Reconciliation

In a dream, I was about to go on stage for a role in a play that I had not tried out for and was unprepared to perform.

It was time.

The director nodded at me from backstage to enter the scene and attempt to speak the lines of dialogue that I did not know. I considered winging it but instead handed the script over to the director. Without delay or repercussion, they gave it to someone else who was ready to go.

Upon waking, without knowing what the day held or what symbols to extract from the dream, I assumed it meant that I had outgrown people-pleasing and was embracing honesty.

[Pats self on back.]

It was a typical Thursday. Woke up early to do some work before the kids got up. Drove them to school on time. Came back home to work some more, then picked them up as usual. On the drive to get them, their dad texted me.

[I forgot! Tonight is the first week of Reconciliation class at church. I can bring them if you want.]

Anger choked me. Thursday was my day with the kids. It was our time together. I could not imagine why he would sign them up for a Thursday night class.

In the divorce paperwork, he had claimed their religious upbringing. He had also claimed their birth and baptismal certificates from a box of documents that we once shared.

Not to people please, but to co-parent, I texted back.

[I will bring them.]

To make the most of the night that we would normally spend snuggled in my bed watching movies, we stopped for a treat on the drive up to the church.

I had not been to church since before the divorce.

I overexplained myself to the person in the foyer who signed us in. They did not need to know that I was their mom but did not go to this church and was not sure where to go or what this class was on account it was their dad who signed them up along with their stepsiblings who would probably be there soon. I told them anyway, and they handed us our books and pointed toward the entrance of the church, explaining that the class was only held on Thursdays. Of course. We went in and sat in the back, snuggled together with our treats.

At this point, only now, writing it, I realize that I was expecting his new wife to bring the kids even though he had texted that he would bring them. That meant he was not working that night. That meant he was able to bring the kids, my kids, our kids, and also his step-kids.

In his usual fashion, a few minutes late, he walked in with three of the step-kids and sat in the pew in front of us, greeting us with a polite smile so as not to interrupt the priest’s opening sermon about the sacrament of reconciliation.

Something about repairing your relationship with God after doing something that you held as wrong.

Something about confessing your wrongdoings as a path toward forgiveness and peace.

Something about parenting and leading by example.

Their dad looked back at me at some point, and the tears in our eyes stayed put as we played our roles.