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Deborah Ellen Schneider (page 2 of 4) Page 2 of 4
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Life until then had been picture perfect…so long as you didn’t peer too closely at the background. Nearly twelve years into my second marriage, I was so sure that this time I had “got it right.” When we first met, Daniel and I were both financial professionals. Our careers skyrocketed as we whirled about Wall Street reaping the benefits and perks of success.
The hours were incredibly long and the pressure was tremendous yet I wanted to be a good mother. I spent most of my time on Sundays after church cooking meals for the coming week and storing them in containers that could be heated up. Daniel and I got home so late on weekdays that our two teenagers from Daniel’s first marriage ate long before we walked through the door.
Often exhausted after the long commute, I sometimes took a deep breath before walking inside. Usually dishes were left in the sink from the boys’ meal and I still had to fix dinner for Daniel and myself. Then I helped the boys with homework and projects. There was also all the house cleaning and laundry, the shopping and other chores.
I gave every ounce of energy I had every waking moment. Peter and David had been living with Daniel since the divorce years before, so I wasn’t sure they knew what to expect from a mother. I rationalized being absent by thinking that teenagers need their parents less than smaller children. They didn’t get home from school until 3:00 p.m. anyway and I was home by 7:00.
Daniel loved my companionship during the commute. He knew I had been restless during my brief stint staying home with the kids. He was thrilled to have someone in his life who loved his children so completely and whom he could encourage to excel professionally. His own career was accelerating, and he traveled with a full briefcase just like me.
The years passed, the pressures grew; I was in my early-thirties and the decision whether to have more children became difficult. If I had them, there wouldn’t be any nannies or daycare. I wanted them to grow up knowing they came first in their parent’s lives. Although I wished for more kids, my career would be interrupted. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to survive mentally without a go-getter life to fill my time.
I decided it was worth the risk. And what a choice! Pregnancy was wonderful. James’ birth allowed me to close the door on the corporate world and Samuel, our second child, was born two and a half years later. Peter and David were seventeen and fifteen when James was born and the children blended beautifully.
By then, Daniel regularly traveled to other countries for his job. The younger boys were asthmatic and required extensive treatments throughout the night while the teenagers needed rides to friends and activities. I became more involved with my children than with my husband. I slowly withdrew emotionally from Daniel, much to his confusion, and devoted my time and life to everything but the marriage.
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When I was a girl, I’d dreamed that stars were the tips of magic wands angels held over the earth. They were always ready to throw miracles down to us humans. When God told the angels to wave their wands, stars shot across the heavens. Even if the miracle was meant for you, though, I always thought you had to be looking in the right direction to see it.
There was no way one would ever fall at my feet. My life had not been exemplary. I hadn’t earned a place in heaven through saintly acts. No wings graced my shoulders and my days hadn’t been spent in religious devotion. God’s faithful servants, those who spread His word, were the people He talked to. In that hospital and during my recovery, I had no right to ask for divine assistance.
In a way, though, I figured that was God’s job: to offer enlightenment. Angels were supposed to appear whenever prayers turned desperate. I wasn’t sure what a miracle looked like but facing this situation alone seemed impossible. Even as I prayed, I had no real hope that I of all people would be able to reach up and catch one of those shimmering stars.
My path would be filled with pain, obstacles greater than any I’d faced before, and a bitter tangle with someone who took advantage of my head injury by sexually abusing me. In the end, God’s grace would pour down from heaven in a way more profound than I ever could have imagined bringing me that sense of peace that surpasses all understanding.
Chapter Two: The Storms Before
By the time of the accident, my picture-perfect existence had become tattered at the edges. One photo displayed in a frame doesn’t hint at the rolls of film hidden away in some dark closet. And I had plenty of snapshots, even entire videos, stuffed into the dark corners of my mind. To keep those clips secret, my entire life had been spent molding myself to the expectations of others.
My first marriage was a perfect example. John D’Alessandro started dating me at the beginning of our junior year in college. He stood 6’1” and had brown eyes with the longest lashes behind silver-rimmed glasses. After some difficulty with pre-med courses, he changed to biochemistry. His personality was laid back, and he could focus on painstaking research hour after hour.
I briefly met John at the end of our sophomore year, and I made a point of finding out when his parents would pick him up. If this guy is so nice, I wondered, what is his family like?
I watched from the edge of the parking lot. Right away his mother hugged him tightly. She closed her eyes and tears streamed as they kissed each other’s cheeks. Then his father gave him a big “hello” and…the men hugged!
I stared. It was hard enough for me to dream about my mother holding me but this was incomprehensible. My father would never hug anybody, especially not my brothers. I had never seen a father and son hug. Why would they do that? I wondered for the longest time afterward. What does it mean?
I found out the next summer when I visited his family. The minute the front door swung open, I was lost in a sea of arms. Everyone grabbed and squeezed and poured out love.
I hated being touched. It wasn’t done in my family and I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to do. I kept going round and round but there was no place to get out of the revolving door of embraces. I also couldn’t figure out why they were hugging John. He’d left there only a few minutes before to pick me up at the train station.
“She’s so pretty,” Aunt Denise said. “John, why didn’t you tell us she was so nice?”
From Wind Dancing: The Gift of Healing Traumatic Brain Injury by Deborah Ellen Schneider. Copyright © 2009 by Deborah Ellen Schneider. Reprinted with permission from Wind Dancing, New Beginnings, Inc. For more information on Deborah Ellen Schneider, go to http://winddancing.com.
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