These Small Hours
The Little Wonders of Being Human
When I finally decided to divorce, I drew up a plan… And oh, it was glorious!
But to hear my ex-husband tell it to our mutual friends, the scene became slightly more sinister: picture me wearing a bowler hat, twirling my mustache, and laughing maniacally like a mad scientist about to take over the world!
Muahahaha!
He was certain I was out to get him, especially after my own mother (who had some justified anger issues) would engage in what seemed like an all-out war.
But the truth was far less movie-glamorous.
What was the plan?
To have a slow and peaceful withdrawal from each other’s lives in an attempt to keep our families and the church together for as long as we possibly could, even if the marriage was irrevocably broken. Because in the end, there were people who depended on us—including our two small children—and they were my priority. Regardless of my anger, I wanted to protect their hearts and minds above all else.
Let me explain…
My parents are Cuban missionaries that still lead a small Hispanic church in Miami. My ex was the music minister, so when I got married, I naturally fell into the role of worship and drama leader. We had created a small theater troupe in the church, and oh, the marvelous things we produced! Immersive Vacation Bible Schools, full-length community plays that packed 400 people into our 100-seat church over a weekend run.
In February of 2016, about a year before my husband and I separated, the troupe had become silent and shell-shocked after one of our members had suddenly passed away. He was an incredible human being who lost his battle with cancer at a very young age. Both his family—who made up the majority of that troupe—and my ex-husband would never fully recover.
So logically, I could understand how our friend’s death and my ex-husband’s own cancer scare affected his midlife crisis, resulting in the betrayals that would eventually kill our marriage.
Yes, logically I could understand all the plot twists that ended our story. But emotionally…
Well, I’m not going to enter into specifics because some of those details are not mine to share with the world, but if I can paint you a picture of the aftermath, just imagine me locked in one of the church’s bathrooms—huddled in the corner, hugging my legs and crying hysterically.
There was never a bowler hat or mustache or maniacal laughter. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint, and there were plenty of words and actions born out of anger that I would come to regret.
But the intention had been honorable, even if the “plan” would turn out to be the most naive thing I have ever believed… And I was a die-hard Disney fan growing up with dreams of becoming an Imagineer, so interpret that as you may.
Because despite my worst fears, the church did eventually split up and, at one point, even close its doors after almost 40 years of serving the community. Thankfully, my parents were able to reopen it shortly after in a new location, though the Sunday services included a much smaller crowd.
I also decided to take a step back and away from my ex-husband’s family. I had counted them as part of my own for almost two decades, but my biological family had become my lifeline, so it just felt right to let him have his own. And though I would always miss being a more active participant in my nieces’ and nephews’ lives, I do have to admit that, perhaps… it was just easier letting go.
Maybe that’s why Disney’s Meet the Robinsons—a film I both despise and adore—had such an unexpected impact on my life.
Let me be clear, as a mother, I couldn’t get past the fact that one of the aunts was a puppet, and with grown children, no less! It felt like a violation of a story universe that had otherwise believable tropes (if you consider a giant octopus butler somewhat acceptable).
I might have hated the movie had it not been for the moment Cornelius and Lewis walked into their laboratory… And oh, I was in love! And love can make us forgive just about anything.
Because THAT was my kind of office! A Laboratory for Stories, for light experiments and other impossible things. A place for all my favorite types of madness. “Keep moving forward” indeed!
Then the credits rolled, and something else hit me… it was Rob Thomas’ song “Little Wonders.”
That song became the anthem to my life.
“Let it go
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don’t you know?
The hardest part is over
Let it in
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels.”
In the months that followed, I bought a three-person bunk bed and squeezed into my parents’ guest bedroom with two small chihuahuas and my two children—we had two outside cats, at the time, that actually seemed happy to explore my parents’ larger, lakeside backyard.
I also rigged up one of those night projectors that cast the earth, moon, and stars on the ceiling, and I admit that going to sleep so close to my kids—holding on to each of their hands while watching the moon glide past the earth—was rather wonderful. They would stay up until late laughing and chatting between them, and I’d pretend to be upset about their chatter so they’d get to sleep because they had school the next day.
But now I wish that I’d just let them talk.
Oh, how I loved falling asleep hearing their laughter! They were preteens then, and I didn’t understand how precious and rare those moments would become or just how much time had been wasted by the fighting. Because time flew quickly after that, and in a few short years my babies would disappear and grow up into… teenagers. And if you’re a parent to one of those, well, nothing else needs to be said.
In any case, “Little Wonders” became part of a post-divorce playlist that I would put on loop in the car, letting the feelings wash over me.
“Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists and turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These small hours
Still remain.”
It was almost like a need or an emotional “fix” that I’d return to often… until the day my daughter called me out from the backseat.
“Stop it, Mom,” she ordered.
“What?” I asked, lost in the feelings.
“Stop playing those songs. You get all… weird. I can hear it in your voice.”
It was then that I realized just how comforting it had been to wallow in my melancholy. There was indeed a strange pleasure in licking your own wounds.
So I stopped listening to the playlist, thinking it a step forward in my “recovery.” And then real tragedy struck just a few months later, about a year before COVID hit… Well, if you read my first blog post (The Night I Killed Her), then you know that things spiraled for the worse. At which point, let me tell you…
Melancholy would have been a welcome friend in the company of Despair.
“Let it slide
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
‘Til you feel it all around you
And I don’t mind
If it’s me you need to turn to
We’ll get by
It’s the heart that really matters in the end.”
I do so enjoy watching films and TV to relax—or, as I call it, "doing market research”—and the other night I was in the mood for some retro Disney films, like the old Robin Hood (“Every town has its ups and downs”) and, of course, Meet the Robinsons.
Rewatching it once more made me realize something new…
In today’s world, where AI can recreate human speech and emotions—sometimes with devastating effects on children and adults who are suffering from mental health issues—these small hours, these “little wonders” could truly be the lifelines that save us.
Because a machine can never feel melancholy or understand the complex circumstances that can lead a human being to actually long for it or even choose it over any other emotion—to feel it so deeply that it transforms sadness into a thing of poetic beauty.
These glorious, contradicting imperfections are what make us human—the one thing that AI can never truly imitate or take away. For the day they do… well, let’s just say we’ll have bigger issues than whether they can write a film script or a book.
But then again… Reality is a story, and that too may be just another “twist and turn of fate.”
Like the ending of this story.
Remember that all-out war between my mother and ex-husband? Well, time is indeed a great diplomat because today my ex is back at my parents’ church, helping my father—who's going through his own cancer battle—and my mother is delighted by his presence.
Oh, the irony.
“All of my regret
Will wash away somehow
But I cannot forget
The way I feel right now.”
As for me? Well…
My father is slowly dying.
….
Maybe that’s the real reason for this blog.
Because writing is a catharsis for me. It’s how I make sense of the senseless.
It’s how I keep moving forward.
So yeah, sure, it can be a little weird to see my ex every Sunday, but I love my father more, so as long as he is happy… “We’ll get by. It’s the heart that really matters in the end.”
“Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders
Still remain.”
-G