On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, lest we forget

Both my parents served in the Air force. I suppose my overt patriotism could have stemmed from that; however neither was particularly patriotic or instilled the strong sense of country that I have held dear and tried to instill in my children. it could have been the sight of  several of my older (and ridiculously handsome) cousins in there various dress uniforms over the years. perhaps it was being a child of the sixties where social unrest and upheaval were the order of the day. Mostly, I think it was the knowledge that my grandmother had been robbed of her childhood when her father was killed in WW1. that thought, that someone who shared my DNA had died fighting for the freedom that we take for granted so much, imprinted on me at an early age. My Nana had worshipped her father and spoke of him often. I have memories of her mother "Nana Martin" who passed when I was almost 5 years old. She was my fathers favourite relative and to the day he died he missed her in his life.
I considered serving myself in the forces; i must admit that part of the appeal was that, as a nurse, I would have automatic officer status thereby, outranking both my parents! it was not too be. this would be a case of the things Max and I should have talked about in more detail before marrying: we both had considered joining and both had been talked out of it by our misguided fathers! so it was not too be.
I have tried to do my best with what I have. I participate in the services and support the poppy campaign for veterans. I try to support veteran rights and be informed about the goings on of our government; although I must admit that Connor is systematically out pacing me in this arena. (be careful what you wish for!)
This year was different. out of a think tank--and I use that term loosely--a government funded organisation called the "Rideau Institute" started a white poppy campaign to coincide with the red poppy campaign of Remembrance day. the public has been outraged. they say that they wanted to start a dialogue about peace not war and felt that the red poppy "glorified" war. I was one of the outraged ones. and although I have frequently been accused of making a "big" deal out of everything, this incident screamed out to me.
so many of my colleagues and patients, over the years, have been refugees or immigrants from war torn, brutal lands. they recount stories that we cannot imagine and have never seen before. Perhaps that is the Rideau Institutes problem: the have never experienced the pain, terror and fear that war brings to a land. and why is that? because in 100years the borders of our nation have not been threatened by war. and why is that? because the veterans and soldiers of our combined armed forces, fought and fight to protect our freedoms and rights that, apparently, so many of us now are taking for granted.
I am sure that the members of this institute have much more education than I do, know more about foreign affairs and the workings of our government. However, I believe that what they did not know more about is the heart of our country. Canadians may not be as loud and boisterous as our American neighbours but we are no less patriotic. I was refreshed to see how much backlash was caused by this silly campaign. for every one positive statement about it there was 100 negative. they got their conversation all right. but I am not sure it was the one they were expecting. I however was once again proud to call this land my home and grateful that for ever man and woman that put their lives on the line so that my children could sleep safely in their beds at night. Below is a letter I left on the institutes website. I have yet to receive a response, nor do I expect one. my hope is that perhaps by my speaking out, it will make at least one person reconsider have a "conversation" next year.

Your Comment Is Awaiting Moderation.

Hello,
I recently learned of your so called “White Poppy” campaign. I am sure that you “wanted to start a conversation” but I am not sure the conversation that was started was the one you intended. First and foremost, I feel you do not truly grasp the purpose of the Poppy Campaign. Living as we do in Canada, with no actual war within our borders for over 100 years, we have become complacent. The actual purpose of the wearing the poppy is that the person believes in their heart of hearts that peace is the only answer: that never again should a man or woman have to fight for freedom and peace. I raised my children to vote in every election, stand tall and sing loud when our anthem plays and keep the silence on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. that you would usurp the sacred sacrifice that the veterans and their families have made all in the name of “starting a conversation” is abhorrent and shameful. the very freedom and funding that your received in order to achieve this goal of conversation was paid for with blood, in the hope that their children, our children and children to come, would not have to die for the cause of peace. Apparently, we do need more conversation about war, because without it, the peace that you tout to have a conversation about is meaningless, since obviously it breeds contempt, self importance and ungrateful behaviour. you not only owe an apology to every person touched by war, every veteran that fought for your freedom to draw breath, every citizen who was foolish enough to fund your misguided cause–including, apparently our tax funded government–but you owe an apology to the country that surrounds you in a freedom that others can only dream about. in future, please leave the “conversation” to the people who are actually capable of having it, because truly, you seem to have lost touched with the real society in which we live, in which we behave with honor and charity and in which taking a moment to pin a RED poppy on you lapel, honors those who’s only goal was the peace and freedom of our land. For shame!
Linda Steele

-a pittance of time Terry Kelly Video   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kX_3y3u5Uo

telling the story

Frequently , at work, we grow tired of saying the same things, about the same things. to the same kinds of people over and over again. Indeed, when I was younger, my impatience with this process knew no bounds. When Connor was diagnosed and well into the span of his life, having to tell his `story`` or at least elements of it, fairly wore me out. in the beginning, it was his diagnosis, the process, the testing, the words the doctors used, were repeated over and over again ad nauseum, to family, friends, co-workers and some times even strangers. With the ``professionals``: paediatricians, OT, PT, teachers and assistants, it was the history : my pregnancy, his birth, and infancy were all examined under the microscope all having to be repeated over and over again, only to be written with a slightly different slant.
Then, just as it became second nature, I began new employment, not realising that when I spoke of my children with my new co-workers, they knew nothing of the story. Now the problem was that the story had gotten much longer. With high school came a whole new population of people who needed to hear the story :school principle, teachers and assistants, as well as other professionals (one of the biggest roadblocks in Ontario healthcare is that it is not streamlined through transitions, but divided into compartments of infant, school age, teenage, adult and senior) none of which seem to know how to talk to each other. Connor being Connor managed to interject new elements and twists into the story such as giftedness, learning disability, and coming out. I suppose to make sure that the story was not too boring to hear or tell. Still, the endless explanations about our exceptional sons had become somewhat tedious at times. then a life changing Light bulb moment occurred. I was attending a conference on obstetrical care and breastfeeding instruction when the teacher asked us :Do you ever just get exhausted saying the same thing over and over again. With a collective sigh and eye roll, there was  a resounding  LORD YES|! |Then she said :Consider this, it might be the thousandth time you have taught it, but it is the first time they have heard it! if you are bored and tired telling the story then the listener and learner will be bored too and not receive the information you are trying to convey. if you can keep the story fresh and exciting, then the listener will also be excited about what they are hearing."  There it was, the power to change and influence others positively is all in how you tell the story; absolutely life changing; so what if i had told the story of Connor's birth, childhood, and coming out over and over again. It might be tedious for me but for someone else it was the first time they were hearing it and it might just change how they look at things, how they do things or they might just be comforted by it, knowing they are not alone in their struggles. my personal affirmation for this idea came as he was doing one of his presentations to a school board conference. he was 17 and was the keynote speaker for a group of humor and wit, he told the story of his high school career and his coming out. A wonderful man came up to us after with tears in his eyes. Connor was always surrounded after one of his talks, so the man asked me "How old is he?" I answered "17", he turned to Connor and said, "I have to shake your hand, you are the bravest person I have ever met; it took me 40 years to do what you just did today (come out)" he said that the story had changed him. there were many other times when people have shared with me that knowing Connor and hearing his story has changed their lives or how they view things, but nothing struck me as much as that moment.

teachers. using
So now when I am at the park with my pack of hounds and someone asks me, "What kind of dogs are they?" I proudly relate the stories of their rescues, the histories that we know and why we adopted a rescue rather than getting a pure bread puppy. And now, rather than being fed up with repeating the story, I am excited at the chance to share it; after all, its the first time they have ever heard it and hearing that story can change a life and in turn change the world.

Follow your Bliss--Thanks Mary Lou!

As Connor approaches the end of his masters degree, the question looms, "What Next?" From a realistic, pragmatic position, he should continue his studies in the Ottawa area, either at Carleton, University of Ottawa, or St Paul's University, depending on the field of his choice for his PhD studies. The problem with practicality and realistic thinking is that is rarely the stuff that dreams are made of. In a perfect world, that was universally accessible with equity and accessibility for all, Connor's grade point average and educational background would guarantee him acceptance in any ivy league university of his choice. Indeed, from the time he was 7 years old he said he was going to Harvard Law school when he graduated from university.
Then, reality rears its ugly head. Harvard is 8 hours away by car, in the Boston Massasschutes, costs 45,000 per year just for tuition, and does not include 24 hour attendant care. In addition to requiring physical care for his daily routine, the educational and research rigors of a PhD program will excited an almost full time research assistant. Don't get me wrong, I have always know that this was the next step, but somehow it crept up on me without a sound.
So the problem with dreams is that reality usually bites them in the ass.
Connor could get into Harvard (or any other school he chose) we could move to Boston and work on his Phd but realistically (theres that bite!) would that be the best use of our resources. He (and virtually everyone around us) is told over and over again not to give up on your dreams. but, dreams by definition, are  fleeting, ghostly things that do not exist in the realm of reality. In addition, those who advise Connor not to give up on his dreams do not live in his reality; nor do they have a concept of how much work: both physical and emotional goes into his daily grind, let alone adding the stress of moving to another country with who knows what services in place.
When I asked Connor what his dream was he answered, "to be employed." I consider that a goal and a given truth at that. After further contemplation, he added that it was to teach at the College of Humanities at Carleton. Now, we are getting somewhere|!
Still there was a certain amount of whimsy when he added, after digging deeper, "To study at the American School in Athens." Now thats a dream! Forget about another country, this kid wants a whole other continent. Harvard would be a cake walk compared to Athens. At least the USA speaks English!
So back to reality with its achievable, measurable goals with dreams tucked away for another day.
He will more than likely study at U of T, Ottawa U, Queens, or Western, where I can divide my time between him, Max, Jarrett, my dogs and my job.
Yet, that pesky little dream idea weighs heavily on my mind and as is the usual case in my life the universe opened up and taught me a lesson about dreams and their evolution. this weekend we attended a CD launch of a dear friend of ours, Mary Lou Minor. Now, everybody and their dogs has a CD these days but most of the time it has been burned on someones laptop and recorded in the basement. but Mary Lou is going to be selling hers on itunes and in HMV stores! this was the real Mcoy! the catch is that  Mary Lou is my age. Once she told me that she had written songs early in her youth with but the traditional life of mother, wife and work it fell by the wayside. A few years ago she started up again; this band was the second incarnation. So here, 5 years later, with the love and support of her husband Rob and her family and friends, there she was on stage bringing her dream to fruition. As I watched her playing her large guitar, dancing and singing out her original songs, sung with her sultry voice, I realised that dreams do not die, they just hibernate for awhile, long enough for the season and the world to be in the right place.
So maybe Connor wont go to Harvard or the American School or Oxford for his Phd. Indeed, at this point it would be a miracle if he did. but that doesn't mean that he never will: Harvard is not going anywhere and neither are his dreams.

All I know is that Connor is going places and there is absolutely no way of stopping him or even slowing him down and I have no doubt no matter how unrealistic his dreams are, he will bring them all to fruition. He has never given up and I doubt he ever will.

the sounds of anguish

When I tell people that my profession is a birthing room nurse, the response is always something like "Oh you get to work in the happy place!" for the most part, this is true. I am honoured to be part of the most joyous days of parents lives; life changing, life memorable days. However, being the Capricorn personality that I am, I work in the area where there is no grey: I am part of the very best and the very worst parts of peoples lives. Yes, when everything goes well, it is the very best. But then, there is the very dark, very bleak part of my job: helping a woman bring into the world a baby that will never take its first breath. It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, it sheds a pall on the entire unit; none of us go untouched, no matter who is the actual nurse caring for the family.

I have attended over 10,000 births in my long career. As you can imagine, I have difficulty remembering a handful of them. But, I can describe in detail every stillbirth I ever delivered. At my first one, I learned why they are deemed a "stillbirth." after all, there are many more medical, more appropriate names. But like so many parts of working in childbirth, the history of the art comes into play. A birth is joyous, loud, noisy, filled with laughter, tears, and baby cries. We shout out: its a boy or its a girl. Mothers and fathers are weeping tears of joy with laughter, and I love yous. The physicians are busy telling us to do the things we have done a thousand times, but still, need to be said out loud. We are chatting about our own lives and our own family experiences and welcoming this wrinkled, red, new citizen into our world.

A stillbirth is just that: still. No one says a word, we move slowly, not quickly and silently, moving with a slow rhythm, as if trying not to alert the mother that her child is here and will not ever really be here. No orders are said because they are not needed; no chatter, no laughter, just the silent weeping of a heartbroken father, the stream of tears from our sympathetic hearts and the clicking of the hospital clock.

The one sound that breaks the stillness is spine chilling. It is the bitter wailing of a mother, that will never mother this child and a woman, who until the very moment that the baby was born without life, was so sure we were wrong and that this life she had nurtured inside her was still there. When the baby slips from her limp, and still, she knows the horrible truth. This baby will never go home, never grow live. The medical people were right all along: this baby is gone.

That wail, that cry that the mother gives is primal, something from long ago, lost from our civilized consciousness, yet still hidden deep within our soul. It is truly the sound of the heartbreaking.

We overuse that expression in our modern world "heartbroken," but until you have heard a woman's heart shattering into pieces over the loss of her baby, it is meaningless. All of the pretenses and crocodile tears of our modern society fall away amid that sound.

When I was young and starting my career, I was so naive. I did not understand why we would spend so much time and effort with parents who had lost a child rather that being with the ones whose child was being born. There is a long protocol to follow, with things that some people would consider morbid, trying to get some kind of memento for the parents, such as a lock of hair or foot and handprints.

It is amazing to me now that I could have ever, ever been so stupid. But I was young and extremely pragmatic, and most of all, I had not raised Connor.

Then in one of those light bulb moments that Oprah talks about, I learned something that would forever change my thinking. A perinatal bereavement instructor shared with us this thought : When you have a child, you have a lifetime of memories to look forward to, growing, first steps, first day of school, etc. when there is a stillbirth, those moments, those hours are the only memories that those parents will ever have of that child. It is not their fault that their child never took a breath and will never grow. That baby will always be their child, and as Nurses, it is our job to make sure they have as many memories as possible to take with them.

That small thought changed everything and how I now approach my care, trying to give the parents as much as we can to take with them.

The parents often want to know why? Why them? Why this baby? Only very infrequently can we tell why a baby that survived so much just to come into existence would perish so close to its birthday? If we can tell that it was something like a cord around them or a bleed, it rarely makes a difference.  No matter what the reason, their baby is still gone. Grandparents are notorious for wanting to know why. Sometimes, I believe that it is so they will have someone to blame, sometimes I think that it is just something they say because they do not know what else to say.

I have heard the heartbroken wail another time in my life. It was when the doctor told us that Connor would never walk or stand on his own. Max was devastated, and his cry was heart-wrenching. I think most people assumed it was because he was disappointed for himself; after all, he comes from a family where success is based on your physical ability. It wasn't that. He was mourning the loss of the son we thought we had while trying to process the son we now had; and Max being Max, was feeling "bad" for all the things that Connor would be missing out on, never imagining what this new road would bring us too. And as with the stillbirth family, everyone wanted to know why? What caused this? Why Connor.

Elsie (my mother) was particularly relentless in her pursuit in trying to find an answer to the why? Part of me thinks it because she wanted to blame me--after all, I was the last one who was there!--part of me thinks she was planning on using my physician, something Max and I dismissed very early on.

I can tell you that knowing why never solves the problem and sometimes introduces a whole other set of problems into your life. The peace that I finally got on the why me question came from a colleague who had a child with a severe genetic disorder; she passed away at age three. I finally got up the nerve one night shift to ask her a question that had been burning in my mind, "Rita, did you ever ask, Why me God" her answer was simple and blissful, "No, Linda, I didn't, I just figured, Why not me? What makes me so special?" there it was--Why not us? We were loving, caring, and Connor was our son. Looking back, we were the perfect choice of whatever power decides these things-- fate, Karma, God, the universe--after all, we had been together for many years, I was a nurse with pediatric background and training and Max was a weightlifter with a soft heart. Why not us? And truly would know why Connor was the way he was, why he had cerebral palsy changed anything? There is no cure; there are all the same treatments regardless of why the cerebral palsy occurred, and sitting around knowing could lead to bitterness and stagnation. The last thing Connor needed to succeed in the world was a set of bitter and stagnant parents. And as light bulb moments happen, I know now that it was meant to be. Things do happen for a reason; they are not always happy reasons but for reasons nonetheless. If we hadn't been Connors parents, who know what life we would have had. If we hadn't raised him there would be wonderful people missing from our lives; I am not even sure we would still be together as it would have been easy to quit our marriage if not for the shared care of our wonderful sons. And I am very happy that it turned out this way. As I told my sister in law this week, I would not change a thing, and I would not have missed it for the world.

I know that in the moments of grief and heart-wrenching pain, it is so hard to think past it, but things do happen for a reason, and there are no mistakes. For the mothers who lost babies, they will never take a single breath their next child takes for granted, they will never push away from a hug, or not stop what they are doing to listen to their toddler babble or their teenager rant. Sometimes, that reason has to be enough.

The secret Language of marriage

This October, Max and I will have been married 30years. we have been together 36 having dated 4years and being engaged 2 before we finally got hitched! there are several distinct traits of being together over 3 decades, as any long term couple will tell you. I think that one of the most interesting in our lives together is our common language. I don't mean that we both are English speaking in public and then speak french when alone.  the language that I am talking about can best bee described as I speak fluent max and he speaks fluent Linda. It is for this reason that we are not allowed to be on the same trivial pursuit team because we will invariably "smoke" the competition. (it is also because we seem to know a ridiculous amount of trivial information; but that is for another blog) this language phenomenon was brilliantly portrayed in the movie Four Christmases. The yuppie childless couple brought the game "Taboo" to the family Christmas to break up the tension of the divorced families. They were quite confident that they could communicate with each other much more effectively than the husbands "redneck" brother and sister in law. this dynamic was particularly familiar to me. each year we lived through 4 christmas', and I suppose since we all wore jean overalls one year, we could be considered the rednecks. I have even had a relative who was now divorced that she would not want a marriage like ours--even though we have happily been together over 30 years, have 2 children who have completed higher education, never had a pregnancy arrest or drug scare-- because it seemed that we did not talk pleasantly enough to each other. but I digress.
In the movie the yuppie couple of Reece Witherspoon and Vince Vaugan perform abysmally in the game, barely getting a point. The brother and sister in law rocked it! One word or a weird analogy would get the answer in seconds flat. they absolutely decimated the competition. Poor Vince looked like someone had killed his puppy. But I could have warned him; they had their own language: words, stories and phrases brought about from common struggles, triumphs and experiences. It is so powerful that sometimes you don't even have to talk; frequently, you don't have to finish a sentence and sometimes you are even thinking the same thing at the same time.
I think, in our case, sharing the experience of raising a child as special as Connor, amplifies this understanding of each other. there are times when dealing with the intricacies of our lives that there was, quite simply, no time for words. There were other times when, if we had spoken out loud, at the least we would have been questioned and at the greatest we would have been mocked or judged.
Still all in all I count it as one of my blessings of being together so long. Now I can translate for others that when Max says "chubby British singer" he means Phil Collins, or when I say the froggy song from Bugs, he can explain that I mean "Hello, My Baby" or that best of all we can both giggle the cares away simply by saying "Its no big deal".  to others, we may sound like characters from the movie or a star trek episode but to each other, it is our language of love, patience,  understanding and knowing that has taken 36 years to perfect. Just a word of warning though, don't ever play Taboo with us either! unless you want to be smoked as well.

Fibromylagia--the hits just keep on coming!!!

For almost 3 months, until now, I have not been myself. sore all over, every fibre hurting, tired, grumpy and unhappy; essentially, unbearable to be around, even more than usual!
after trying all health and natural remedies that I could, I sought out medical treatment. Within 5  minutes, my MD diagnosed me with fibromylagia--an over diagnosed, much maligned and misunderstood disorder. Since I was content that  I wasn't severely depressed or worse having a mental breakdown, or turning into my mother. I was elated to accept any and all diagnosis' and treatments. after all, I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. My family's reaction was as expected: Max was relieved that it wasn't his fault and there was a treatment (although, per usual, his anti-depressant scepticism kicked in) and Jarrett and Connor had identical responses, "there is no such thing as Fibromylagia; it is a made up disease." I was not surprise by their statements, as I had said as much verbalised the very thoughts years before!
So to the sceptics, I refute: live and learn and don't knock it unless you have been there. If it is a "fake" disorder, then whatever was eating my body and soul up from the inside out, is healed  by the same treatments. Within days, I was feeling better and now 5 weeks later, I am back to my normal, which as anyone who truly knows me is a pale imitation of anyone else's "normal"! But I am virtually pain free or as out of shape 53year old woman with osteoarthritis and various other ailments can be.
many people claim to have a high pain tolerance; indeed, it  is a source of frequent, ironic amusement in my workplace when a woman who has never had a menstrual cramp thinks she can handle natural labour because she has a "high pain tolerance" only to cave at 2cm dilation because she cannot believe how much it hurts.
But pain has been a large part of my life for most of my time on this earth: both emotional and physical. Several joint dislocations, fractures, ligament tears, major surgeries, deaths and divorces did not hold me back or rob me of my will to do the things I truly love; this did. This insidious, creeping physical and emotional pain stole all my desire for anything i derived pleasure from: music, camping, writing, even time with family and friends all fell by the wayside as I struggled to find a way to dissolve the constant driving ache that had become my body. (although Candy Crush saga and I have become best buds!)
But now, I am grateful rather than sore. I am grateful that I did not still have any narcotic prescriptions at hand because I am certain that I would be an addict by now. I am grateful that my physician has vast experience in diagnosing and treating chronic pain disorders, so instead of immediately defaulting to a mood changing, mind numbing opiate, he prescribed the proper chemical balance that my body was lacking and apparently craving for.  I am grateful for my delightful sons who always keep me real--even if they think its imaginary illness--are willing to support any journey I choose to partake in. I am grateful for my long suffering and ever forbearing best friend and husband, who even when I am at my very worst, tells me "You are doing great; way better than any one else in your situation." and says it with such conviction that I actually believe him. But most of all, I am grateful to finally feel myself again; and though many have probably never even noticed she was gone these last few months, watch out world because the bitch is back! ;)
http://www.arthritis.ca/page.aspx?pid=928

What about the kids???

The following is another essay that I composed for an English class  I took in 2006. I am sure that this view is as unpopular today as it was then. My sister in law asked me, when I was writing this, how could these statistics be right, yet not be well known. My response then is the same as it is now too: would you want to tell 50% of the population that their so-called no fault divorces, had these kind of consequences? I have seen nothing in the last 8 years to dissuade me from the stance I took in this essay. in fact, I am more convinced than ever that the propensity toward disposable marriage, is the number one threat to our society and our children's mental and physical well being today. Its damage is visible to me everyday in my workplace with either my clients or my co-workers. You may be asking yourself, "why would she care; her marriage is intact" well partly, because I fought so hard to keep my marriage intact, I know how easy the divorce out seemed. the pressures on the marriage of parents with a child with special needs are indescribable! there is a 70-75% divorce rate amongst our population and we saw it with our own eyes. few of the marriages of couples we began our journey with remain intact. the carnage brought about by the dissolution of those marriages is devastating. Imagine, if you will, trying to arrange custody, support and visitation with the added stressor of a wheelchair, commode and even an ventilator. one couple I knew, divorced but stayed in the same house because neither of them could care for the child alone.  How is that better than just being married????
If you disagree, please keep an open mind (or stop reading now!) I know that being in a marriage is difficult and that ending that discomfort often seems like an easy way out. Additionally, i have frequently added the disclaimer that someone (man or woman) should never stay in a physically abusive relationship. however, how many of our marriages end today from neglect, misunderstanding and starvation, and how many of them have small children who's only desire is to be with their parents? This was a research essay, so unlike other blogs I have written, any statistics shown were well documented and researched.

What about the Kids?
 A great hoax is being perpetrated on our society. the hoax is that despite the vast amount of evidence to the contrary, children of  divorce are better off than children living in a home with unhappy parents.The myth that children have little, or no ill effects from the breakdown of their family, is touted vehemently by parents with culpable consciences. However, the swindle has little or no basis in fact. No matter how much we want to believe it, children of divorce are not better off than their intact marriage counterparts.
The need for this deception began in the 1960's. At that time, the divorce rate was 2.6%. With the enactment of "no-fault" divorce, increased financial independence for women, decreased religious influence and a greater social acceptance of divorce, the rate has climbed to an all time high of 40-50%. with this number of broken homes, there is even more need for parents to believe that their children will be better off after the divorce. Unfortunately, this conviciton is simply not true.
Studies that began in the 1950's, demonstrated that children of divorce fared better than children of conflicted but intact marriages. As time went on, researchers realised that this conclusion was flawed. the results of a long range study, in 1989, indicated that the negative impact of divorce was far greater than anyone had ever thought possible. By this time, several investigators argued, "divorce was a major trauma that affected children, often very negatively and sometimes for the rest of their lives.
Divorce is one of the greatest obstacles facing children today. Compared to children who's marriages are intact, they have higher incidences of sexually acting out, substance abuse, conduct disorders, problems with school and delinquent behaviours. Children of divorce carry with them the pain of divorce for many years and often into adulthood. Children of divorce are more likely to marry early and divorce than children from intact families. They are more likely to have children out of wedlock and to use drugs. Children of post-divorce families have learning difficulties, suffer more problems with their peers and act out more against their parents and teachers than children from intact families. Kids from divorce may even show depressive symptoms such as, anxiety, anger, acting out, falling school grades, a drop in self-esteem and a loss of self-confidence.
Yet, with all this overwhelming evidence, couples are disposing of marriages and families at an alarming rate. they spout the rhetoric that "children must be happier now that their parents are happier." It must be better for the child to be raised by divorced parents, who are now more content than in an unhappy home. As much as we would like to believe that this is true, it just is not so. Most adults who feel trapped in an unhappy marriage would be surprised to find that their children are relatively content. The kids do not care if mommy and daddy sleep together as long as they are together. Children view their parents as a single entity and as such are confused by the tearing apart of their family.
Consider that 80% of marriage break ups occur by the ninth year of marriage. In view of this, the majority of children suffering through divorce have not reached an age where they can intellectually comprehend the reasons for their parents breaking up the family. Splitting a family, to solve family problems, makes no sense to the children. Children do not think of divorce as a remedy; it is the root cause of the trouble, not the answer. Even with older children, who can intellectually understand the reasons for separation, there may be a sense of personal rejection.
few partners plan their divorce. Most divorces are the result of conflict or crisis and there is rarely calm or thought our preparation as to how the couple with interact with each other in a post-divorce relationship. 25% of divorce couples remain intensely conflicted after their separation. these so-called "divorces from hell" are the ones that cause the most damage to the children. Research shows that it is not the divorce in these cases, but the fighting afterwards that is the most troublesome to the children. the feeling of being caught in the middle between the two most important people in your life is a heavy burden for a child and causes the greatest stress for the youngster. The degree to which the children are exposed to this conflict after the divorce will have substantial effect on the child's emotional well being. Indeed, this exposure to conflict, is the single most damaging consequence of divorce.
the effects of divorce on children are so severe that research has revealed that children that lose a parent through death show a better adjustment than that of a child of divorce. When a child loses a parent through death, they are able to grieve openly with the support of the surviving parent. They can speak candidly of the departed parent and cherish their memory. When speaking of the other parent there are no guilty feelings put upon them, only compassion. These children are sad, but not conflicted. Conversely, enduring the anger that parents feel toward each other in a divorce can go on for years. In one study, one third of the couples were fighting at the same intensity 10 years after the initial separation. This perpetual anger toward the other parent, makes it impossible for the child to share their feelings and receive the support they require from their caregivers.
The ease of ending a marriage has certainly had its merits in the adult world. No longer can women be held hostage in an emotionally or physically abusive relationship. The simplicity of ending a marriage has also led to the highest divorce rate ever. No longer to people seem willing to work out their problems or stay together for the kids or as Dr. Mcgraw stated "earn your way out." the myth that children always

 benefit from a divorce, where the parents are happier, continues to exert a subtle and seductive influence on how we think about divorce and how we react to it. The "me" generation, has created absolution for their conscience by continuing to expound the swindle: that children of divorce are better off. Perhaps the parents are better off in the dissolution of a marriage, but what about the kids?