The New Family Unit

My parents divorced when I was five. I don’t remember them saying more than “hi” or “bye” to each other for the rest of my childhood. I went to my dad’s house every other weekend, and they didn’t really speak to each other during the transfer. Years later, when my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, my husband and I invited him to move in with us and our four children.

“Mom, how are we going to do this?” I asked. “Papa is going to be here all the time, but we still want you to come and visit. We don’t want it to be weird.”

“Not a problem,” Mom replied confidently. “We are just going to get over our past and all be friends.” I was so relieved.

At our first family dinner together, I sat next to my sister (the daughter of my mom and my stepdad) and I looked around: Mom, Papa, and my stepdad, Doug, all at the same table.

“Weirdest thing ever,” I whispered to my sister.

“Yes, but nobody else seems to think so,” she replied. “It’s amazing.”

For the next ten years, Papa lived with us, and whenever Mom and Doug came over, the three of them would chat like old friends. And in a way, they were. My whole childhood, I had wished that my three parents could all get along. And here they were. It wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind. But God knows what he is doing.