I dislike the term “broken home”. When people talk about a “broken home” it gives images of something that is forever smashed to bits and can never be repaired or whole again. I rejected that term “broken home”. As I made my way into single motherhood, I did my best to make my children feel that their home was not broken. It’s true that I was struggling to be a good parent, to smile through my tears and pain. I knew I had to look to find a new “normal” for us and to find a new kind of happiness with just the three of us. Life was hard, but it was also good. I had lost much, but I still had the best gifts I had ever wanted – I had my sweet children. They needed to be raised, to be supported and to be loved. “Broken” was the term that would have applied if I would have stayed in the relationship with Phil, married to an abuser. If I had stayed, my children may still have had two parents, but at what cost? I was actually keeping my family from being broken by ending the marriage.
After making the decision to divorce, I was told something that still chills my bones when I think about it. I don’t recall what legal authority told me this, but someone explained to me that if I had chosen to remain married to Phil that my children would have been taken away from me. Probably to be placed in the custody of the state. I understand that there were good reasons they didn’t tell me this before I had made my decision. Phil had admitted guilt to the abuse and he was sentenced to prison. I’m sure that the authorities recognized that Phil was a danger to the children and thought that if I choose to stay married to him that I may not protect them from him, choosing loyalty to him over my loyalty to the children. If I was going to welcome him back into my life when he was released from prison, then I wouldn’t be a safe person for them to be around either, choosing him over their safety and possible further abuse. I know sometimes women don’t want to divorce even if their child has been abused by their husband – they don’t want to lose their spouse because they’re afraid of being without someone. The outcome of my decision to leave Phil and end our marriage was a blessing to me. I don’t think I could have ever made it through life after that if I’d had to live life without my children. As ineffective of a parent as I was at the time, they needed me as much as I needed them. They needed me to protect them from further harm and to love them. My life had purpose because I still had them with me. I know that my life would have totally broken apart without my children.
Our family unit may have changed, but it was not broken. We were now without a father, but I was determined to make sure our little family was as whole as possible with the three of us. Heavenly Father would help us to heal. Our family was functioning and happy most of the time, though it was also very difficult and painful at times. But with the negative spirit of abuse gone and our little home more full of the gospel and its’ light, my children would learn to choose the right because they would understand what “the right” was. They would be able to re-learn what love truly is, and could experience genuine, sincere love from one parent. They wouldn’t have the pull and manipulation of the other parent lying to them and putting on a façade, pretending to be an honorable father and all the while showing them a twisted view of what “love” was between father and child. The spirit could dwell in our home, unrestrained and strong enough to chase away the effects of the adversary.
I don’t think I understood then that a determined attitude and the choice I made at that time changed the course of our lives. Our home may have had its’ very foundation shaken, the emotional walls close to toppling, but my children would not be permanently broken. Not on my watch they wouldn’t.
On a recent trip to a beautiful lake, I was relaxing and sitting out in the shallow water on the softest sand. I dug my hands into the gentle sand to feel it between my fingers and I touched a rock that was buried underneath the surface. It felt smooth to the touch, so I brought it up out of the water to have a look. I like unique rocks, and this one had been smoothed by the sands over time, almost into the shape of a heart. The most remarkable thing about it was evidence that there had once been a crack right across the middle of the rock, but the crack had been healed. What had once been two pieces, broken apart, were now mended and over time had become just as solid, strong and whole as it had originally been. This broken heart was like my broken heart. Time and healing had mended us both.