When my son was only six months old his father and I separated. We are still close. We still share many friends and our sweet boy. But our deep love for each other had faded and for a long time this was a huge sadness for me. My parents divorced when I was four, and as a child I vowed to never allow the same thing to happen to my children. I was devastated when we separated, only six months after Goma’s birth. Last summer Goma’s father and I decided to go on a road trip with our son. I called this trip “The Broken Family Road Trip.”
We spent nine days traveling as a family. It was an odd idea. It seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. I am not going to pretend it was easy, but what I can say is that it was very healing. I had spent the last three and a half years filled with guilt about breaking up our family. This trip opened and alleviated my heavy heart. It showed me that separating from Goma’s father was the right decision. The trip was so much more than an eye-opening experience, but this alone was worth it. What I now realize is that my broken family is not actually broken. It is just different. I feel blessed to have such a loving broken family.