It felt more like a death than a divorce. Memories and tears flowed when I came home, or walked from room to room, cooked, or ate, or went to bed alone. The house seemed empty, quiet, and lonely. Very lonely.
So much to do. Closets to pack, house to clean, stuff to store or bring to the thrift store. And then to move to a new place. And after that, to somehow move on.
Grieving felt like death. You were gone now, in another place, and I had no access to you, except through memories of the past and imaginary conversations. Without a present I couldn’t imagine a future. Just more of the same - no emails, no texts, no calls, no cards. No nothing.
My wedding ring became the headstone over the grave of our marriage. I finally removed it from my finger once it no longer pictured the life we shared. The circle was broken.
So I wore it on a chain around my neck to share space with the cross of Jesus that my mother gave me long ago. There, it hung hidden from view, except when I showered or changed clothes, or held it to my chest in bed at night.
My ring became my place to mourn. A safe place to drain my tears, to help heaving become breathing again, to calm myself, and then walk away. Until tomorrow. I visited my ring as often as I needed, until I didn’t need it so much, or in the same way anymore. Then I felt able to place it in its original box, which I keep in a drawer with pictures and other things that make me smile.
Our Shared Life made an indelible mark upon me. A deep impression, like the one that my ring pressed into my finger, which has filled and smoothed a bit over the years, but remains clearly visible to my trained eye.
Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself doing or saying something that I learned from you. No day passes without grateful thoughts that make me smile or even laugh. Little by little I’m growing into Me-Myself, whom I never would have known without You-Yourself.
Time.
They say that “Time Heals all Wounds”, unless you prefer the pun, “Time Wounds All Heels.” But that’s another story, not ours.
Ours took a different turn. One that was years in the making. One where something at the heart of who we were, has grown to become part of who we are today.
In time, we’ve learned to talk and laugh and trust again. And then in some wonderful and unexpected way, we were gradually able to rebuild our friendship and eventually share a home again, but differently than when we were married.
Our home now includes common spaces we appropriately share, and other spaces - like our bedrooms, which we intentionally keep private. You have yours, and I have mine. Some spaces belong to both of us. Others are ours alone.
The path we travel together has not led us back to the way things that used to be, but forward to the way things are now. Maybe to the way things need to be. We did not remain the “me and you” of yesterday, but have grown into the “Me-Myself” and “You-Yourself” of today.
Somehow, I believe God has been present along this winding path, guided us toward a New Kind of Us.
It’s hard to know how to talk about the Us we are today. I’ve never been comfortable with calling you my “ex-wife.” I’ve tried “former wife”, which is gentler but still not right. “Best friend” seems closer. And “Brother and Sister” may paint the most accurate picture of the way we live.
Sometimes I just say, “we are divorced but we’re still family.” We’re still Mom and Dad. We’re still Grandma and Grandpa. We’re still Aunt and Uncle. We’re still Sister-in-Law, and Brother-in- Law. We’re still family.
We wear no rings to symbolize our bond anymore. The ring I once wore remains in the drawer as a symbol of gratitude for what was, and of grief for what was lost. It tells the truth about our marriage and divorce, but not about the life we live today.
Maybe our home and lifestyle say it best. Maybe they tell us all we need to know about who we are and who we’re becoming. Maybe we taste it in the meals we share. Or hear it in the sound of our laughter, or singing, or in the stories we tell about our day.
Newness has come. That’s all I know.