“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” — Zora Neale Hurston

October 24th was pretty much normal for the most part. Except it wasn’t. It was actually the biggest day in our family’s life since Kannon’s birth. At 1:15 pm, I met my attorney outside the 414th district court. I walked in Chassati Thiele Bauman and walked out Chassati Beth Thiele. I was so unexpectedly nervous. The termination of parental rights had already been filed, but the judge had to sign off on it. I kept thinking of all of the possible road blocks that hadn’t crossed my mind over the past year. How in the world hadn’t I thought of this and how hadn’t I considered that? My lawyer had to go over the entire final divorce decree and the termination and asked me simple question after simple question. After two nightmarish years, I just wanted to sit there and sign something. It wasn’t that easy. “If you die, can you ensure, under oath, that the children will be cared for financially and emotionally? How solid is your family? Support system? Will their best interests be upheld and made a priority?”… God, I hope so… Anything dealing with the kids makes my mama’s heart more sensitive than normal and my blood boil several degrees hotter regardless what the situation… but this was HUGE and, again, shoved the fact that I have to be enough for them right in my seasoned poker face.

I walked out of the courthouse exactly an hour after I walked in. It’s amazing how years can be legally dissolved in less than an hour. I sat in my car and stared at the certified, filed copy of the termination of rights and divorce decree for a healthy half hour. I cried a little, because, since I was 17, voluntary crying, while healthy, is only done in my car by myself. Damn the idiosyncrasies of a self-proclaimed hard-ass… The tears were charged with relief, anger, sadness, empathy and disappointment.

I felt myself relax a little with relief that the legal part of this cluster was finally over. The ridiculous knots in my back actually felt a little better for the first time longer than I could remember. Because of Rene’s involvement with and connections to the wrong kind of people, it’s been absolutely imperative that the kids and I are legally disconnected from him. The mere fact that I was legally bound to him by marriage resulted in countless phone calls from Waco PD Narcotics task force, the McLennan County Sheriff’s Department and, most recently and unpleasantly, the ATF. I’m expecting Hollywood to call any moment and ask for movie rights. It would be a damn good one.

I was angry, too. You know when that fiery pit of lava starts burning in your stomach and spreads to the rest of you, leaving your cheeks and ears hot, your hands shaking and your heart visibly beating fast and hard in your chest? I was that kind of angry. My make up looked damn good and I was ruining it. Okay, just kidding… kind of… I was angry because I wanted so much more for my kids than these papers in my lap. I wanted the beautiful, loving, Godly man I married to be their father, instead of the self-loathing stranger he had become. I wanted Anaiah and Kannon to have a strong traditional family unit. Yes, I know nothing about me is really traditional or ever has been, but I wanted the mom-and-dad, white-picket-fence, American dream family for my kids. I don’t come from that and it is probably romanticized to an allowable extent in my heart and mind, even at 32 years old. Life in this world is hard enough. The deck is stacked against every one of us as soon as the doctor smacks our ass and we belt out that first cry. Parents should be the strongest fortress and safe haven for their children, second only to God. One side of my kids’ fortress is completely obliterated and now God and I have to work overtime to reconstruct and keep out the bad. That made me angry.

The sadness was fueled by an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Rene’s demise sent us all down a very unfriendly and hurtful path, and the kids are inevitably going to revisit that path from time to time during their lives, long after I have dealt with my hurt and trust issues. Every kid wants a daddy they are proud of. It can’t be helped. I cannot explain this away. I cannot love or pray this away. Prayer will, of course, give me the strength and direction to best explain and love as my relationship with my children evolves and grows into new seasons. However, we are where we are and part of now will always be a part of every tomorrow.

A quick and simple definition of empathy is “identification with and understanding of another’s situation, feelings and motives.” It is important for me to interject that this is different than sympathy. I’ve received some very fiery and pointed criticism for continuing to have contact with Rene. Most of the judgmental, snarky comments and monologues come from those very close to us and these people are hurting, too. Rene let a lot of people down, including my family and close friends. They had confidence that he would honor, protect, love and respect us and he failed them. I can’t be too harsh with my comebacks to these all-knowing voices telling me he is a worthless son-of-a-bitch and that I am a weak, emotional, wounded, needy, scorned woman seeking validation that I was and am worth more that a boatload of methamphetamines and a handful of whores. This is not the case. I empathize with the Rene who sits, sober, in a jail cell and realizes that he has lost a great career, four beautiful, amazing kids and a damn good wife. That has to be an enormous blow to the human psyche. I empathize with the man who wakes up on Christmas morning and has the echoes of his kids’ excited giggles and the smell of coffee and breakfast only in his mind. I empathize with the 14 year old boy who counts on his mom to nurse him through his first heartbreak and to teach him how to throw a nasty right hook. I empathize with the young woman who has to decide who will walk her down the aisle, if she decides to marry. That really shouldn’t be a decision at all. Pity is sometimes a synonym of empathy, but not in this case.

Sitting there staring at the legal repercussions of addiction and human weakness in my lap, I was so beyond disappointed. Every single step taken over the last two years that led up to these drastic measures disappointed me. My marriage was over when the Rene I married ceased to exist, so that disappointment had already taken its course. We can’t have the life together that I saw in my future on May 9th, 2009. I know that and am sure of it and have made peace with it. Onward and upward. However, the potential disappointment my kids will have to dodge throughout the course of their lives is much more than mine. Parents fall off of their pedestal at some point during every child’s life, and it always hurts. It is disappointing that, at some point, my kids will know the truth of what has happened in our lives and that will inevitably be sooner than I want. I don’t want to lie to my kids at all about anything, especially something as huge as how we got to where we are. I plan on choosing my words wisely, but at some point I’ll have to lay it all out on the table and watch their faces as they hear things about their dad they shouldn’t have to. Disappointment can tear the strongest people down faster than almost anything. I hope I can instill enough strength, self-respect and faith in my kids to carry them through what is waiting for them in the future.

That afternoon, I picked up Anaiah Marjorie Thiele and Kannon Samuel Thiele from daycare. I had snacks and sippy cups waiting in the car, and we were off to the gym for boot camp, just like any other Thursday. The kids didn’t know the difference or significance of that particular Thursday, and its my mission to perpetuate that innocent ignorance for as long as I possibly can. But when I can’t any longer, God and this mama will hopefully be enough to cushion the blow and keep us moving forward.