The End

Last Tuesday, my parents finally got their divorce after twenty-six years together. My mom asked me to go to court with her and lend her support. The morning of the divorce, my husband asked how I feel about their splitting up.


Honestly, I don’t feel anything. It’s strange. When my mother announced that she’s leaving my dad, I was a little shocked and a bit saddened. It wasn’t because I felt like they should stick together. They were a match made in hell. I was saddened because I was used to their bickering, fighting, and complaining about each other. I knew they weren’t happy together, but they were used to each other, and I was used to them being together.

My mom’s happy now, and my dad couldn’t care less. In a way, it’s a happy ending. No one got hurt, no hearts broken.

I asked my mom why she stayed with him for so long if they were miserable together. It was because of me. She wanted me to have a father and she knew that if they were to divorce while I was kid, he would be an absent father, one who wouldn’t pay child support or take me on weekends. Although my mom thinks she did the right thing, it didn’t make a difference. I didn’t have a father.

Sure, he was there, living in the same house, eating at the same kitchen table, watching the same TV. But we didn’t talk. We had nothing in common. He didn’t care what was new in my life.

Growing up, I thought my family was normal. I thought that’s how all families are. Sure, I heard stories of close families that did things together, but I always thought those were lies.

Now that I’m married, I see everything from a different perspective. Why? Because my husband has a child from a previous marriage. It’s hard on me because I’m barely into my adult years and I’m already a stepmother of a preteen. It’s also hard because my husband cares about his kid, and I’m not used to seeing that. I find it very unusual to see a father want to spend time with his daughter.

As a kid, I learned a lot about compromise. My mother compromised her happiness so that I could have a father. What she doesn’t realize though is seeing her unhappy all the time took away from my happiness. So in turn, I had to compromise my happiness too.

As an adult, I’m learning the meaning of family.

Anyway, so back to the divorce date. . .

On the morning of their divorce, I went to the courthouse with my mother to lend her support. We both got dressed up as though she were going to celebrate. And we did. We were celebrating her freedom.

I put on a pair of heels that were so uncomfortable that I had to walk at turtle speed in order to stop my skin from scrapping off. It was a small price to pay for celebrating in style!

My dad didn’t even show up to the courthouse, not that I thought he would.

After the courthouse, we went out for breakfast and then mom went to work while I went home to edit. Later that night, my husband asked me if I divorced my dad as well.

To him, since he has such a close relationship with his own daughter, it’s hard for him to comprehend how parents and children could grow apart.

I turned to him and said, “Honey, I divorced him a long time ago.”

He doesn’t miss me. He has my number, he could call me, but I think my dad and I only had one phone conversation in the last three years. I don’t miss him either. My mom doesn’t miss him. And he doesn’t miss her either.

Although many people would see it as tragic, I think it’s a happy ending. We no longer have to pretend to be a family and get along. We can all be free now.

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Come back to my blog this Wednesday, where I will be sharing with you my wedding day story.