We Catholics are in the home stretch of Lent. I used to give up chocolate or beer, or something else that would slim me down in time for spring break. Part of me offered something up out of faith and part of me offered something up out of vanity. At least I’m honest.

This year I decided that instead of giving something up, I would try to do better; as in, improving upon being human. I’m not doing so well.

My thought was that I would focus on forgiveness. I have a lot of anger and resentment and, honestly, on top of it being WRONG to be filled with that much hatred, I’m just tired of feeling this way. It’s draining and unbelievably bad for my soul.

So I started out on Ash Wednesday hopeful and feeling good about improving myself. I felt good – clean, for lack of a better word. There is something to be said for a fresh start.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

By that evening I had lost my cool and said horrible things that didn’t make me feel better and certainly didn’t do any good. This forgiveness stuff is hard.

Ultimately, I have to find a way to get to this place so I keep trying every day. I need to not only turn the other cheek, but also forgive the person who slapped me in the first place. The problem is that I am a master grudge-holder.

I think I’ll get there. I can honestly say I am thankful for where I am today and appreciation is a start, right? RIGHT? Being grateful has been a journey and I’m happy to say I’ve truly arrived. The road wasn’t easy, but the destination has a pretty stellar view.

And, knowing that someday I’ll feel the same way about forgiveness is what motivates me now. I am aware that it’s going to feel really good when I finally get to that place.

But, I’m not going to lie. It would be a real bonus if I’d go down a size.

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For months, in a tiny space where my children didn’t fill my heart, there was aching darkness. Even though it didn’t need much room to exist, the hole felt gaping, like a giant, black pit. You could’ve thrown a Chevy in there and it wouldn’t have touched either side.

Now that pit feels about the size of…well, a pit. Not even a big, lumpy peach pit either, but one of those little ones inside a cherry. And, not only is the pit tiny, I’m taking the cherries and making cherry pie, à la mode.

I never anticipated my life, or the lives of my children, to turn out like this, and that still makes me sad. But, we will be okay. I know that now and I didn’t know that for a long, long time. I’m finding meaning in the pain and that’s healing me. We are finding normal, we are happy, and we are learning and growing in ways we didn’t know possible.

That growth is a beautiful thing. I am enjoying new things and appreciating new experiences and I’m no longer judged for it. I might find that I suddenly want to decorate my house with neon lights, and I CAN.

photo credit: 171 via photopin (license)

I’ve had four friends in the last 24 hours tell me they were suicidal while going through divorce and I could understand that pain. It’s the absolute worst thing I’ve ever dealt with in my life and it hurts like nothing I’ve ever known. I remember people telling me it gets better and I wanted to scream at them and say, “Shut up! You DON’T KNOW! I’m DYING INSIDE!” Now I get it. It does get better. I can honestly say that I’m happy. I feel a little guilty saying it, but it’s true.

There is nothing – absolutely nothing – you can say to someone going through this to make them think you understand or that they are going to be okay. Nothing. Hold them, hug them, sit with them, love them, but don’t tell them it will get better. They have to trudge through the darkness until they see the light for themselves.

They may not think they’ll ever see it, but I am proof it is there.

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The past few weeks have been tough; not as tough as I thought they would be because there is some peace that comes after the kind of anxiety I was facing. Not knowing where your future lies is terrifying – and that’s where I was for months. At least now I know where I stand – squarely on the other side of the door.

I have continued running to lift my spirits (and my hind end), I have been making my bed every day, buying healthy food, going to church, showering, working and fixing things around my apartment. I am in constant contact with friends and family whose love and support are a lifeline. I am moving. I don’t know if I’m moving forward yet, but it’s at least in some direction.

The other day, I even put on lipstick.

That afternoon, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror by my front door and thought, this is no beauty queen, but considering what I’ve been through, it will do just fine. My hair was curled, my green eyes weren’t red and puffy, my cheeks weren’t splotchy, my under-eye, black circles were reduced to sepia. This? This was progress.

I plastered on a smile and took a picture for proof. My mother, she worries.

And, then I saw it.

Do you see it? Look. LOOOOOOOOOK.

It’s chicken neck. Leathery, wrinkly, 43-year old chicken neck. I had a momentary pause, mouth agape, at what was staring back at me from my phone. Where did that come from?

Then I realized how I ended up with skin that makes roosters swoon. That patch of neck is from too many days of soaking up delicious, warm, wonderful sunshine.

It’s from sitting at my daughter’s softball games, taking my son to the pool, drinking warm Natural Light on spring break. That chicken neck is a badge of honor for so many great times, I can’t even count. It’s a reminder that there are good, smooth, carefree times even when it appears everything is wrinkled.

It’s also a clear sign I need to up the SPF.

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We went to a wedding yesterday for our nephew Mike and his lovely bride, Lisa. This picture was shamelessly stolen from my sister-in-law. Thanks, Laura! Though next time, let’s make sure we watch for background light diffusion and foreground shadows. I know these technical things because I often take pictures of my dog with my phone. That pretty much makes me an expert.

Mike was just a kid when his uncle and I started dating; back then, we still called him Michael. It was before middle school and braces and long before he joined the Marines and served in Afghanistan. I never anticipated that I’d be giving that kid unsolicited marital advice, but while he was busy growing up, I was busy getting relationship experience under my belt. It’s kind of my duty to tell him. It’s like I’m the Godfather. Except I’m a woman. And, not in the mafia. Here goes:

Dear Mike,

First, let me say that your brother gave an excellent speech last night: “People always say, ‘Don’t go to bed mad,’ but when the kids are crying and you’re tired, and fighting with your spouse, sometimes you just need to go to bed and things will be better in the morning.” I concur. Wholeheartedly. Just sleep.

There will be times when you are so angry – and sometimes it’s not even anger but just sheer monotony – and you think there’s NO WAY things can get better. You’ll think you can’t possibly spend another day with this person, let alone the rest of your life.

But, when you get through it you won’t believe how much stronger your relationship is. You will love your wife like never before and you won’t understand how you could have ever thought otherwise. Except for maybe when she tracks mud in across your just mopped floor. Or leaves the seat up in the middle of the night. But, let’s hope she won’t do that.

I know you realize this commitment is forever, so don’t ever say anything to her that you wouldn’t want said to you. Or, if she’s like me and holds a grudge for years, don’t say anything that she can throw in your face a decade from now. Women have good memories and we can use them for evil.

Kiss her every day. Tell her you love her. Rub her shoulders. Hold hands. Split the chores – and occasionally do hers as a surprise. That last bit of advice is really for your uncle. Hi honey! But, really. Housework is hot.

Oh, and one last thing; this marriage stuff is hard and you WILL screw it up. You both will. It is also the most beautiful, rewarding, comforting, secure partnership you will ever have, as long as you remember that you’re in this together. Forever.

You got this.

Love,

Aunt Diane

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