I signed my divorce papers today, agreeing that my marriage is ''irrevocably broken''.
Next week we both sign the settlement papers, and then they file. It takes 31 days after that, so we are talking about early August.
Our 11th wedding anniversary is on July 29th. We got married on 07-29-07.
We had big plans for our 11th anniversary. This time last year, after I had to cancel the trip to New York/Iceland/England because I was on chemotherapy, we talked about what we do this year instead.
Initially, I was going to have an Icelandic ring with the same inscription as my wedding band, ''Never Apart'', but in Icelandic. I picked it out and everything, it was simple and very Scandanavian-looking. I thought it would be cool to have a new one every ten years from a different place, with an inscription in that language. Then when I am an old lady, I have this amazing collection of rings with all of these wonderful stories to go along with them.
Then I got cancer, and wondered if I would live to see 40.
So it was decided we wouldn't go to Iceland and go somewhere else. We tossed ideas around; Gondolas around Venice, and taking the train to Verona and seeing Romeo and Juliet in an ancient colosseum. Strolling around Paris, picnicking beside the Eiffel Tower with baguettes and croissants and visiting Marie Antoinette's country home and the Palace of Versailles. We had all sorts of ideas. Well, I had all sorts of ideas. I like a bit of culture on my vacations, but he would be happy to sit on a damn beach somewhere where it's ''lovely and hot''. The British obsession with heat drives me crazy. Still, whenever I go to any beach forever more I will always think, ''Wow, he would love this''. I wonder if it will always make me a little sad when I do.
I asked him to surprise me for our 10th anniversary with a ring from the place we'd go next year and a Lonely Planet book. Since we couldn't go on our big trip, it would at least give me something to look forward to. I love planning itineraries. My Canadian friend lovingly laughed at me and called me ''type triple A'' when I showed her my itinerary for Vancouver 6 months before the trip, with my plans organized into morning/afternoon/evening. Anyway, I said he could pick the place, I didn't care. I'd be happy to go anywhere with him.
In the meantime, it turned out that my ''off'' chemo week would be on our anniversary, so I planned a long weekend away at the beach in Hilton Head, South Carolina. I thought it would very poetic, to be on the Atlantic, just like when we got married.
I bought him a huge set of speakers for his record room and wrapped it with gold and white paper. I put in on the hearth, along with other gold and white decorations. Then I covered it with a sheet, so he wouldn't see it until we got back from our trip.
On our anniversary I had packed the tapestry that we got engaged on, with a bottle of champagne to open at exactly noon on the beach, 10 years to the minute of our ceremony. I handed him a card with ships on it and talked about how lucky I was to ''navigate through life'' with him. I also bought something special to wear that night, one of those silky, lacy numbers.
He didn't have anything for me. Not a card. Not a ring. Not a Lonely Planet book. Nothing.
He had said he couldn't find a ring from a foreign jeweler, and wasn't sure where to go so didn't buy a Lonely Planet book. I even said, ''Forget the ring, just pick a place and buy the book and that could be my gift.'' No dice. In response to his dilemma, I decided to forget about the book, and instead order an ethically-sourced, Kimberly-processed sapphire on a rose gold band from an indy artist in Brooklyn. I kept reminding him to order it for weeks, it was even in the online shopping cart. He was busy looking at records for his collection instead, and didn't order it in time. He gave it to me a couple of weeks later, when he took me kayaking. It is a lovely ring, and a nice memory of us together, but I couldn't help but feel neglected on our anniversary. What if this was our last anniversary? Our last family vacation? I still had cancer in my body. There was no guarantee I was going to make it on the other end of this thing. When I should have been made to feel like I was the most cherished, loved, adored person on the planet, I couldn't help but feel like an after-thought. Even though it wasn't Iceland or Venice or Paris, it had the potential to be our best anniversary if we both put some thought into it. The trouble was, it was only me.
If there was ever a time when I needed to feel cherished and loved and adored it was then. I had just finished my 7/8 chemo treatment and was at the point where I thought I couldn't handle one more. My bone pain was horrific, I was bald, losing my eyelashes, my nails were trying to fall off, and I was four weeks away from a double mastectomy. I was poisoned, traumatized, and terrified. And still, I looked at this anniversary as a way of feeling like a happy family, and remembering our good times together, and celebrating ten incredible years of happiness together, and, if only for a few days, being released from the grip of the cancer monster.
And now here I am, a year later, and instead of jetting off somewhere for our anniversary I am signing papers saying our marriage is ''irrevocably broken''.
I thought when he came back on Wednesday from the attorney's office he might have said, ''I couldn't go through with it! Let's have another chance to make this work. I will do whatever it takes, but let's try one more time.''
But, he didn't. In fact, he suggested we start sleeping separately. He doesn't mind being intimate still, but doesn't want to share a bed with me anymore. Too awkward.
Last night when I asked how he felt about the divorce he said, ''It doesn't feel...wrong.''
I thought, when he hesitated, he might say, ''It doesn't feel right.''
This morning he brought the baby in to me in the bedroom across the hall, and I told him to have a good day at work and that I missed him. I thought he might say he missed me, too, but he said, ''Oh, now you miss me?'.
I guess I always thought that I would be married to a man who would fight to keep me. Who would want to spend every night he could with me while he could. Who would miss me. Who would bring me chicken noodle soup from Panera Bread when I was sick with chemo without arguing about the cost ($9), or the inconvenience of driving the 10 minutes there. Who would massage me for a minute, without complaint, to help me fall asleep, as I lay in bed with crippling bone pain so bad I could barely walk. Who would have a sweet card for me on our 10th anniversary, or even a pink rose like the ones I wore in my hair on our wedding day. Who would happily take down the fall decorations for me, without me having to beg and being told, ''When the house is cleaner'', even though I was 4 weeks out from major surgery and still couldn't bend or lift anything because my insides were stitched and glued back together. Who would say after I endured the worst pain of my life after having my broken wrist re-set, ''I am sorry I couldn't be there for you, but I am here now. Whatever you need, I am here for you'', instead of, ''Well you came in and started complaining, so I guess it didn't hurt you that bad.''
My logical side says that, ultimately, he did buy that soup for me. He did massage me, not every time I asked, but a lot. He did get me the ring I wanted, just late. He did eventually take down the fall decorations. He did help out a bit more around the house when my cast was on for 2 months and I only had one hand.
That part of me wants to say this whole thing has gone far enough, and we will go back to marriage counseling and sift through this whole mess and work out our issues and come hell or high-water we are sure as shit not getting a damn divorce. That is the warrior within myself. That is my instinct, to fight. To fight like hell. I don't give up easily, and in this case, it feels like I am. It goes against my nature.
But the rest of me cannot help but be troubled that those were his initial responses.
It reminds me of that quote, ''When someone shows you their true colors the first time, believe them''. It is that part that is letting whatever will be be and allowing the warrior within to rest. She needs to rest. She deserves to rest.
I tell myself he is a wonderful provider, he bought me a new car during my treatment, he is a loving father. He is smart, and funny, and caring, in his own way. Isn't that enough? What is wrong with me that that isn't enough?
Between the two of us, I have always been the fighter. The one who doesn't give up, and will move heaven and earth to solve a problem. I think it is due to my upbringing, and having to be independent from a very early age. I learned how to fight, and be resilient. He grew up very sheltered, and I don't think he ever really learned those things. I guess after fighting for my life and going through hell and back again, I am just sick of fighting. I cannot be the only one to fight for our marriage.
I want to shake him and say, ''This is it. It's really happening. We can still try to fix this It's not too late.'' But I have too much pride. And, the reality is, it is too late. It's too damn late.
He says he wants to get it over with now, while we are still amicable. He doesn't want us to separate, as I suggested, and live separately, and then one or both of us starts seeing someone, getting our heads filled with ideas, and then have to divorce. And it's ugly, and there are other people involved in our business. If we divorce now, we are agreeable, and totally separate to live our own lives, and still have family day on Sunday and spend holidays and birthdays together and not hate each other.
I agree with all of that. I really do.
It doesn't mean it's easy, though.
I think why I am so affected is because it triggers loss for me. I have lost my father, stepfather, grandparents, brother, my breasts, my autonomy, my hair, my old, pre-cancer identity, and now I am losing my husband and our dream home and our happy little family unit.
I am allowed to be mournful. I am allowed to grieve.
I keep reminding myself of what I have to gain, too. An adorable new house. My new classroom and students. A few nights a week to do anything I want, like go to the gym, or my meditation circle, or dinner with a friend, or a trip to the movies, or a walk in the woods, or sit on my porch swing and read a book without being interrupted 25 times. And, maybe one day, when I am not so broken and fucked up, I'll meet someone totally wonderful like Rupert, who will love me more than I ever thought possible and hold me tight and never want to let me go in a thousand universes. Maybe he'll be like this young man from Aroostook County, Maine, and want to be buy me bread-and-butter and hoop skirts and waterfalls. And, all the while, I will have an ex-husband who is my best friend, who will still have my back. Who I can call when I am having a crisis, or need help remembering the name of that place we went to years ago, or just when I am feeling lonely and missing him.
Some people don't have those things. Some women leave abusive relationships and live in shelters and hate their ex-husbands. So really, this is the best possible situation. It's not going to get any better than this, so I should feel lucky. Some people don't even have one person in their life they know they can always count on, and I will always have that with him. We will always know we are there for each other, even if we live across town and aren't married anymore.
Still, I want more.
I wish he loved me as much as I love him.
I wish he would have done all of those things for me that I needed.
I wish he would have gone back to marriage counseling.
I wish he would have said he would do anything to keep me.
I wish my heart wasn't broken into a thousand pieces.
I wish he was different. I wish I could look at him differently, like how I used to.
I wish I was different. I wish I was the person who I was before I had cancer.
I wish I could go back in time to right before I had cancer, and soak in every moment of happiness.
I wish we could grow old together in our house and have memories of our children growing up here.
I wish he would have held me more, threw his arms around me and just held me. He never really did.
His words still echo in my mind...''It doesn't feel...wrong.''
All the while, some interesting things happened recently. Intuitive things. Remember that dream I told you about in Handfasting and Wildfire, where I wore a crown of evergreen and ivy in my hair? Well yesterday I spoke with my cousin Jeff in Michigan. I have never met cousin Jeff, but he and his family are flying all the way to Snohomish, Washington during my trip there, so we can see our old family homestead and farmland and visit them all at the Civil War cemetery and go out for a big lunch. Anyway, he called me to say that he has arranged for this whole re-enactment of a Civil War burial ceremony in which we will all have a speaking role. He even has Civil War re-enactors coming there with a bugle and everything. Being a history buff must be genetic, because I happen to be a history teacher, and two of my other cousins that will be there are history teachers, too. So I read the script he sent me for my speaking role, and you will never guess what kind of wreath is laid on the grave. Evergreen! So I dreamt about getting married again with an evergreen crown in my hair, and will now be placing an evergreen wreath on my GGGrandfather's grave in Snohomish. Another weird thing about this GGGrandfather is that he fought at the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain, and I happened to hike there frequently before I even knew that. In fact, I grew up a thousand miles away and just so happened to move to the next town over. He also went by his middle name, Monroe, and I will just so happen to be seeing someone in Monroe, Washington, 6 miles away from where he is buried. Weird, right?
There have been other things, too. Lots of things. I won't bore you with them all, but I think these are good signs that the universe is looking out for me, and that I am welcoming the right people in my life and will have an amazing trip in September. I mean, I have always wanted to go to the Pacific Northwest, and I will be there in 12 weeks! How lucky am I?
I also wonder if it -the universe- is telling me to trust my instincts, but I am in such a muddle I don't even know what my instincts are telling me anymore. I don't want to confuse my feelings about divorcing with thinking that it isn't the right thing. I think it still is the right thing, even if it hurts like hell. Like hell. Like gut-wrenching, torturous, brutal hell. Too theatrical? Sorry.
So here I am, on the deck, children playing and birds singing and everything is okay. It really is okay. I looked a house this morning before the attorney's office, to give me a shred of hope and something to look forward to, and it was lovely. It had a wrap-around from porch and new everything. It was 15 minutes from my job, 25 from their school, and 8 from a downtown area complete with a cute country store and access to Atlanta's Silver Comet Trail. It had big fenced-in yard and the first thing my children said was, ''This is perfect for playing fetch with Poe and growing a whole bunch of vegetables!''. They were right, too...it was. We could all see ourselves being very happy there. ''Will we buy this one, Mama?'', they asked excitedly. The good thing about excitement is that it is usually contagious.
We've had a couple of days of nasty storms, but today is sunny and pleasant. Maybe I am currently going through a nasty storm myself, but the days ahead will be sunny and pleasant, too. I just need to keep hanging on for dear life and trust that everything is unfolding as it should.
In closing, a huge thank you to everyone who responded with their own stories of divorce, co-parenting and re-marriage. The best advice I received was from someone who was now blissfully happy after 14 years of being married to her second husband. She said that she decided what three things she would need from her new spouse that were totally non-negotiable. The rest she could work with, what didn't make the list. His looks, for instance, she was able to ''sexy him up'' a bit. She calls him her ''intellectual soulmate''. I thought that sounded sweet, having an intellectual soulmate. I am not ready to make my own list yet, no where near ready, but when I do I know what will be the first thing on it: Empathy.
Thanks for weathering my storm with me, friends.
Much love. XO
** A link below to a song called Hoppipolla by an Icelandic band called Sigur Ros. It means ''Jumping in Puddles'' and is about emerging from the dark into the light. It suits my mood perfectly right now. **
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnAwPeqrdAk
Next week we both sign the settlement papers, and then they file. It takes 31 days after that, so we are talking about early August.
Our 11th wedding anniversary is on July 29th. We got married on 07-29-07.
We had big plans for our 11th anniversary. This time last year, after I had to cancel the trip to New York/Iceland/England because I was on chemotherapy, we talked about what we do this year instead.
Initially, I was going to have an Icelandic ring with the same inscription as my wedding band, ''Never Apart'', but in Icelandic. I picked it out and everything, it was simple and very Scandanavian-looking. I thought it would be cool to have a new one every ten years from a different place, with an inscription in that language. Then when I am an old lady, I have this amazing collection of rings with all of these wonderful stories to go along with them.
Then I got cancer, and wondered if I would live to see 40.
So it was decided we wouldn't go to Iceland and go somewhere else. We tossed ideas around; Gondolas around Venice, and taking the train to Verona and seeing Romeo and Juliet in an ancient colosseum. Strolling around Paris, picnicking beside the Eiffel Tower with baguettes and croissants and visiting Marie Antoinette's country home and the Palace of Versailles. We had all sorts of ideas. Well, I had all sorts of ideas. I like a bit of culture on my vacations, but he would be happy to sit on a damn beach somewhere where it's ''lovely and hot''. The British obsession with heat drives me crazy. Still, whenever I go to any beach forever more I will always think, ''Wow, he would love this''. I wonder if it will always make me a little sad when I do.
I asked him to surprise me for our 10th anniversary with a ring from the place we'd go next year and a Lonely Planet book. Since we couldn't go on our big trip, it would at least give me something to look forward to. I love planning itineraries. My Canadian friend lovingly laughed at me and called me ''type triple A'' when I showed her my itinerary for Vancouver 6 months before the trip, with my plans organized into morning/afternoon/evening. Anyway, I said he could pick the place, I didn't care. I'd be happy to go anywhere with him.
In the meantime, it turned out that my ''off'' chemo week would be on our anniversary, so I planned a long weekend away at the beach in Hilton Head, South Carolina. I thought it would very poetic, to be on the Atlantic, just like when we got married.
I bought him a huge set of speakers for his record room and wrapped it with gold and white paper. I put in on the hearth, along with other gold and white decorations. Then I covered it with a sheet, so he wouldn't see it until we got back from our trip.
On our anniversary I had packed the tapestry that we got engaged on, with a bottle of champagne to open at exactly noon on the beach, 10 years to the minute of our ceremony. I handed him a card with ships on it and talked about how lucky I was to ''navigate through life'' with him. I also bought something special to wear that night, one of those silky, lacy numbers.
He didn't have anything for me. Not a card. Not a ring. Not a Lonely Planet book. Nothing.
He had said he couldn't find a ring from a foreign jeweler, and wasn't sure where to go so didn't buy a Lonely Planet book. I even said, ''Forget the ring, just pick a place and buy the book and that could be my gift.'' No dice. In response to his dilemma, I decided to forget about the book, and instead order an ethically-sourced, Kimberly-processed sapphire on a rose gold band from an indy artist in Brooklyn. I kept reminding him to order it for weeks, it was even in the online shopping cart. He was busy looking at records for his collection instead, and didn't order it in time. He gave it to me a couple of weeks later, when he took me kayaking. It is a lovely ring, and a nice memory of us together, but I couldn't help but feel neglected on our anniversary. What if this was our last anniversary? Our last family vacation? I still had cancer in my body. There was no guarantee I was going to make it on the other end of this thing. When I should have been made to feel like I was the most cherished, loved, adored person on the planet, I couldn't help but feel like an after-thought. Even though it wasn't Iceland or Venice or Paris, it had the potential to be our best anniversary if we both put some thought into it. The trouble was, it was only me.
If there was ever a time when I needed to feel cherished and loved and adored it was then. I had just finished my 7/8 chemo treatment and was at the point where I thought I couldn't handle one more. My bone pain was horrific, I was bald, losing my eyelashes, my nails were trying to fall off, and I was four weeks away from a double mastectomy. I was poisoned, traumatized, and terrified. And still, I looked at this anniversary as a way of feeling like a happy family, and remembering our good times together, and celebrating ten incredible years of happiness together, and, if only for a few days, being released from the grip of the cancer monster.
And now here I am, a year later, and instead of jetting off somewhere for our anniversary I am signing papers saying our marriage is ''irrevocably broken''.
I thought when he came back on Wednesday from the attorney's office he might have said, ''I couldn't go through with it! Let's have another chance to make this work. I will do whatever it takes, but let's try one more time.''
But, he didn't. In fact, he suggested we start sleeping separately. He doesn't mind being intimate still, but doesn't want to share a bed with me anymore. Too awkward.
Last night when I asked how he felt about the divorce he said, ''It doesn't feel...wrong.''
I thought, when he hesitated, he might say, ''It doesn't feel right.''
This morning he brought the baby in to me in the bedroom across the hall, and I told him to have a good day at work and that I missed him. I thought he might say he missed me, too, but he said, ''Oh, now you miss me?'.
I guess I always thought that I would be married to a man who would fight to keep me. Who would want to spend every night he could with me while he could. Who would miss me. Who would bring me chicken noodle soup from Panera Bread when I was sick with chemo without arguing about the cost ($9), or the inconvenience of driving the 10 minutes there. Who would massage me for a minute, without complaint, to help me fall asleep, as I lay in bed with crippling bone pain so bad I could barely walk. Who would have a sweet card for me on our 10th anniversary, or even a pink rose like the ones I wore in my hair on our wedding day. Who would happily take down the fall decorations for me, without me having to beg and being told, ''When the house is cleaner'', even though I was 4 weeks out from major surgery and still couldn't bend or lift anything because my insides were stitched and glued back together. Who would say after I endured the worst pain of my life after having my broken wrist re-set, ''I am sorry I couldn't be there for you, but I am here now. Whatever you need, I am here for you'', instead of, ''Well you came in and started complaining, so I guess it didn't hurt you that bad.''
My logical side says that, ultimately, he did buy that soup for me. He did massage me, not every time I asked, but a lot. He did get me the ring I wanted, just late. He did eventually take down the fall decorations. He did help out a bit more around the house when my cast was on for 2 months and I only had one hand.
That part of me wants to say this whole thing has gone far enough, and we will go back to marriage counseling and sift through this whole mess and work out our issues and come hell or high-water we are sure as shit not getting a damn divorce. That is the warrior within myself. That is my instinct, to fight. To fight like hell. I don't give up easily, and in this case, it feels like I am. It goes against my nature.
But the rest of me cannot help but be troubled that those were his initial responses.
It reminds me of that quote, ''When someone shows you their true colors the first time, believe them''. It is that part that is letting whatever will be be and allowing the warrior within to rest. She needs to rest. She deserves to rest.
I tell myself he is a wonderful provider, he bought me a new car during my treatment, he is a loving father. He is smart, and funny, and caring, in his own way. Isn't that enough? What is wrong with me that that isn't enough?
Between the two of us, I have always been the fighter. The one who doesn't give up, and will move heaven and earth to solve a problem. I think it is due to my upbringing, and having to be independent from a very early age. I learned how to fight, and be resilient. He grew up very sheltered, and I don't think he ever really learned those things. I guess after fighting for my life and going through hell and back again, I am just sick of fighting. I cannot be the only one to fight for our marriage.
I want to shake him and say, ''This is it. It's really happening. We can still try to fix this It's not too late.'' But I have too much pride. And, the reality is, it is too late. It's too damn late.
He says he wants to get it over with now, while we are still amicable. He doesn't want us to separate, as I suggested, and live separately, and then one or both of us starts seeing someone, getting our heads filled with ideas, and then have to divorce. And it's ugly, and there are other people involved in our business. If we divorce now, we are agreeable, and totally separate to live our own lives, and still have family day on Sunday and spend holidays and birthdays together and not hate each other.
I agree with all of that. I really do.
It doesn't mean it's easy, though.
I think why I am so affected is because it triggers loss for me. I have lost my father, stepfather, grandparents, brother, my breasts, my autonomy, my hair, my old, pre-cancer identity, and now I am losing my husband and our dream home and our happy little family unit.
I am allowed to be mournful. I am allowed to grieve.
I keep reminding myself of what I have to gain, too. An adorable new house. My new classroom and students. A few nights a week to do anything I want, like go to the gym, or my meditation circle, or dinner with a friend, or a trip to the movies, or a walk in the woods, or sit on my porch swing and read a book without being interrupted 25 times. And, maybe one day, when I am not so broken and fucked up, I'll meet someone totally wonderful like Rupert, who will love me more than I ever thought possible and hold me tight and never want to let me go in a thousand universes. Maybe he'll be like this young man from Aroostook County, Maine, and want to be buy me bread-and-butter and hoop skirts and waterfalls. And, all the while, I will have an ex-husband who is my best friend, who will still have my back. Who I can call when I am having a crisis, or need help remembering the name of that place we went to years ago, or just when I am feeling lonely and missing him.
Still, I want more.
I wish he loved me as much as I love him.
I wish he would have done all of those things for me that I needed.
I wish he would have gone back to marriage counseling.
I wish he would have said he would do anything to keep me.
I wish my heart wasn't broken into a thousand pieces.
I wish he was different. I wish I could look at him differently, like how I used to.
I wish I was different. I wish I was the person who I was before I had cancer.
I wish I could go back in time to right before I had cancer, and soak in every moment of happiness.
I wish we could grow old together in our house and have memories of our children growing up here.
I wish he would have held me more, threw his arms around me and just held me. He never really did.
His words still echo in my mind...''It doesn't feel...wrong.''
All the while, some interesting things happened recently. Intuitive things. Remember that dream I told you about in Handfasting and Wildfire, where I wore a crown of evergreen and ivy in my hair? Well yesterday I spoke with my cousin Jeff in Michigan. I have never met cousin Jeff, but he and his family are flying all the way to Snohomish, Washington during my trip there, so we can see our old family homestead and farmland and visit them all at the Civil War cemetery and go out for a big lunch. Anyway, he called me to say that he has arranged for this whole re-enactment of a Civil War burial ceremony in which we will all have a speaking role. He even has Civil War re-enactors coming there with a bugle and everything. Being a history buff must be genetic, because I happen to be a history teacher, and two of my other cousins that will be there are history teachers, too. So I read the script he sent me for my speaking role, and you will never guess what kind of wreath is laid on the grave. Evergreen! So I dreamt about getting married again with an evergreen crown in my hair, and will now be placing an evergreen wreath on my GGGrandfather's grave in Snohomish. Another weird thing about this GGGrandfather is that he fought at the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain, and I happened to hike there frequently before I even knew that. In fact, I grew up a thousand miles away and just so happened to move to the next town over. He also went by his middle name, Monroe, and I will just so happen to be seeing someone in Monroe, Washington, 6 miles away from where he is buried. Weird, right?
There have been other things, too. Lots of things. I won't bore you with them all, but I think these are good signs that the universe is looking out for me, and that I am welcoming the right people in my life and will have an amazing trip in September. I mean, I have always wanted to go to the Pacific Northwest, and I will be there in 12 weeks! How lucky am I?
I also wonder if it -the universe- is telling me to trust my instincts, but I am in such a muddle I don't even know what my instincts are telling me anymore. I don't want to confuse my feelings about divorcing with thinking that it isn't the right thing. I think it still is the right thing, even if it hurts like hell. Like hell. Like gut-wrenching, torturous, brutal hell. Too theatrical? Sorry.
So here I am, on the deck, children playing and birds singing and everything is okay. It really is okay. I looked a house this morning before the attorney's office, to give me a shred of hope and something to look forward to, and it was lovely. It had a wrap-around from porch and new everything. It was 15 minutes from my job, 25 from their school, and 8 from a downtown area complete with a cute country store and access to Atlanta's Silver Comet Trail. It had big fenced-in yard and the first thing my children said was, ''This is perfect for playing fetch with Poe and growing a whole bunch of vegetables!''. They were right, too...it was. We could all see ourselves being very happy there. ''Will we buy this one, Mama?'', they asked excitedly. The good thing about excitement is that it is usually contagious.
In closing, a huge thank you to everyone who responded with their own stories of divorce, co-parenting and re-marriage. The best advice I received was from someone who was now blissfully happy after 14 years of being married to her second husband. She said that she decided what three things she would need from her new spouse that were totally non-negotiable. The rest she could work with, what didn't make the list. His looks, for instance, she was able to ''sexy him up'' a bit. She calls him her ''intellectual soulmate''. I thought that sounded sweet, having an intellectual soulmate. I am not ready to make my own list yet, no where near ready, but when I do I know what will be the first thing on it: Empathy.
Thanks for weathering my storm with me, friends.
Much love. XO
** A link below to a song called Hoppipolla by an Icelandic band called Sigur Ros. It means ''Jumping in Puddles'' and is about emerging from the dark into the light. It suits my mood perfectly right now. **
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnAwPeqrdAk
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