My Parent's Reconciliation Vacation (excerpt from Proverbial Woman), Part X

“Mind if I share something with you?” he asked, taking a sip from the glass of water that sat before him.

“No. Please do…” she replied.

“This started right after you left. I had started leaving work early on Friday afternoons. I would leave the office and drive to that little restaurant we used to go to as part of our end-of-the-week outing.

I would find a parking space and sit there for about an hour. After that I would then sadly drive home. Then later that night by 9:30, I would have passed out from drinking too much. And then around 3:30 a.m. the following morning I would wake up to the sounds of a blaring television. After that I would be fully awake, sitting in the dark.

After a few hours of just sitting in a haze, I would come to and find myself all alone searching out my heart. Just trying to figure out how you could have hurt me so much. I needed you to be there with me. I needed to feel that comforting feeling of you lying next to me in our bed. Sometimes I would just sit in that chair in the room and stare at the place where you used to lay.

After a few weeks of that routine, I had started to become very bitter. It felt like my pain was more out of loneliness than hurt. Is that possible? I really don’t know. The one thing I’ve learned about the feeling of being betrayed is that you just can’t let it fester inside of you. Without ever knowing it, it will tear at the very core of your sanity.

I searched my heart as long as I could for answers that weren’t there. I never once found exactly what I was looking for. What I eventually started to feel was God preparing me for something. I kept thinking to myself how in the world was I going to get beyond what I was feeling at the time. You hurt me bad…very bad. And you and I both know I’m not a weak man. But this…this has changed me.”

With tears streaming from their eyes, they both turned away as a gesture of taking a breather from the pressure of the moment. Love can sometimes take the worst of situations and provide the human heart with the most remote reason to believe. It can sometimes push us to limits beyond our abilities, to only leave us reaching for hidden strengths that could have only come from a source beyond our comprehension.

My father was raised as a Catholic. Though after departing from his mother’s upbringing and strong commitment to the church, he never placed much emphasis on us attending services on a regular basis. My mother’s parents believed in God, but they live according to what best suited their hearts and conscience.

My grandmother, Mother Celia, prayed all the time. When she would come and visit she would take daily trips down to the local Parish. Grandpa, though he attended services on a regular basis as well, would spend most of his time at the office or maybe traveling around the country meeting with distributors.

Mother Celia would sometimes insist that father come along with her.