“The ex is coming to pick up the kids shortly and I am going to crawl into the PJs and fuzzy socks Dad and you gave me, and hang out on the couch and watch some movies. I’m really okay, Mom.” I wasn’t sure if I really was, or if I was just trying to convince myself of it.
My mind went back to the time when their father took them for their first overnight—away from me, away from home. He smiled at me, mouthed “thank you,” and walked out the door with two little ones on either side of him. I crumbled, thankful that the refrigerator held me up as I sobbed for what felt like an eternity. I still hadn’t gotten used to the idea of being without the kids. The house was much too quiet and my thoughts much too loud.
I could hear Mom take a long draw on a cigarette—a huge indication that she was extremely stressed, and I hurt knowing that I was the cause. I also knew that if I went over to their home, my parents’ disappointment/anger/sadness/bitterness (pick an emotion) would only accentuate my own disappointment/anger/sadness/bitterness. It wouldn’t be pretty.
“Okay. But if you change your mind, we have lots of food left over from last night. At least you could come over and make a plate.”
“Maybe, Mom. I might just come with the kids tomorrow. Love you.” The tears started again, but I choked the goodbye out and hung up.
As I put the phone back on the cradle, the doorbell rang. Micaela squealed and ran for the door, fully expecting it to be her father. But standing there instead was a man wearing a UPS uniform and holding a large box. “Just sign here,” he instructed. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” I responded, dragging the box inside.
Confused, I looked to make sure it was my name. It was. With the kids gathered around, I opened the box to discover several wrapped presents inside addressed to the kids, with the “From” noted as Santa.
“Who are they from, Mommy?” my daughter inquired.
“Santa must’ve forgotten some things,” I said, still stunn-ed as I took everything out of the box looking for a card or any indication of who had sent it, but there was nothing.
“Wait, mommy, this one has your name on it.” My daughter handed me a box, but instead of the “From” being Santa Claus, it said “An Angel.”
“Can we open them?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I watched as they tore into the gift wrap: a doll, a dollhouse, and clothes for Micaela, and a truck, clothes, and bath toys for Connor.
“Open yours!” they urged.
Inside was a beautiful card that simply read:
I know you’ve had a tough year, but I wanted to show you that your angels are still around you, even if you don’t feel them.
Christmas Angel
In the box was a candle, shampoo, and soap; a gift certificate to a restaurant and another to a grocery store; and a scarf. Attached to the scarf was another note that read:
Wrap a scarf around you when you feel lost. Feel the warmth that it gives you and remember that your angels wrap their wings around you daily.
The tears flowed. It had nothing to do with the presents, but everything to do with having felt abandoned.
I didn’t know who the Christmas angel was, but whoever it was gave me more than just gifts that year.
After that first Christmas, I started to feel more settled. I could make whatever I wanted for dinner without my husband criticizing. If the potatoes were lukewarm, I didn’t have to hear about it. If he was testy, I wouldn’t have to worry about knuckle marks in the drywall. Until life was just me and the kids, I never realized that my husband put me on edge. And I started to realize that the rose-colored glasses were clearly tinted with a faux finish. It didn’t take away the fact that I had loved him and we had two beautiful children, but I started to feel calmer. I had never lived alone, but my guides began to show up more and more and my confidence grew.
[contents]
fourteen
A New York Minute
Every one of us has our own light that shines, but over time that light can begin to dim and we lose ourselves. Oftentimes, we are the main culprit and cover our own light because we are afraid to shine. And then sometimes we allow others to dim the light, which can happen in a love relationship or business partnership.
We carry so much stuff around with us that shadows the light within. Unfortunately, people often choose a love relationship, or even a job, in an effort to feel secure, only to realize that choice was born of fear. Then, as time continues, disappointment grows and dims the light within.
After my divorce, I feared not having stability. How was I supposed to deal with two small kids? I became hungry to find a replacement “father” for the kids and a husband to take care of me, so I became “The Date Queen.” Through the divorce, I had lost all my baby weight and kept my girly curves, so I looked healthy and attracted men’s attention. I wasn’t intimate with these men, but found myself going out on more than my share of dates.
I tried to go about it the right way and went to a divorce-recovery class at a local church (the same place my dad had taken me years back to listen to the exorcist). The church, the size of a mall, was filled with hundreds of folks who were newly divorced or going through a divorce. I was in awe at all of the hurt people. Talk about energy overload! We were placed in random groups and had to come up with a name for our group. All of us were the types who weren’t thrilled with authority or rules, so our group leader labeled us “The Mavericks,” and the name stuck. The minister was quite aware of the hurt and the need for bandages, so he had a rule forbidding us to date anybody in that room. In fact, he told us not to date anybody for at least a year. It sounded like torture. I did follow his rule about not dating within the group, but by the end of graduation (yes, we had a divorce graduation!), I would say 80 percent were dating one another.
My friends and coworkers, however, were setting me up on date after date, and I went, mostly for conversation and companionship. Also, I was pretty poor and enjoyed the free dinners! None of the dates really clicked. I was still grieving the loss of my fairy tale. But then one date frightened me to just stop.
He was a former Navy Seal who had taken a liking to me. I liked the idea of being taken care of, and he liked the idea of taking care of someone. We talked on the phone for a few weeks before going out on an official date. The ex had the kids for the weekend, so I thought it beat sitting and watching old movies while sniffling over my ice cream. The former Seal picked me up and offered me a hug, and I instantly got a jolt of electricity. Not the good kind. The small talk on the way to the restaurant was awkward and I started regretting not settling in with Julia Roberts instead. He let me off at the restaurant door while he parked the car. I went in and offered the reservation name, which was met by wide eyes from the hostess.
“I hope you don’t find this pushy,” she said, “but have you known this guy long?”
Talk about red flags! “No, this is our first date,” I told her.
“Okay, well, we need to come up with an emergency plan to get you out of here!”
It seemed he went all out with rose petals around the table and ordered a violinist—he even had jewelry for me. Not a ring, but a bracelet. The hostess interrupted us in the middle of dinner with a made-up emergency call and a waiting taxi. That night, and for five nights afterwards, he sat outside my house, watching. I told him I didn’t feel a connection with him, but he refused to accept my wishes. Eventually, the police had to be called as he would sit outside of my house, night after night, all night. It was then that I decided I needed to take a safer route by not dating altogether. It didn’t last long.
I had previously been introduced to Jason by friends. He had just moved from Georgia to Michigan and was still settling in when we started exchanging emails and phone calls. He was a great listener and, although his communication style was more assertive and blunt than mine, he gave me a new perspective on life. He
was intellectually engaging and very charming. He lived about an hour away from me, but came over on the weekends to help me with all of my overwhelming house projects or just go out to lunch or shopping. He was good company and he was great with the kids. We quickly fell into a relationship pattern and before I knew it, I was on a plane to New York to meet his family, and instantly fell in love with them.
I attempted to explain my psychic abilities, but as an engineer, he had the usual black-and-white logic, so I found myself once again stuffing it down, afraid of ruining what I felt was blossoming.
The relationship felt like a whirlwind, and my work friends tried to slow me down. Even my ex-husband mentioned several times that he thought I was making a huge mistake, as it was too soon, going too fast, and I wasn’t thinking straight. “Well, I’ll show him,” I thought. He didn’t think I would find anybody and had even said that to me before he left me. I was going to prove to him that I could find someone, but what about the happiness factor?
Jason convinced me to purchase and move into a smaller house just a few miles away from the old marital home. “You need new beginnings,” he would tell me time and time again. The new home was cute and I was excited, but unfortunately my children were starting to resent me for all of the changes. Then, just a few months after the move, with a puppy with a ring tied to the bow, Jason asked me to marry him. I said yes. A call to his parents was met with instant wedding plans in progress that felt completely out of control. A date was circled on the calendar, colors were chosen, and his family would plan and pay for it all—as long as it was in New York. My parents didn’t take the news quite as positively. They weren’t fans of my choice (or the timing) and repeatedly asked me to reconsider. All the while I responded, “But he’s good to me and the kids … ” And he was.
However, we saw one another every other weekend. It wasn’t a relationship fostered in the real world. My new house that I had just moved into went up for sale, and we began to search for a home that was closer to his work, which would mean that the kids had to switch schools. Connor would be going into first grade and Micaela fourth grade. A large house in the country was selected and the fight began between the ex-husband and me. Over his “dead body” would he allow me to switch the kids’ school or allow me to move them so far away, although it was just a forty-five-minute drive. It became a very expensive court battle that resulted in a court-ordered truce. I wouldn’t collect child support and the kids would go to a mutually selected school halfway between his house and our new one. Jason was absolutely irate at the agreement and made it loudly known. He couldn’t understand why the kids couldn’t go to the public school, and why I couldn’t collect my child support. I didn’t like arguing; the court expenses were becoming more than the child support, so I compromised. Jason felt as if I’d sold my soul, and I was angry and upset that he couldn’t understand my predicament. I could literally see the red flags.
The next sign came in the form of the flu. We weren’t married yet, but Jason had signed on the dotted lines for the home. I picked up the kids from school only for Connor to vomit everywhere halfway to the new house. Should I go back to our home, which was mostly empty, or the new home, which was mostly empty? It was at that moment that I felt like I lost everything. The weekend consisted of the four of us lying on the family room floor with trash cans next to us. Not quite the right energy that I wanted to bring into the experience.
Another bit of foreshadowing, another sign, that my guides attempted to offer me, and once again I turned my head away.
[contents]
fifteen
The Bandages
I was showered and sitting in my pink satin robe staring out at the New York State country field. The night at the B&B was less than relaxing as my mind weighed heavily on the upcoming wedding. I had the entire inn to myself. It was a cheerful yellow building that had been a carriage house in the early 1800s and overlooked the mountains and fields where an array of animals made their home. Next to the inn was a forgotten cemetery where the night before, after the wedding rehearsal, I had wandered over. It was as if I needed to talk to those who hadn’t given me their opinions yet, a neutral party. Lord knew that every breathing person around me had shared theirs, and my mind was a jumble.
I sat on a fallen log in the darkness and felt a peace wash over me. The shadows began taking form, and I saw my grandpa and my guides: Alto and Tallie. As soon as I saw their presence, I began to sniffle, which turned into deep sobs. I knew I was making a huge mistake marrying this man, but I didn’t know how to get out of it. I felt stuck. Their answer for me was that I wasn’t—I just had to remove the bandages and leave. I don’t like conflict or confrontation, so even though it sounded like a very easy action, how was I supposed to tell more than two hundred people that I was going back to Michigan and that there wasn’t going to be a fancy wedding? And where would I go? I had sold my house and the new house was in Jason’s name. I would be homeless and out of an awful lot of money. I decided that I would go forward with the wedding and hope that, if anything, I could feel comfortable. I knew I didn’t love him and I knew he didn’t love me. It was a façade of what we may have both wanted, but really didn’t have.
I laughed at the previous day’s fiasco. After driving over twelve hours, Jason and I had to go to the courthouse to obtain our marriage license for the next day’s ceremony, only I couldn’t find my driver’s license, a requirement. I took everything out of my purse several times, tore the car apart, and then went through the suitcase. Nothing. I finally had to call my realtor to see if she had a copy that she could fax over to the courthouse, and she did. Problem solved, or so we thought. As we stood in the office of the courthouse, all of the computers malfunctioned and wouldn’t turn on. The office worker laughed and asked me if perhaps this was a telling sign. Little did she know that she was hitting very close to the truth. After an hour of the worker playing with the computers, they began to work and the license was printed.
The phone’s ring broke my thoughts.
“Hi honey,” I heard my mom say on the other line. “Dad’s here, too.”
“Kristy, are you okay?” he asked.
“Yep, I am just fine.” My voice cracked.
“I am going to fly out, Kristy. Or let me wire you money so that you and the kids can fly home.” Mom had never flown and for her to offer to get on a plane to be with me set off my emotions.
“No, I’m okay, really.” I began to sob.
“Kristy,” my dad began in a stern voice, “just cancel the wedding and come home.”
“He’s a good man. It’ll be okay. I have to go; the photographer just showed up!” I lied.
My parents offered me their love and support before we hung up, and all I could do was fling myself on the bed and cry until I heard the stones crush from the photographer’s car tires. It was time to paste a smile on my face and get dressed into my lovely ivory lace wedding gown. And like a cruel joke from the universe, putting another spotlight on the fact that I was making a bad choice, the limousine driver we hired to take me to the church didn’t show up and the rain started coming down in sheets and didn’t stop, which didn’t make for a fabulous wedding at a yacht club. The old wives’ tale is that if it rains on your wedding you’ll cry plenty of tears throughout your marriage. The signs were piling up, but I chose to ignore them to save face. I married Jason.
Back in Michigan at my new home, driving the kids back and forth to school over an hour each way, and coming home late at night to an empty house was not how I thought my life would turn out. At this time, I was working for a public school in the human resources department, and, although I was hired to help promote a warmer environment for employees, I was subjected to a tough boss who didn’t much like me, since I was too creative and Pollyanna for his liking. The kicker was that he was the one who hired me. I was sad at work. I was sad on my way to a home that didn’t feel anything like a home, and I su
spected that my new groom was cheating just a few weeks into the marriage. No, I didn’t suspect, I knew.
I lay in bed, feeling like a stranger in the house, and asked for my guides to help me. I hadn’t felt them for quite some time, and I didn’t really blame them. I had abandoned them like an old childhood toy. They tried to get through to me, but I ignored them or pretended that they didn’t exist. And now here I was asking for their assistance again. A dark shadow crept across my closet door and I sat straight up in bed.
“Alto?” I called out, hoping that it was him. No answer. “Tallie?” I asked, but again I heard nothing.
The shadow got larger and larger and took over an entire wall of the bedroom and then split into three wisps of smoke that lingered above my footboard, until I finally felt the presence of Alto and Tallie and the negative energy flew out the window. I shook my head to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming, but I was wide awake. Alto looked disappointed in me and Tallie’s blue eyes shined with tears. What was happening? I wondered, worried. The kids ran into the room, both crying.
“We saw something … it was large and stood over me,” Connor tried to explain through gasps.
I couldn’t explain it to them, nor did I think I wanted to. I only pulled my blankets back and let them crawl into bed with me. I felt safer with them nearby and I knew that my husband wouldn’t be joining me anyhow as his girlfriend was in town, knowledge that didn’t require snooping or intuition.
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