even when you don’t want to is a thing you should do. I wish both homes helped you build your muscle of loyalty. Loyalty begets support through your life, sweet girl. Because here is the thing: Making time for healthy family relations, even when it’s inconvenient or painfully boring, is not where your regrets will lie. Missing those things… missing time with those people… that’s often where wishing things were different comes into play.

This year, a lot of that has been bubbling and swirling, and making this bend in the river of your life a little bit rocky over here. This past year included a focus on your desire to be a bigger part of the faith community at the church you attend with your mom. That shift and the inner work you did in “Story Class” on your path to Baptism had you reflect on your doubts about faith, church and relationship with God. I understand you were tasked with building a story of your faith and to share that.

The obstacle to your faith, the experiences in your life that you sifted through and labeled, was coming to our home to have time with us during Middle School. Your story is that falling away from faith involved struggling during Covid, parents fighting, and Dad not attending church. From an outsider looking in, this group with the leaders of their youth ministry worked on reflecting, crafting, and then recording these stories that frame your turn towards faith. I think the thing that we’re struggling with… is that while we’re used to being considered obstacles to your life from your mother’s perspective… we’re not used to you putting us in that category.

These recordings were shared with with the congregation as part of the Baptism during the weekly services at church. As a person who firmly believes in Anne Lamont’s advice, “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.“ I respect deeply the intentions of this day and the importance of sharing your story. You own everything that happens to you.

Storytelling is a deeply rooted art and sharing is a meaningful way to connect to other humans. I’ve been telling my story to save my life since I was little. It is the reason this whole blog exists. I would never deny you that. I would never ask you to be less than honest. I don’t believe in keeping secrets– the few I’ve kept always come out in the end anyway. Usually with more shame for keeping them than the honest truth of the matter would have held.

Yet, that day once again brought the tug of worry: All these people you are sharing these pieces of yourself with are not the ones here. You haven’t really told us. Your baptism felt less like being invited to share this moment you wanted us there for and more like an ambush– although later I found out you tried to warn Dad. Here is the thing, H. That was not the way to nurture anything with us here. That was not a healthy, reciprocal moment in the story of your relationship with Dad. This moment that was a big, special deal at your other home that was celebrated, broke something here. Again.

Love can’t break. We love you. That always will be the way. You can’t lose it or make it stop. It’s just exists in the beyond without needing to earn it or do much about it. We love you. Your Dad really, really loves you.

Yet, the truth is… love isn’t all that matters in a relationship. While love can’t be a thing you lose or we stop, the choices you make can put huge dents into other things that matter like trust and loyalty and respect. That’s what makes this complicated. That’s the stuff you have to handle with care. Love of each other kind of sits beyond… but it doesn’t mean much without the those counterparts framing how we treat each other.

Well, shit, kid… Here’s what happened that day: We learned we can’t trust you to tell about us in your story in a way that’s whole or that you share in the belief that this part of your life is an obstacle. And so my issue, is that I’m not sure I trust you to safeguard your Dad’s heart.

“…not the typical go to church or Sunday school every Sunday. Instead I would go every other weekend, because I would be at my Dad’s house on weekends and he does not attend church. Despite that though, as a kid, I loved Jesus.”

“Despite that” is the thing that echoes on and on. Despite holds a lot in those six little letters. Despite was a an atomic bomb on your time with Dad. Time that he had to scrape and fight for. “Despite” was a huge contradiction to inviting us to things that matter. Despite was confusing as hell, H.

“…As I grew up, the Youth Group part of church became a more important part and I tried to participate in the middle school youth group during sixth grade, but that also was at the beginning of Covid, which just made everything harder. Nonetheless, I tried to go as often as possible, but it was a Zoom meeting and would often happen during the time I would be going to my dad’s house and I didn’t want to push back at that time, so I would just skip some. This led to me feeling disconnected from the group and not fully comfortable.”

Push back against what, sweet girl? We don’t understand. Yes, you had to be flexible in what that looked like. Our weeks, Dad mostly left the choice to you to join or not join.

“At the same time Covid was just hard on me like everyone. My parents were constantly fighting and I struggled with many of my relationships and eventually it felt like God didn’t really love me. So soon after I dropped out of Youth Group.”

Covid was wild and hard and frightening. You are not wrong. We saw you struggle once life started to gel back together. We know only the broad strokes of a lot of your life. Your parents did fight. You should not have been privy to that. I don’t know what that was like through your eyes or what you saw. We don’t know why you saw or heard any of it… you weren’t here with us. However, those people in those seats don’t know what our family went through. They don’t know those fights were about. Your parents fighting, please know it wasn’t over minutia…

“I never called myself an atheist or an agnostic though. I did online church and eventually came back in person. But I really just wasn’t sure what I believed.”

Darling, your Dad just had a conversation with you where he said he considers himself agnostic… and you just labeled him as something you don’t want to be.

“Then I remember it was Mother’s day last year and my mom and I were walking to the restaurant for brunch.”

Brunch Dad suggested you take Mom. The one he paid for, sweet girl. The one mom spent double and took advantage of your card, your relationship with your Dad, and Dad’s generosity. And now… this day that was a formative one in your life, but a betrayal of his trust in his.

“And out of nowhere, I felt like I wanted to actually become part of the church again. and not like go to every other sermon with my mom type of involved, but like get involved with high school youth group as a first step. When I told my mom that she was on board and said it was okay with her if I wanted to join high school youth group. So over the summer I went to like one of the youth groups and then actually joined youth group in the fall which gave me a fresh start and I met many new faces. I think that being in that community has helped me.”

You should have a community. We never wanted less for you. I think we just wish you also were supported in being a bigger part of your family here as much being a scholar, a rower, and a youth group member. That it all held the same weight. That it all had the same space made for it.

“Since then, I have shared part of my story with some of the other freshman during a freshman Friday, which was hard for me, but ultimately good, I think.”

But not with us. You talked about all these things and feelings and wants… with everyone, but us.

“Sometimes I still struggle to believe that God loves me, but I feel like I have now been able to overall surround myself with people who I know love me, even if it doesn’t feel like it which has helped a lot. I still have many questions about God and the ways he works, but now I do believe in him. And I’m willing to trust in him.”

… we don’t know who surrounds you… or why it doesn’t feel like love… But if faith gives you comfort then we’re glad.

I didn’t post on Instagram, which I know some of this chasm between us is about. The why is simple: I didn’t know how to tell my story, H, without taking away from yours.

Your story, this thing you invited us to be a part and share in, whether you meant it or not, had repercussions. You were celebrated with Mom and the local family you share with her. But for us, the other side of the coin, we were holding grief: Your story just held a lot of testimony about not wanting life with Dad, H. While we’re used to Mom treating Dad as an obstacle rather than an essential part of your life… it gutted us to hear it from you.

I’ll say one thing: You own all that happens to you. Story Class worked on reflecting, crafting, and then recording these stories. Yet, darling, don’t overlook that they wanted a certain narrative to be shared. That they used it to create more buy in to your faith.

It’s hard to hear your story, this thing we know you were proud to share, and know intimately all the things you’ve left out: mainly, that while Dad has a lot of valid qualms about organized religion, he put his own feelings aside to bring you to story class for months. It takes a lot to support your kids doing things you are staunchly against, H. Your Dad did. For you.

In your life, often some of the things you cling to with open joy are things have cut us deeply here. Two sides of the same coin. I’m sure that feeling might goes both ways.

It just seems a cruel way to have to love each other, H. Especially when Dad & I both know it doesn’t need to be this way.