It goes without saying that divorce can be brutal on the children. A child is not old enough to understand all of the nuances in a marriage, the confusion on whether or not it is their fault or the fear of being alone while the parents battle their demons. There can be a lot of emotional baggage that is taken on during this time and it has always broken my heart to watch kids around me fight this terrifying beast when it was brought into their life. I admit, there were times when I felt guilty for having such a strong family foundation. My parents married young and even after four kids, they were still going strong with no end in sight. As I write that, I now realize that someone might say, 'those are famous last words'.

My parents renewed their vows on their 40 th anniversary. I was honored to help with the planning of this special occasion and proud to perform a reading by Khalil Gibran the day of. It was an intimate ceremony held in a beautiful old chapel with close friends and family in attendance. With only a few years of marriage experience myself and two young boys, that day reconfirmed to me, what I wanted out of my marriage. Longevity....even 'til death do us part.

Fast forward to some ice cold bottles of beer and half a dozen tequila shots a year later. My dad had just informed my sister and I - that my parents were getting a divorce. He made light of it in his Big Dummy sort of way. My mom left our house in tears without saying a word. My sister and I had to be alone so we could process.

We sat for hours that night following wherever Don Julio led us. Laughing. Crying. Silent. Watching the sun go down.

It was one of those no good reason ugly divorces that was finalized by a kindly judge on their 43rd anniversary last year. I sat in that courtroom attempting to be strong while that day reconfirmed to me, what I didn't want out of my marriage. The end.

Divorce can be brutal on the children, even when they are adults with their own children. With gut wrenching agony, I watched the pain my sister went through in the days leading up to her wedding - not knowing or understanding if marriage meant anything anymore. I sat alone, while my mom went through a horrific twelve hours of surgery - my dad not there pacing and stepping outside every five minutes to smoke, reassuring me that my mom would be okay. I yelled and cursed at my parents like a spoiled teenager not getting my way, all the while wondering if there was something I could have done in the year that they lived with us to make it better. I cried. I wept. I, at times, turned into a blubbering, rubbery mess, scared because the definition of my life had been altered so drastically.

In the wake of divorce, the path of destruction is almost inevitable, but I know my definition of marriage is now mine alone. It is not a hand-me-down from generations past.

It is also something that gave my husband and I a foundation to build on, when emotional cheating was added to our verbal repertoire.