Lisa Boeck Jenkins

Happy Ending Divorce Story

Happy Ending Divorce Story – My Son, no Longer Estranged

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Lisa Boeck-Jenkins

The sun is warm on my cheeks, my long hair is twirling in the wind, and I am smiling.

The new summer grass is prickling my bare legs as I adjusted my skirt beneath me. The small grassy hill is lumpy and worn, but I can see the graduating class perfectly.

I could probably find a spot in the bleachers with the rest of the parents, but this is where I choose to watch.

Three years ago I sat in this same spot to watch my oldest son graduate. Three years ago, my heart was broken and my head was engulfed in a fog of confusion. Three years ago, my oldest son did not want me to be a part of his graduation day.

Three years ago, I thought that I was the only mother silently watching her son graduate from the sidelines. Three years ago, I was lost.

Hundreds of people are scattered throughout the stadium. Large groups of families and friends litter the lawn and have filled the bleachers. We are all united in our support for someone that we love. I may be sitting alone, but I belong. I am here to watch my youngest son walk away from his childhood and into his future.

My heart is bursting with pride as the graduates of 2017 file onto the football field with their red and white gowns dancing in the wind. Tears of joy and pride leak out of my eyes and wet my smiling cheeks.

A hand reached down for me to shake, and I instinctively offered my hand in reply. I looked up, made a visor with my spare hand and realized I was looking at my x-husband.

“Hello Lisa, it is nice to meet you. I was married to you for twenty years.” He said as he dropped my hand and lightly bopped me upside the head and continued walking. The handshake was not offered in a gesture of peace.

I placed my hand on the ear that had just been lightly struck to comfort it, and saw my oldest son standing where his father had left. He must have been standing directly behind his father when he came to shake my hand and bop me in the ear.

“That was awkward.” My son said.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about it. I am so glad to see you David. How are you? How is your brother? I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He is good. I just left him, look I got a picture.”

I looked into the viewfinder of my son’s camera and saw a close up of my youngest sons smiling face on his graduation day. I wiped the tears from my eyes and laughed.

“Oh David, he looks great. He looks happy. This is a nice camera; will you take a picture of Lance and I after the ceremony?” I asked.

“Of course, Mom.”

“Three years ago, that was you out there. This is where I sat and watched you. Boy, it has been a long three years, hasn’t it?”

“No kidding. It has been a really long three years.” My son replied with a laugh.

A large lump has become lodged in my throat and demanded that I remain silent. I nodded my head and smiled at my son, as my tears sprinkled the prickly lawn.

“Mom, I’ll be back. I need to find where everyone is sitting.” My son said as he got up to leave. I smiled and waved.

As I watched my 21-year-old son disappear into the crowd I realized that I am okay. I can sit alone, I am not afraid, I am not shattered and broken, and the fog has cleared.

The miracle of healing has begun, for myself and for my sons. I know that my sons will thrive in this life, and somehow so will I.

Sitting alone with my face turned towards the sun, I love who I am.

I am smiling.

You can read Lisa’s first article on living with her estranged son here.

About Lisa

Lisa Boeck-Jenkins is a mother, photographer, artist,(BFA from the University of Utah),writer, speaker, and founder of an organization that works to bring awareness and assist victims of digital domestic abuse and cyber stalking.

She found herself when she lost everything and works to encourage and inspire others. She believes in the power of the story. Every story is a miracle that someone has been waiting to receive.

www.facebook.com/ssofamerica

www.soulsistersofamerica.wix.com/soulsistersofamerica

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Divorce Story – Living with my Estranged Son

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Lisa Boeck-Jenkins
Lisa Boeck-Jenkins

There are 357 mothers here today and I am the only one who has a son who is not talking to her. I am the only mother who has gone an entire year whose son refuses to speak with her.

I am the only one.

There is not one other mother here in this position. I would see her if she were here. She would have tears bursting out of her sinus, and she would be right next to me. She would be struggling to the front to get a glimpse of the soul she nurtured and raised.

She is granted one glimpse due to public access and that is what she would have come here for today. We would find one another if she were here. She and I would block out the staring eyes of pity together. We would stand stronger as two instead of just one if she were here today.

But she is not here, I am alone in this pain and hurt. No one in this packed football field knows how this feels.

I am up as close as the pushing elbows would allow me access. There are only five or six names left to go before the name that I chose in the hospital 18 years ago is called. My throat is dry and the tears have blurred my vision to the point I am seeing three of everything.

I wiped the snot and tears with my sleeve as well as possible, clearing the triple vision in time to see my son.

He was smiling his wide confident smile that I saw every day for seventeen of his eighteen years. His bright blue eyes were gleaming with laughter as his friends yelled and cheered him on as he approached the head of the school board.

His cap was slightly falling to the right, he carried himself with a sense of confidence, and walked with the stride of a man. This is the day where he leaves his childhood behind. This is the day he enters the real world.

I held my breath, afraid to blink, and took a crystal clear photograph that will be archived in my memory. I can place this image at the top of his album of memories that I collected over the last seventeen years. This is what I worked so hard for the last seventeen years, this I have in common with the other 357 mothers here today.

We all were given the job of raising our sons to the best of our ability so that we can turn them loose to the world as men at the age of eighteen.

He took his diploma and shook the hand of the respected school official with a firm grasp.

This is my son. He is confident, funny, and has been blessed with my long eyelashes. This is my son that I prayed with every night until the day I had to leave the home I built. This is my son who just got his high school diploma. This is my son that graduated with honors.

This is my son that I helped with homework, took to his sporting practices, and made cookies for every week. This is my son that won’t talk to me, that will not return my calls, tears up my letters, doesn’t open my emails, and I fear I have lost forever.

This is my son that I miss and love.

I don’t think he saw me in the crowd. It is probably a good thing because the sight of me may wipe the joy off of his face. I did not come here today to ruin his day and make him angry. I came here to see the product of my years of work as a mother, and to send him my love through the atmosphere. This day is for him, and I am proud of him.

I watched his distinctive walk as he headed back to his seat among the sea of red and white caps. My chest is going to explode and I cannot hold this back much longer, I know it is time for me to leave. I elbowed my way through the crowd of parents with intruding cameras, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and joyful faces. I can’t look at anyone, I can’t talk to anyone, and I know that it is vital that I leave at once.

I am the only one walking along the track towards the exit. There are still stragglers filtering in to catch the last few minutes of the ceremony. The families will all gather for photographs after the caps are tossed into the air. They will meet for supper together, they will bring gifts for the graduate, and they are lucky.

I am the only one.

My car is my goal. My car is my refuge, and will take me away from this hurt. My car is my escape, and I can see it at the end of the crowded lot. I keep my eyes on its shining windows, and one step at a time I keep moving towards the place of safety that it offers. The sun is blinding my tear filled vision and time is moving one second at a time.

My hands are shaking as I unlock the door to sanctuary. I get in the seat and I am hit with a flush of hot stifling air. The hot stagnant air comforts me as it envelops me like a warm hug. I relax and let myself fall apart. There are no eyes watching me in the hot car as I allow myself to be a mess for all that is lost.

My heart hurts so much, it feels like it has been ripped open with a serrated knife for no reason and I continue to cry.

I am the only one suffering from a bleeding heart in the hot car on her son’s graduation day. I am the only one out of 357 mothers here today who is leaving early and alone.

I am the only one.

About Lisa

Lisa Boeck-Jenkins is a mother, photographer, artist,(BFA from the University of Utah),writer, speaker, and founder of an organization that works to bring awareness and assist victims of digital domestic abuse and cyber stalking.

She found herself when she lost everything and works to encourage and inspire others. She believes in the power of the story. Every story is a miracle that someone has been waiting to receive.

www.facebook.com/ssofamerica

 

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Divorce Story – The Music of Missing Me

Published on
Lisa Boeck-Jenkins
Lisa Boeck-Jenkins

My mouth is dry and my heart is thumping in my chest.

I know he feels the same way because I can feel his rapid heartbeat from two feet away. Jaw clenched as he is chews on his lower lip and his eyes are glazed off into the distance.

He wants me here for this, yet he has a protective barrier surrounding him demanding silence. In our silence we both remember. Two separate stories formed from the pain of missing one another.

I watch him take a deep breath as he prepares to confront his nerves and fears. He looks taller and sturdier in his shoes every time I see him. The sparkle of life has returned to his eyes after a long period of hibernation.

He grabbed his guitar with confidence and determination as he took the stage. I am filling my lungs with as much air as they can hold as I pull my shoulders back and try to follow the example has just been set for me. I hold my head up and stand tall as I walk to my seat.

His cheeks have a rosy glow, and I am the only one who knows this is a symptom of his nerves. Yet he holds himself steady while he takes focused control of his environment on the stage.

He appears remarkably calm compared to the way I am feeling with my tight chest bursting with emotions that desperately need to be released.

He is playing the guitar on a stage with a group of critical eyes examining his every move and assessing his technique. His fingers are moving with quick precision and skill acquired from the endless hours of practicing in his room alone.

His eyes begin to move into that magical land where true genius can emerge and masterpieces are made. He is allowing his soul and the music to dance opening the angelic door where miracles have permission to manifest.

The Music of Missing Me
He is playing Jimmy Hendrix like a true rock star

I can no longer hold back the tears, I don’t have a tissue, and I don’t care.

I can feel every minute of him playing and practicing in his room alone while he was missing me and wondering what happened to his family. He would bleed his pain into each strum of the strings and this is how he found a way to continue another day without me.

In every note and every chord the music of missing me fills the room with harmony. The judges tap their feet and nod their heads to the beat as the music gently touches their souls.

As he plays he is shedding his pain and is opening the door to receive love and joy in his heart once again.

He is playing Jimi Hendrix like a true rock star, he is playing with his heart and the joy of music fills the air. He has a gift, he is strong, and he is embracing this moment. He doesn’t know how good he is, but he has faced his fears and he has found a way to overcome his pain.

He is spectacular, and he is my son.

The guitar that held my sons pain has given him the miracle of beautiful music. It is the music of missing me.

There he stood before me Looking taller and stronger as he took the stage His cheeks tinted with a rosy glow A sign of nerves only I would know

The painful places that led to today Alone in his room he learned to play The chords and notes navigated his way Teaching him how to live without me one more day.

With every note a tear became a tune In his pain and loss, standing alone He is playing the music of missing me The harmony and medley Of what his family used to be.

The crowd tapped their feet In the space where genius and tragedy meet. A masterpiece is made As the pain of yesterday begins to fade.

His soul and music danced Giving a miracle a chance Opening the angelic door

To let go of what was before.

The music of missing me Danced on the stage for the judges to see Healing had finally begun. For myself and for my son.

This is the music of missing me. This is the song of me missing my son.

 

Lisa Boeck-Jenkins is a mother, photographer, artist,(BFA from the University of Utah),writer, speaker, and founder of an organization that works to bring awareness and assist victims of digital domestic abuse and cyber stalking.

She found herself when she lost everything and works to encourage and inspire others. She believes in the power of the story. Every story is a miracle that someone has been waiting to receive.

www.facebook.com/ssofamerica

www.soulsistersofamerica.wix.com/soulsistersofamerica

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