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Progress From Pain        

by Mark McIntosh

It’s an annual celebration of early May, always the second weekend, and, sports fans, I’m not talking about the Kentucky Derby. I’m referring to the second Sunday of May: Mother’s Day in our country.

      In the United States, Mother’s Day started nearly 150 years ago, when Anna Jarvis, an Appalachian homemaker, organized a day to raise awareness of poor health conditions in her community, a cause she believed would best be advocated by mothers. She called it “Mother’s Work Day.” These days we don’t think about asking mothers to work much – although they do – on their special day.

      Celebrating the event obviously makes me think of the woman who gave me life more than a half century ago: Patsy Sue. My mother is in her mid-70s, still as feisty as ever and always interesting to visit with. I send her flowers each Mother’s Day. I also think of my stepmother, Jo. She married my father, now deceased, after my parents’ divorce in the late 1970s and was his faithful sidekick for almost 30 years. Jo is also in her mid-70s, busy with many activities and as reliable as the rising and setting of the sun. I send her flowers each Mother’s Day, too.

      Mother’s Day also makes me think of two fascinating women who, at earlier times in my life, were married to me. Wife No. 1 and I created a young man who is rapidly approaching his 21st birthday. Kids grow up fast, don’t they? Kyle looks nothing like his old man and everything like his mother, which is a good thing. Now that Kyle is working full time in Los Angeles, living on his own and attending school at night, I don’t talk to his mother much. In fact, I talk to her husband far more often. He’s my “brother from another mother” and I send good wishes and thanks to his wife each Mother’s Day for enduring almost two days of labor to bring a respectful, caring and talented human being – our son – into this world.

      But as Mother’s Day 2010 appeared on the calendar, for whatever reason, I thought most about my second former wife. Remarried, the mother of my teenage drama and volleyball princess leads an interesting life. The talented photographer has many plates spinning as she manages a busy household, keeping track of four kids – two from her hubby’s prior marriage, one from our marriage and one from their union – and running her own small business.

      We talk a little about most of the responsibilities on her platter, but we talk a lot about one, our creation, Rachel. And it is through this constant dialogue that I have grown to realize that from some of our deepest disappointments emerge wonderful blessings to cherish as vivid reminders of the following truth: Quite often, once the dust settles and the pain subsides, we realize change brings things into our lives worth keeping no matter what.

      I was devastated almost a decade ago when the beautiful woman with big green eyes informed me she no longer wanted to be my wife. It was the second time a woman I had stood beside before God, family and friends, taking vows of “in good times and in bad,” had decided to shift gears and take life in a different direction. It was extremely painful to witness firsthand, the truth of this decision. What’s the old saying? “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me”? The ego takes a brutal beating when we’re shown, in no uncertain terms, that someone near and dear to our heart has moved on with their lives, doesn’t it? Ouch.

      All that seems a distant memory now as this talented woman and I speak, text or e-mail several times daily, doing our best to be damned good parents for a teenage daughter with a lot on her plate, too: rigorous school assignments, a changing body and a demanding schedule now dominated by a passion for volleyball.

      What is the divorce rate in the country these days? It’s still hovering around 50 percent, right? I know many of you reading this can relate. I guess if there’s a silver lining in the plethora of second, third and fourth marriages characterizing America today, it’s that the kids sure have a bunch of grandparents buying them gifts. Rachel and I giggle every time she tries to rattle off her stable of grandparents, a daunting task.

      All kidding aside, the silver lining for me has been the far healthier relationship I enjoy today with Rachie’s mommy than we experienced during our short marriage. We’ve each grown into adults pretty comfortable with who we are. Our conversations are respectful, insightful and focused – often with much input from her hubby and my darling girlfriend – on working together in harmony to raise a daughter the right way. That’s not an easy chore when operating under one roof, let alone two.

      But we’re a team, and our daughter knows that. My heart goes out to any of you who might be in more challenging situations, the type of situations where, for whatever reason, pain of the past still rules and the concept of working together with a former spouse seems as likely as pigs flying from your ears: “It ain’t happening now, tomorrow or ever!”

      Those of you who consistently read my writings or have heard me speak know that the first of what I consider the four philosophies encouraging success in life is developing an attitude centered on becoming a “student, not victim, of our experiences.” Granted, this attitude, especially with a painful relationship breakup, does not happen overnight, but it can happen. It does take time. I can remember a counselor we were seeing during the turbulent times who, once it was obvious the marriage was “irretrievably broken,” suggested, “Now that you know you’re going to divorce, let’s make it a good divorce.”

      I think we’ve done that, and we have reached the point where we can look back on our union with warmth and humor, laughing hysterically about our wedding day, for example, when things went anything but smoothly. A member of the wedding party fainted during the ceremony, and one of my siblings, a bit too toasty from champagne, toasted “Mark and Jean” – oops, first wife – during the reception. Time does heal wounds and, ultimately, generates laughter, always a good thing.

      We have become far better friends than we were spouses. We strive every day to become better parents, united in a commitment to nurture and mentor an evolving young woman on a trek toward adulthood, maturity and, we certainly hope, happiness. I don’t send this wonderful woman flowers, either. Her hubby will do that and probably buy her something special to thank her for all she does. He’s a good dude.

      Our daughter at this time in life thinks of her parents as extremely boorish, weird and disposable. I would suspect as time rolls on and maturity develops she will become more conscious of the joys and challenges of parenting, and her current ambivalence and disdain will diminish. I hope our daughter someday sees what I see: Two people united through the creation of, and love for, a special human being – her. Determined to make pain take a back seat to peace, for the betterment of all.

      That is a good lesson for each of us to learn and embrace. If it seems like a far-fetched proposition considering where the relationship with a former spouse might be at this time, may I say a prayer for you? That, by the time your special day, for the mothers reading this and maybe their former spouses, rolls around in 2011, progress will have been achieved where before there was only pain.

      Progress from pain. It’s a good philosophy when talking about moving forward after a relationship meltdown and parenting in the age of divorce, an effective strategy when dealing with any challenge life throws our way at home, work or elsewhere. It’s also easy to write about yet, understandably, far more difficult to execute. Trust me, I understand that. Try anyway. The reward is worth the effort.