From “Walk with Me: A Journey through the Landscape of Trauma” by Ellen Corcella
My parents’ divorce did not bring peace to our house. Bad marriages make bad divorces. One Christmas morning, my father arrived, dressed in his slim black tie, white shirt, and black suit. He sat in our living room while we opened his gifts. My mother was on her best behavior. I hoped in vain for a peaceful day together as a family. An hour or so later, he left without explanation. I was not sure where or why he had to go. I could not understand why he wanted to be alone in his apartment when he could be with us.
But we turned to our mother with expectation of continuing the joy of Christmas. Instead, she fled upstairs to her bedroom. Every hour or so she came out, screaming from the top of the stairs, “I cannot believe what your father has done. He abandoned you on Christmas, I bet there is another woman, another family.”
I looked up from the bottom of the stairs in disbelief. “Come on, Mom, come downstairs.
She refused, slamming her bedroom door.
I dashed upstairs, knocked on the door, shook the door handle. “Mom, what are you doing? What are we to do about dinner? What are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t care. Your father should have stayed, but he had better things to do than be with his children.” Her sarcasm rose from the other side of the door.
On Christmas Day, a day of gathering, generosity, and goodwill, Maureen, James, and I were alone.