If I Were In Your Shoes...

Ever since my parents separated and had a divorce, I was always in the middle. They argued because he was the one who strayed. They argued about the way my mom raised me, in a strict religious setting. They argued over child support or the lack of it. They argued about me not having visitations.

My father had chosen to be with a woman who had 3 children from previous relationships. So basically, even though they didn’t have their father around (since their dad walked away from them), they now had my dad raise them. My father had moved on and lived in another state so I didn’t see him at all. He had other children with his new wife. We sometimes spoke on the phone but it was clear that the other kids got the things that my sister and I didn’t.

We lived in the “ghetto”; they lived in a house in the suburbs. We enjoyed the simple things; they couldn’t get enough of material things. We used public transportation; they had 3 cars. Then my father passed away. He was still young and was supposed to be full of life, but he didn’t even get to see his 43rd birthday.

It hurt so bad because even though we lived different lives, I knew my dad loved me. Throughout all the fights, he loved me. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw him. I have his most prominent features: eye color, hair color, skin tone, ears. Grief striken family members would comment how out of his 5 biological children, I was the one who resembled him most. This didn’t sit well with his wife. Inwardly, she secretly hated me and tried to make the situation more unbearable than it already was. Once again, I was in the middle. She had the power, or so she thought.

I didn’t fight about anything once my dad died. I held on to my memories, my letters, and the faith that everything was going to be alright. I let things be. But after all, the other people in this story didn’t fare well. I didn’t wish that on them but what we sow, we reap. They lost everything; while I gained. I’m not only talking about material things for life is much more than that. But I had peace.

So don’t worry much about being caught in the middle for when it’s over, it’s over. May the life that is lived be what makes the difference. Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to share those letters…maybe.