I tried to take most everything of what my mother taught me and apply it to my everyday life, including blind love for everyone in my life. “Judge not others, for fear of judgement yourself,” was the mantra by which I tried to live my life. When my father married my stepmother, my life took a drastic turn. The hatred I faced, the misunderstanding, the anger… all of it threatened to pollute my mind. And to some extent it did; I lost sight of what I was, who I was. You see, I undervalued my stepmother’s lack of maternal qualities; she was—and probably still is—the most unfit woman to mother children I have ever had the misfortune of dealing with. Even my own loving mother could not stand this woman, to qualify. After the many years of unexplainable pain, the day came. The day when my father revealed—with no warning—that he would be divorcing this creature, forever removing her from my life. To this day I remember that moment as being the happiest of my life. It was completely unexpected, but I suppose to immense rush of emotion is what allows me to remember each detail acutely. My father and I were sitting in the van he co-owned with my stepmother, it was cold… very cold. I remember the distinct scent of bagel sandwich and wine cigars—the scent that normally covered my dad. I remember walking out into the snow, feeling the crunch underneath my feet, trying to walk normally. I realized that this decision, while being a source of delight for me, was probably not the exact same for my father (and, before you ask, I never have asked him if it felt same for him). I walked down the pathway, and broke into the field. The brilliance of the sun glinting on the snow matched exactly the brightness I felt inside my heart. As soon as I was out of eyesight (though perhaps not out of earshot) I screamed at the top of my lungs. I jumped for joy, and I ran into the snow. My brother, who was playing at the playground with his friends, turned to look at me. I don’t remember what I said to him then, or what he said in return.
As it was now, I was curious what that little park now looked like. Pulling myself away from the funeral, where my violin teacher had just begun playing the sweetest rendition of Amazing Grace I had ever heard, I began running again. I stopped right where I remember the van being parked. I looked around, and realized how little I actually remembered of the surroundings. Everything was blurred and grey, so I realized it wasn’t as sacred as perhaps the music room was. I walked slowly through the path I had walked many times. When I reached the opening of the field, suddenly much more came into focus. I suppose that made sense; it was here that I had allowed myself the celebration, realizing that a miracle had just occurred. The horrors of living with my stepmother and two awful stepbrothers had finally come to an end. While I had always tried to apply a blind love to these people, I found it especially hard. It is very difficult to love someone who doesn’t love you back; in fact, that’s one lesson I have learned in life.
This miracle in my life made me realize something else as well. It doesn’t matter how much your perceived miracle hurts someone else, to you it will always be that: a miracle. No matter how the miracle happens, it is still a miracle. It doesn’t matter when the miracle happens, it doesn’t change that it is a miracle. So I admit shamelessly that the divorce of my father from my stepmother was a miracle to me, a moment that changed my life for the better; it made me who I am today.
