Three generations of my family have lived through divorce – mine, my sons’, and now my grandchildren’s. It’s not the story any of us planned, but it’s the one we’ve learned to live with – mostly with tenderness and humor.
One Big Family Table
When I was a child in the 1950s, our extended family gathered around a holiday table that stretched from the dining room into the living room. We dragged in folding tables, scavenged mismatched chairs from the basement, and Uncle Tony had to shout from one end to talk to Aunt Lee at the other.
My mother sighed in the kitchen, wondering aloud why she always had to host. I curled up watching the Macy’s Parade while my father raked leaves in the yard, chatting with neighbors over the fence. Divorce was rare then. Families – at least from a child’s perspective – stayed intact.
Complicated Holiday Experiences
Now, at 72, the picture looks very different. Our family tables have multiplied. During the holidays, we juggle multiple households, competing plans, and shifting versions of “together.” As the season approaches, I’m trying to map out what it will look like this year. Is my first husband’s wife hosting? Or my ex-daughter-in-law? Who’s on the email chain, and who’s on the text thread? I’m trying to make sure no one – accidentally or on purpose – gets left out.
There’s a kind of choreography to these holidays now – a dance of dates, feelings, and delicate logistics. I’ve learned to hold my expectations loosely. It’s not the Norman Rockwell version, but it’s ours. And though the logistics sometimes make my head spin, there’s a quiet beauty in knowing that everyone still wants to gather – in some form, at some table, somewhere.
How Love Works After Endings
Grief takes up a lot of space at the table – grief for what’s changed, for what never was, for what we know we’ll lose. Love, I’ve learned, looks very different when every branch of the family tree is healing in its own messy way. As the matriarch of this evolving bunch, I want to protect everyone – my sons, my grandchildren, the exes, the step-grandparents, and the half-siblings.
Who’s coming where? Who might not come at all? My challenge now is to stand beside my family rather than try to manage or fix them – to let go without withdrawing. That’s not always easy for someone raised in an era when mothers were the glue that held everything together, whether they wanted to be or not.
My grandchildren are watching all of us, trying to figure out how love works after endings. Sometimes, I think they handle emotional complexity with more grace than we adults do. Still, I worry. Is that grace – or just what powerlessness looks like when you’re young? What will they remember?
What I do know is that they keep loving. Their instinct to connect shows me that love depends on presence. They make room for everyone without overthinking it. Maybe that’s the gift of growing up in families like ours: they don’t expect perfection. They know that families can stretch and still hold.
Working at Reconstruction
What surprises me most isn’t the breaking – it’s the rebuilding. The family I have now is wide and welcoming, with holidays that span multiple homes but still somehow hold everyone. There’s laughter, forgiveness, and the occasional awkward silence, but also a deep awareness that we’ve made something enduring out of all that loss.
And if you find yourself setting more than one table this year, take heart. The story of family doesn’t end when marriages do. Sometimes, it just expands – into something beautifully, bravely new.
Let’s Have a Conversation:
What do your holidays look like? Have you figured out the complicated logistics yet – or do you manage to have it simple? What relationships are you working on rebuilding?
