After a 21-year marriage, my divorce was final in June of 2013. I remarried in March of 2014, and my ex-husband remarried just one month later. Since the separation, we had our two teenagers spend every other week with one of us. They would switch from one parent’s house to the other (about halfway across town) every Monday. One day in late October of 2014, after they had gone to their dad’s house for the week, my daughter Katy (then 14) realized that she had left her Halloween costume at my house. She needed it the next day for a party. I can’t remember why, but I wasn’t able to take it to her, and her dad wasn’t able to come get it. My new husband, Dave, didn’t hesitate to help. He gathered up Katy’s costume and its accessories and met her and her brother, Luke (then 17) somewhere between our house and their dad’s to give it to her. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
The Monday after the delivery, when the kids came back to our house for the week, Katy handed Dave a small envelope that had his name scribbled on it. It contained a thank you note from their dad.
My first thought was that the only thanks my ex-husband would want to offer my new husband would be something like, “Thanks for taking her off my hands. She’s your problem now, sucker! Good luck and Godspeed, Bro.”
Dave read the card and then handed it to me. I instantly recognized my ex-husband’s atrocious penmanship. I had a little trouble making out some of the hastily-written words at first, but this is what it said:
Dave:
I just wanted to thank you for the way you support Katy and Luke. This whole situation still kinda weirds me out and makes me a little aloof but I am glad that you are there for them. No man wants to have to split his kids’ time with another dad, but you have been fantastic and made them part of your family. I’m blessed by that.
Again thanks,
Mike
I was both dumbfounded and enlightened as I held back tears. The father of my children, the proud fighter pilot, the colonel, the once-heartbroken and angry man, just poured some drops of his heart out to his replacement. He had let his guard down and put forth effort to share some difficult feelings. It was something I never would have imagined, especially so soon after I had remarried.
He was never the thank you note writer of the household. I was the dutiful wife who took care of such things. And he was not always the most expressive with his feelings, especially in awkward situations. So the envelope with my new husband’s name written on it in my old husband’s handwriting held a hell of a lot more than a piece of card stock printed with the words, “Thank You.” It carried respect and grace and humility and 21 years’ worth of leftover love from a marriage that died a slow death, but was nevertheless not a failure.
Justifiably or not, I spent the years of that marriage seeking his approval. In such a strange way, I felt like I finally had it. He was always proud of me, but I still never thought very highly of myself. My new husband had garnered such unsolicited praise and gratitude from this man who should have felt indifferent toward him at best. I must have done something right.
My kids are so fortunate to have a father and a stepfather who love them and don’t harbor hostility or hard feelings toward one another. How blessed are kids of divorce when the parents on both sides not only get along but genuinely admire each other? Why is it so rare to see divorced parents consider their children’s well-being to be more important than their own bitterness? Why is it so hard for some adults to be civil and polite for their kids’ sake if for no other reason? (In my position, I see both extremes. But that’s another story.)
Dave wrote Mike back, and the kids again acted as messengers. Luke was quick to joke with questions about their sexuality and to suggest that they simply text any further heartfelt messages. Their odd bro-mance has continued to this day. They even took their Harleys out for a long ride together and probably commiserated over a couple of beers about raising teenagers or about how they hate waiting for football season to come back around. I’m glad they didn’t drink and talk long enough to gang up on me about my hoarding tendencies, time-management issues, or lack of skill in the kitchen.
I may have made some poor decisions in my life, but as far as husbands go, I could’ve done a lot worse.
