Divorce Day

***I wrote this the night before the divorce and didn’t’ publish it, but I’m letting it go now.  Partially this is because I just lost the draft of the other post I’d been working on, and partially because I think someone who is going through this kinda process might relate to it.  I’m sorry it’s so sad, but it’s just where I was at.  I’m doing a lot better again.  I think I was so emotional because it was the last step in our ending.  I have been already rebuilding and moving on for some time now, and it surprised me how fresh it all felt the day before and day of my divorce.  I think it was a “last gasp”, and I’m happy to say it is fading back to where it had been after months and months apart.  I don’t like that my marriage ended or the way it ended, but I feel like I’m making the best of it and the ways in which I am better off.

Quinky Girl did come with me that day and made a terrible day a little bit beautiful by being there and by her love.  Afterwards I had lunch and a few drinks with her and Chicago and Chicago Boy.  Later that night I talked to Cleveland and got a sweet message from Cleveland’s wife.  And later, when I was kinda breaking down again, I talked to Traveler for a long time, saying all the terrible things I was thinking and being loved through each one.  The next day I got up and felt better.  I’m not alone and I am loved.  I’m overall pretty happy again.  I have come a long way since Hubby and I separated and I’m back to that.  But I wanted to let this post go in case someone needed to relate.***

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It’s 1 am the day of.  In the morning I’ll head down to the courthouse and finalize my divorce.  Hubby plans to be there and Quinky Girl is coming with me, thank fucking God.  I didn’t think to ask her or anyone to come and she offered and I very gratefully accepted.

 

girl on bench

A girl sits on a park bench in a fall scene, looking at the empty place next to her.

Getting married you hardly think about the paperwork.  It’s a formality and a legal thing that pales next to the commitment you are taking.  Divorce is the opposite.  It’s all about the paperwork and it’s at 1 am that I can’t stop crying thinking of what was lost.  I’m getting flashes, like a damn movie of him laughing with his head back and his white teeth and the way his eyes crinkled.  I’m remembering dancing in a parking lot with him and how funny it was that he wore my engagement ring before he gave it to me.  I’m thinking of us blessing our dead baby, a fetus sitting in a dixie cup on a silver tray in an ER.  I’m thinking of the first trip we ever took together, to Maui from Oahu, and the drunken happiness of being with him.  I’m thinking of wrestling with him until we were both exhausted, and the way he cried the first time we had sex.  I can picture touching his belly, and holding him when his ex-wife took his daughters to the mainland and he was broken.  I can still feel his tiny kisses on my eyelids and his absurd glee about Jeep trucks and his first one, with the sound system worth more than the truck.  God.  I just can turn it off right now.  It’s almost over.  It’s really been over for a long time now, but it’s almost over.  It’s almost over for real.  I’ve let it come peice meal because otherwise it’s almost too much to bear.  

I still wish I understood.  I wish I could stop loving him too.  I wish I still had him in my life.  It hurts not to be his friend.  I don’t know how to not care about him.  I think of all the painful hurtful mean angry things at the end and it’s just a fact that he wasn’t the man I married anymore.  I waited and waited and waited for him to come back and he didn’t.  He stopped loving me about 9 months before we split.  My hair was falling out and I was nauseated all the time.  The stress was killing me and I couldn’t make him turn back into my love.  I don’t know where he went.  I’ve hypothesized that maybe Hubby had PTSD from that last deployment.. or maybe a brain tumor or a dry drunk.  Maybe he had fucked his woman friend on the boat and the guilt was coming out sideways.  Maybe he’d been drinking.  Maybe it was drugs.  Maybe he hit his head and had a traumatic brain injury.  I don’t know.  HE doesn’t know.  Maybe it was just that RollerGirl really was so much better.  Does it really matter?  Maybe it just doesn’t make sense.

That’s what I finally came to.  It was making me crazy, turning over scenarios and wanting to put a bow on it.  And even if I could somehow understand it, it wouldn’t actually change anything.  We still wouldn’t be together.  Whatever we had for all those years is dead now and there isn’t any bringing it back.  All that stuff really happened and it’s all really over.  It doesnt make sense because it doesn’t make sense.

In the end, I’m grateful.  I wouldn’t have wanted to live that life with anyone but him.  I wish it had been sweeter for longer, but I was pretty lucky to have had it at all.  We had a really good run.  And I’m lucky that in the dust of all of that I’m here… loving and loved.  My heart was strong enough to survive the end and to be vulnerable in the midst.  I’m still able to see the magic in my life and know that I am infinitely blessed, and no, I do not mean just with Traveler and Cleveland.  And no, not a bit of the absolute happiness I feel with them changes the hole that Hubby left.  People just aren’t replaceable like that.  And I don’t know that either of those relationships will last either or that I won’t be writing something like this about them.  Law of averages says that I will likely write something like this about both of them.  I try hard not to think about that.

I met Hubby July 17, 2000.  We married August 10, 2002.  I’m thinking about all of our road trips and vacations.  I’m remembering our little rituals and traditions.  I’m reliving our private jokes.  I’m thinking about the difficult stuff and the ways we loved each other through it.  I’m thinking of all of the affection and all of our dreams.  I feel like a failure and I keep telling myself, over and over, that it wasn’t a failure.  It’s just not.  Loving Evan was one of the profound successes of my life.  I love him still.  A love is not a failure, even when it comes to this.

I’m happy in my new life, and I’m liking where I’m at and where I’m going.  I’m enormously grateful for the love and support in my life.  I can’t, literally am unable to put into words, what it means to me that Quinky Girl will be there tomorrow.  I don’t want to be morose tomorrow and I don’t want to cry in my beer afterward.  I’m trying to get that out now.  I’m letting myself get all nostalgic tonight while I’m alone.  I didn’t pull out the photo albums and I still can’t read the love letters.  I didn’t play sad music.  I did cry.  Profusely.  It’s been a while since I cried like this about this.  But I felt I owed my pound of flesh tonight, something to mark the end.  I don’t want to cry in court tomorrow.  Tomorrow it is all about the paperwork.

 

4 Comments

  1. Your writing resonates. You have one word in there that takes my mind into a what if swirl…’hubby’. You use it, after the fact, with what I want to believe is with some residual affection…poignant. Best wishes

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  2. I’m so glad that it resonated with you. What a kind thing to say. 🙂 I did use Hubby with affection. I have a lot of affection for him. I’ve loved him my whole adult life pretty much and he was my best friend through 13 years of marriage and 6 moves with just us. I hope we’ll be friends some day.

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