Last night I had a conversation with Micron.  She had just gone to her first solo session with her new counsellor in this city, and I was hoping to hear how things went.  I didn’t necessarily want to hear every detail, because that’s between her and her therapist, but I did want to get an overview.  She likes this new lady, even though – or perhaps because of – the grandmotherly vibe. 

Anyhow, she said something that really took me back.  I knew that one of the issues she was dealing with was watching me fall apart.  Both girls had told me that that was something that had hit them hard.  But what really struck me was when she told me about how That Night had played for her.  We were at a friend’s house about a twenty minute drive away in the country.  The girls and I and the hostess were watching some eighties movie with the Brat Pack (I think it was Breakfast Club) in the living room, the host and That Guy (who was at the time my husband) were in the kitchen checking out some game.  The phone rang.  It was the police saying “There’s been an incident we need TG to come back to the farm.”  So he drove away in our minivan, promising to phone back. 

The hours passed, and it was getting late, no word from the farm despite phone calls to both houses.  So our hostess offered to let us kip out in their spare room.  TG didn’t phone back, nor was I able to speak to anyone at the farm before the girls went to bed.

So they tried to get to sleep not knowing if the farm had burned down, if their grandparents were ok or not, or what. 

TG didn’t come back that night.   The next morning, they awoke to me crying and informing them that their dad had done something unforgiveable, and that we were going to get a divorce.  He was going to come over to say goodbye, but then that could possibly be the last time they’d see him for a long time.

What a crappy way to wake up.  And I’d been so tied up in my own emotions that it didn’t occur to me how much of a shock it would be to the girls.