As long as I’ll live I’ll never forget looking down at the plate of leftover onions, tomatoes and lettuce, a pretty robin’s egg blue plate I was wrapping with plastic wrap to put into the refrigerator, when he told me he wanted a divorce.
“I just think it’s the best thing for the kids,” he said.
I was blinking back the tears, trying my damnedest not to let him see me cry, to see me in one of my weakest moments, but if he was looking at me I know he saw my heart break right then, right in the middle of cleaning up after dinner.
He asked me if two weeks would be enough time to move out, hugged me as I was bent over the opened dishwasher and apologized, then packed his bag. I didn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his eyes, after I heard the word divorce. I finished the dishes, then went outside to catch my breath, to cry, to scream and breakdown, trying my best to stave off a panic attack. I didn’t hear him leave. I didn’t see him leave. He was there, and then he wasn’t.
All of this is a reality to which I am still adjusting.
A little more than a week ago the kids and I moved out of his house and back into my parents’ house. We packed most of our belongings into boxes and my brothers loaded a storage unit to capacity with our furniture, with our blankets and pillows and curtains, with toys and books and games. We loaded our cats into the car and brought them to my parents’ house too, making them a new home in the garage, something they’re not used to because they’re indoor cats.
There have been a lot of changes in the last two weeks. Changes that are good, changes that are bad, changes that are just indifferent changes. Life will never be the same.
I have a lot of different feelings right now, ranging from hurt to depression to raging anger, and I’m going to do my absolute best to work those out. Out of respect for my husband and our collective children, I will refrain from discussing any of the other details publicly, because it is not a fair nor respectful thing to do to any of them, however, my own healing is my business and I will share it as I see fit.
And healing, right now, is one of the things I’m focused on.
When my first husband left me I spent seven months wallowing so deep in self-pity and drowning in my own tears. Seven entire months, every single day almost, before I realized I’d eventually be okay. I was okay. And I’ll be okay again.
But I am devastated right now because, though we had our problems, I didn’t think I’d ever be in this place again. I thought this was my happy ending and I’m trying to grieve the loss of my marriage, my husband, my stepdaughter, our family, our home, our pets (we left the chickens and dog; the chickens started to finally lay eggs three days after I moved out, I heard).
I’m trying to figure out the next step in my life, because right now I have an entire planet of opportunities in front of me. I want to make smart decisions (because they affect more than just me). I am a single mother again and I have three children to raise; my focus, right now, is 90 percent on them (the other 10 is on school and work and all kinds of other things), right where it should be.
The last decade has brought me four homes, three children, two marriages and two divorces. I’m not very sure if I’m eager to see what the next ten years will bring, to be quite honest, but I know this is just another step along my journey.
In time, this will be just a distant memory, I’m certain, and these past five years will be but a small little bit of time in the grand scheme of my life. As long as I’ll live I won’t forget them, though.
(I suppose it’s unconventional and a little too raw to write, publicly, about being left by your husband, but writing helps me accept it and deal with it. It also reinforces my feelings of being a loser, but this blog has been about my life for 11 years and this is what’s going on.)