My Daughter’s thoughts on the divorce and reunification

 Hadleigh said, “I’m like you, mom, because I like to write. The difference is that you write when you’re happy, and I write when I’m sad…”

Hadleigh (age 12) wrote the following: The Quilt (about the divorce) and How They Patched It (about reunification) ~

The quilt 

 By Hadleigh Pileski

   I felt sad, upset, betrayed, and more than anything confused. My heart was about to burst out of my chest. My jaw was going to fall off my face. I had nothing to say, and even if I did, I had no way of explaining what a terrible nightmare I was in. At that moment, it was as if I could feel every grain of wood on the bench I was sitting on, or I could recite each name of spice from the floating aroma coming from the kitchen, yet I could still hear the leaves turning at the site of fall. Somehow, with just a few words the world found a key to open a door to put all of its weight  on my shoulders, and I couldn't seem to get it off.    

One hour earlier, my mom had said that after dinner she wanted to talk to us. My parents had previously been on what they called a break, which meant that my mom’s friends had an apartment space where my parents would take turns staying at. When my mom told us she wanted to talk after dinner I assumed that she was going to tell us that the break was over and that we could all stop holding our breath. However, that was not the reason why we were forced to let out the pressured air in our lungs that we’d been holding for the previous two months before. 

         After we had all finished our dinner, my sister Maggie and brother Latham made a last   attempt to leave the table before anything solemn happened. ‘’ Umm I’ve to go take my shower’’  Maggie said weakly. ‘’ya ummm so do I, and clean my room to.’’ Latham repeated, as if they knew something I didn't, even though I knew that they just liked being silly all the time. Even if the news that night was good, to my siblings even the thought of being even remotely serious gave them chills. My dad, with a stern look on his face said. ’’Sit down. Your mother and I have something extremely important to tell the three of you.’’ That's when I became suspicious of the turn of events that would then take place.

       ‘’So,’’my father awkwardly said. I knew from then on that things were going to change after this conversation, or what I had hoped to be a conversation. ( It was really more like a confronting than a conversation.)  I took a deep breath in, my heart was racing, the hairs on the back of my neck were so stearate that they could be soldiers. My mother leaned in, and said. ‘’ You know kids I….’’ 

     ‘’Your getting divorced aren't you.’’ My sister interrupted before my mom got to finish. 

      ‘’ Yes, yes we are.’’ 

             My heart sank to my feet. I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. Instead I was internally paralyzed. My parents exhaust every option to try to get me to talk but I didn't. I went the next two hours without talking. Me and my siblings all reacted differently, I wouldn't talk, my sister yelled, and my brother just cried, of course at the time, we all were drenched in tears. 

Now me, my sister, and brother go back and forth between houses each week and yes it’s not the same but, hey you got to work with what you got. So far, there's times when I feel sentimental about my old life. Times when my family felt like a large quilt was gently pleased over me and I could feel each stitch and pattern. Some people may think I feel like the quilt has been ripped in half, but really it feels like we're just adding some new patterns to it.  

                           How they patched It 

                                          Chapter 2        

    In the driveway, things are new. No fighting, no anger, just playful? It felt different. My mother attempting to guard my father in a game of backyard basketball. Meanwhile my brother was trying to guard the goal. It had been a while since my mom had sent our grandma to pick us up from our dads. I really didn’t have any sort of feeling as if I shouldn’t say something, everything was peaceful. 

  We left for dinner and came back about an hour and a half later. As we pulled back into my father's driveway my mother prolonged her visit by suggesting one more basketball game. I leaned up against my mom’s car as I glanced down at my phone and by the time I looked back up everything changed. Within a blink of an eye, a snap of two fingers, my brain collapsed. I wanted to tell myself I had misheard it, or misunderstood.

 “See this won't be so bad.” My father said with such misunderstanding, not realizing what he had just done. It was as if instead of repairing the empty patch in the fragile quilt, he had simply just folded it over, pretending that each stitch was still perfectly still intact. When in realization it wasn't. 

  In that moment I returned to utter shock. I remember having a feeling about my feelings. I was upset with myself for being upset. This was because I knew my parents wanted me to be happy. (Everybody expected me to be happy), when in fact I wasn't. Although I didn't want people to think I was being ungrateful for having this feeling so I mainly kept to myself.  

     For some strange reason this somehow had more of an effect on me then when they got divorced.  

        We all walked inside. My father made a suggestion to my brother, about going to his room, something about a video game. I remember sitting on the couch with a chill running up and down my spine. My eyes set back in my head, staring blankly at the ruffed carpet. (I will never understand how my mind could have had that many thoughts rushing through it, and yet I can't remember one thought specifically, I can only remember the feeling of these thoughts.)

  “ What is it that bothers you so much, Hadleigh?” My mom uttered in a soft voice. “Are you afraid that you're going to have to go through it all again, because I promise that won't happen.” 

“Just like you promised that we would all stay close. Just like you promised that things would be ok!” This being the last statement that charged my mind with such force, I couldn’t blur it out.          

        I understood that my parents were under the impression that this was something to be happy about. I just couldn't wrap my head around the fact that a week ago my parents could barely stand to be in the same room together.

       Still my mother persisted to try and calm me down by asking me what I was feeling. But even if I could go back, there really wasn’t a word to describe what I was feeling. Instead my mom decided to take me back to her house. I remember the car ride vividly. I’ve never felt so in touch with my senses in my life. I could smell each blade of freshly cut grass on the side of the highway. I could feel the softness of the leather upholstery at the tips of my fingers. Sitting up straight, with my head still slightly hunched over. 

As soon as I got home I went straight to my room. I closed the door, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, leaving it in the corner of my room. For a moment, I just stood there, staring. After about 3 seconds I slowly dragged my feet across the floor. As I inched my way closer to the corner of my room I turned around and slid down to the footboard of my bed. I took my phone out of my back pocket tossing it a few feet away. I was in the position that you have to sit in during a severe weather drill, at school as a kid, but instead of my hands covering my head I wrapped them around my legs tightly hugging myself. I sat for a minute or two before stretching out my arms reaching for my phone, I called one of my friends and explained what happened. 

Once I explained, we sat together. It was silent for a minute, she didn’t hang up, we just didn’t speak. Not because it was awkward or that we didn’t have anything to say. It was just nice to know that if I did have more to say I could and she would still listen. I sat and cried for a moment. I didn’t care that she knew I was sad, I didn’t care that she knew I was weak, I didn’t care that she could hear each tear stumble down my cheek. 

We said good night, but I didn’t sleep. I couldn't help but think of what they had said. We had been through so much and they just ignored it. They had just decided to pretend like nothing happened. But it did, and not just to them. You know how domino's work, with just a small flick every domino goes down with it. Well think of a domino line that went on for a year. That's how things were for a while, but me and my siblings had eventually figured out how to keep that first domino standing, or so we thought. 

I could hear my mothers footsteps approaching my door, and I could visualize her reaching for the doorknob but stopping to hesitate. She walked in assuming we could talk then stopped to find me under the covers of my bed facing the wall. With only my lamp on as a source of light. She walked over and sat on my bed, kissed me on my forehead. “Good night” she whispered softly with her lips. 

As she gently shut the door I opened my eyes and sat up, staring at my fingers playing with the comforter. I sighed and looked up aimlessly at my closet door where I sat and waited for something to happen, but nothing ever did. 

My phone buzzed, vibrating the phone off my bedside table. I bent over and grabbed it by turning my phone over, I noticed the digital clock reading 1:45. I plugged my phone back in and fell asleep. 

I woke up the next morning remembering the events that had played out the night before. I brushed my hair and got changed. I thought about staying in my room but my stomach had other plans. 

I stepped out of my room hoping the living room was empty, but low and behold both of my parents were sitting at the island in the center of the kitchen. I made eye contact with both of them. I saw my mothers lips start to move so in an attempt to escape I dashed into the hallway bathroom to brush my teeth. By the time I was done I don't think my teeth had ever been that clean in my life. 

I walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, with my head down,trying not to make any eye contact. I checked the pantry and fridge to see what I could eat for breakfast.

“There's some of my cinnamon bun left.” dad said. 

“Thanks” I said with a slight nod. I started to walk back over to the pantry.

“ I can heat it up for you!” My dad said as if his words were shoved out of his mouth. 

 I left my breakfast on the counter, and sat down in one of the bar stools at the island in the middle of the kitchen. It was silent except for the microwave making a beeping noise and the sound of me cracking my knuckles, nervously. 

My father took the napkin wrapped cinnamon roll out of the microwave and sat it down in front of me. 

“Thanks” I responded, still maintaining no eye contact. My dad handed me a fork and stood in front of me across the counter, with his arms awkwardly crossed. 

“Well?” He muttered. 

“It's, good.” I swallowed slowly and looked up at him for a second with my head still down, but quickly resumed my staring contest with the floor. 

A few moments later I scarfed down my food, stood up while taking my last bite and headed for my room. “Please don't say anything, please don't say anything.” 

“Hey.”  

“Noooo” I really didn’t feel like starting another war. I took a long exhale and turned around. 

“We can’t do this forever.” My mom said,

“I know” I responded, turned around and walked right back to my room. ( It felt like the closer I got to my room the heavier my feet got, like I was telling myself to turn around. When I did I walked in and let my blankets swallow me whole. At that moment I declared a new staring contest, this time with my wall. When I heard a knock at my door. 

“Can we talk?” My mother asked.

“It's a free country.” I debated. My parents both walked in and sat on my bed. We talked for a while, back and forth. I didn’t give a complete explanation simply because there wasn’t one. They explained how they weren’t trying to ignore what happened. And they were trying to work things out instead, even if it didn’t feel like it at first. 

They're trying to find more scrap fabric to add to the quilt, and repair the old rips and tears. Sometimes the stitches come loose, but at the end of the day the quilt still keeps us warm, it still comforts us when we need it. The quilt is not a blanket that smothers or a jacket that your parents make you carry around. It's a perfect quilt, my perfect quilt.