Forty Six: God
I tried to put the pieces of old Taylor back together the following afternoon with my mother. Over smoked-turkey sandwiches, over-priced expressos, and suburban, midday chatter, I told my mother about everything.
It felt like I was a kid again- asking her about how to ask Natalie to fly out to Oklahoma for the first time or how to respond to interviewers questions about our family. There was a time when I could ask my mother anything. I tried to pretend time hadn’t past and it was still those times- that two children, a 5 o’clock shadow, and a pending divorce didn’t make things any different or us any older.
“I promise you,” I said, staring at me sandwich and shoving the tomato that was falling out back into it in order to avoid having to look at her eyes. “That was the extent of my cheating. You don’t have to believe me, but it was one kiss. Nothing more.”
It didn’t matter that I was 23 years old. Mentioning the word sex, or affair, or anything that implied Gabrielle and me being naked together was way too awkward for a conversation with my mother.
“That’s not nothing, Taylor,” she sighed.
“I’m not saying it is!” I said defensively, locking my eyes with her. “I know it’s not nothing, Mom… I’m just saying, it’s not as bad as you probably thought it was. You know Gabrielle. She’d never hurt Natalie. I wouldn’t intentionally either.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I’m glad to hear that though… I was beginning to wonder.”
I stayed quiet because it was shameful to know that my behavior the past four years had caused my own mother to actually lose her trust in me. The more and more I separated my mind from myself, if that makes any sense, the more I saw what an asshole I’d become. If I stopped focusing on my feelings and my pain and my wants, I could look at myself for the person I’d become and I could see what they saw.
“Mom,” I sighed. “I just… I want things to be good again. I feel so stuck in everything… I feel like I’ve screwed so much up and for awhile I even though I had no chance at fixing things again, but I’m starting to think that things can still be salvaged and I can make things good again.”
“What do you want me to help you with Taylor?” she said and at first it almost sounded cold. I didn’t know what to say.
“What…?”
“I don’t mean it like that. I want to help you. I just am genuinely asking you how I can help you.”
I paused. I guess I didn’t know. I guess I just needed someone to talk to who understood enough to get it but wasn’t so bias that they wouldn’t really listen to me. I didn’t want to talk to a stranger but talking to Natalie or Gabrielle was too risky.
“Mom… I just need you to be here for me.”
My mother reached across the table and reached out for my hand. I wanted to flinch and pull it away, roll my eyes at her babying because at age 23 I didn’t need my mother coddling me in public, but it felt nice to feel her support rather than her disapproval.
“Of course, hunnie. Everyone is, Taylor.”
It’s hard to describe divorce. Then again, I guess I can only describe my own divorce and not anyone else’s because no two divorces are the same. But in general, if I had to narrow it all down to one single word, I’d say that divorce is emotional. Some moments I was as happy as can be to cut the strings between Natalie and I and to move on to the next chapter of my life. I wanted to be free again- free to date, free to kiss whoever I pleased, free to do what I wanted to do. But there was a constant feeling of sadness lingering in the back of my mind and once or twice, no matter how much I knew I was doing the right thing, I even questioned everything. I questioned the dissolution of our marriage; I questioned being alone.
Sometimes I hated someone cooking for me, cleaning for me, taking care of me. Sometimes I wondered how I would get by again without it all. When I questioned it, when I felt sadness about it all, I drove to Gabrielle’s apartment and sat outside in my car watching her move back and forth in her window. So maybe I was a stalker and it was kind of creepy, but it assured me that God had another plan for me… something better waiting for me.
God. My mother insisted I go back to church which was scarier than it sounds. I hadn’t been inside the church in over two years ago unless you included Zac and Kate’s wedding and my little sister’s confirmation ceremony. It’s not that I didn’t believe in God anymore. On the rare occasions that I watched my children sleep, I knew there was a God. Just glancing at Gabrielle let me know that her perfection was not accidental; she was a masterpiece. (I’m a sap. I know.)
It wasn’t scary going back to church because I stopped believing in God (at least, most of the time I hadn’t), it’s because I felt guilty for drifting so far away. In the times I needed God the most, I had turned away from Him. Walking through those doors with my children and family for the first time in a long time felt like there was a spotlight shining down at me and a amplified voice saying, “NEGLECTS HIS CHILDREN. BREAKS WOMENS HEARTS. DIVORCING HIS WIFE FOR ANOTHER WOMAN.”
I felt like everyone could tell what I bastard I had become. That first morning back, I lingered in the back of the sanctuary while the rest of my family walked down the aisles to find a spot to sit. My mother noticed me and hung back with me.
“Taylor, come sit down. It’s fine. This will be good for you.”
“This isn’t the kind of support I was talking about…” I groaned, because my shirt was uncomfortable, I hadn’t had time to finish my coffee, and most of all, because the picture of Jesus at the front of the church was staring at me like I deserved to burn in hell.
“You asked me to be there for you, and this is one of the many ways I think I can help you. Now just come and sit down. It won’t hurt to be spiritual again, Taylor.”
I guess I needed to be spiritual. I let my mother coax me down the aisle and sat next to my children with my legs tapping the entire time, nervously looking around to see if anyone was whispering about me. I guess that was my new, self-centered self. No one was whispering. No one even noticed me.
As the guitar chords started and a trio of singers started to sing, I closed my eyes and let myself relax into the music. It felt nice, to hear someone play music not for the entertainment of human beings but for the worshipping of something beyond our world. In a time when music was beginning to feel forced, commercialized, and strategic during the making of our second 3CG album, it was soothing to hear music that meant more than dollars and reviews.
I apologized, to God, to my family, to me, for letting things get so out of control- for handling the curveballs so badly. I apologized for every heart I’d broken, person I’d disappointed, reaching hand that I’d ignored. And I vowed, then and there, to ignore the previous years. Dwelling was just going to bring me down. I needed to leave that church me again… the new me… a better me than I had ever been before. I needed to make fast changes, big changes… and I needed to stop the pity parties immediately. I decided I was going to enjoy living again, for the first time in a long time.