The Art of Blending
- mllee416
- Nov 8, 2020
- 5 min read
Updated: Nov 8, 2020
Sometimes, I think life resembles the chaotic gymnastics of Picasso’s Harlequin Musician. Other times, it bears resemblance to the tempestuous poetry of van Gogh’s Starry Night. Then at others, it’s a beautiful blur reminiscent of Monet’s Ice Floes. And, anyone who has transformed, or is transforming, the blank canvas of blending a family knows that you can’t get lulled into the comfort of one painting for too long because feelings, emotions, and individual needs can turn on a dime.
Like most couples who are falling in love with each other while navigating the uncertainties of acquiring someone else’s child, or children, we found ourselves innocently uttering the words, “I’ll love them like they are my own.” And, while, for the most part, that is a true and accurate statement, the reality is that loving someone else’s child like your own comes with its own challenging set of pitfalls and setbacks.
I’d like nothing more than to sit here and say, “Life, for us, is like twirling whimsically in a lemon chiffon skirt through a field of daisies with boundless energy on a bright, sunny day.” But, even as I type that, I have to laugh to myself because, while the sunshine illuminates the sky on most days, it is just as quick to turn its back and allow the storm clouds to drift in with full force and fury. Those clouds are laden with the changing moods, diverse personalities, and the general innocence of young minds that are themselves trying to cope with life after the dreaded and devastating divorce of their parents. To put it more simply, one day they love you, the next day, not so much.
At the beginning of our journey, we found ourselves naively dancing in the beautiful, delicate Monet. The kids seemed to be coping with the divorces like they were old pros. I’m pretty sure that each of the younger kids, at one point or another, said with some amount of glee, “You mean we get two Christmases?!?!” To them, that was as far as they could see. Their minds were set on the bounty that awaited them at both homes without fully grasping what it would mean to celebrate Christmas in two different houses, let alone grasping what it would mean to live in two different places on an every other week basis.
Early on, we would get together for dinners, or trips to Boondocks for laser tag, or for movies and a sleep over. There were snuggles and cuddles, popcorn and candy, and eventually, even the words “I love you” would lilt on the air as we said our goodbyes and goodnights. This is how it was for the better part of two years. But, recently, as the blush of innocence begins to fade and reality begins to sink in, the kids are finding themselves struggling with loyalties and boundaries and the question, “is it really okay to love you?”
Let me tell you, that moment when the fairytale falls apart, and you’re left with a crying, angry child struggling to find balance between loving their mom and loving you, your heart breaks. Like a thunderclap, you’re no longer dealing with the innocent, “I’ll love them like they are my own” because the reality is, they don’t want you to, at least not completely. At least, not yet. As with any loss, the kids will have to go through the many stages of grief. The two Christmases being the first stage of grief, otherwise referred to as denial. The next stage, for at least one of our kids, is anger. And, in my experience, this stage came on with an unexpected stealth.
I began to feel the distancing and the pulling away of someone who used to beg me to stay with her for “girl talk” every night at bedtime. I chalked it up to the fact that maybe school life and dreaming of boys was settling down, that perhaps this was just a passing phase. So, I let it go. Then, I started to feel the icicles from across the table when we would engage in random dinner conversations. Slowly, the talks became fewer, the hugs became fewer, and the I love yous weren’t volleyed back and forth as they once had been. Instead, they resembled a one-person game of squash. Until one night, it erupted, and we had to get to the bottom of it.
We sat her down, just the three of us, for a quiet, intimate, and, yes, painful conversation. It was then that I first learned that she was struggling with loving me and feeling vehement loyalty toward her mom. It was then that she burst into tears, full of emotion that she didn't know how to contain any longer. This is when my heart broke. And that shattering, like shards of glass, splintered into sadness, self-doubt, and frustration, followed by my own anger. I would ask myself, "Am I cut out for this?" "Can I hold this family together?" After months of self-reflection and continued discussions, I realized that the answer to my questions is, "Yes!" I realized that even though I had the best intentions of loving the girls like they are my own, at least one of them (and hopefully only one) didn't want that, and that is okay.
Luckily for us, we are coming out of the second stage of grief. Slowly, painfully. We’ve had a few heart to hearts where we have both expressed the pain of divorce. Fortunately, I have been through it with my parents, so I understand what the kids are going through. I understand the uncertainty, the questioning, the longing for things to go back to “normal.” I get it. So, I openly share my experiences. I share that I don’t want to replace their mom. I share that we are all in this together. I even share that I love them, in spite of the ups and downs, the hugs and the icicles. I love them. I truly do. Yet, I've also realized that feelings of love change over time, and that is ok. Perhaps that is the natural ebb and flow of blending a family.
In the end, it's clear that blending is not a solitary art when it comes to the melding of two families. That is to say, it’s not just us adults trying to make sense of our own chaotic lives to paint our own beautiful, idyllic landscape. It’s also about our kids trying to come to terms with something which they had no control over, and honestly, can’t understand because this is their first experience with loss. So, as we navigate our way through the Harlequin Musicians and the Starry Nights of life, I hope that we can someday come back to the peaceful, serene Monet where the colors of our individual lives blur into one complete, family picture.
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