![]() ![]() ![]() I was shocked, because it was the first time I could remember them being in something close to agreement. They were there, literally, to pull the lodge apart. When they were divorcing, I went for a walk and stumbled on them sitting in lawn chairs near the family’s sweat lodge. Even so, in my mind I couldn’t put them in the same room or the same attitude, about anything. It was hard to imagine them together, though they had been together for 24 years of my life. ![]() Earlier that day 14 people were murdered and more than 20 wounded nearby in San Bernardino, and I was suddenly afraid: for my kids, for myself (as the person, impossibly, who was supposed to protect them) and for the country.Īnd I wondered, in that moment, what my parents would do if my life were theirs. ![]() One night, all three of my children were asleep, nested, innocent, seemingly safe, but I couldn’t sleep. Then, for a year, I lived above a garage in Pomona on a pullout couch. At first I traded spaces with my soon-to-be ex. In 2015, I moved into a small back house in California, a necessary step in a divorce that was ugly and would remain so for nearly a year. To hear more audio stories from publications like The New York Times, download Audm for iPhone or Android. ![]()
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