A friend and I were walking in the park yesterday afternoon when we noticed that the light poles were decorated for Christmas. It was a sunny beautiful day. The bluest sky I’ve ever seen. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, the temperature was about 70 degrees and there’s a big snowflake up there. I love the incongruity. As I admired this picture I started to think about other oxymorons and juxtaposing ideas and words. There are so many of them. Naturally, since this is a blog about my divorce, I started to think along those lines.
Terms like amicable divorce, uncontested divorce, civil litigation, collaborative divorce and no-fault divorce come to mind. Ha! I know there are some amicable divorces out there. Ours wasn’t one of them. I think we’re becoming friendlier as time goes by but it’s complicated when one partner dumps the other. D and I started out with attorneys who were “experts” in collaborative divorce but one of them didn’t really understand what it meant. Someone should remove him from the list of collaborative family lawyers. D’s lawyer and I never did agree to disagree. In fact, I left all our meetings feeling as if I had spent an hour or two in holy hell and knowing that I had been clearly misunderstood. I wondered if he and D weren’t both examples of the oxymoronic adult male. Is there such a thing as an adult male as relates to divorce?
So what’s it like when one partner in a marriage turns up missing? The one left behind starts to recognize the sounds of silence. And at first they are perfectly awful. There’s the sound of me thinking out loud. And I usually didn’t like what I was thinking at the beginning of the separation. There’s a droning silence which is really me mentally moaning. Or sometimes it’s just the refrigerator. There’s a screaming silence which is sometimes interrupted by real screaming–mine. There’s a sneaky silence that wakes me up and I become hyper-alert wondering what I heard. Later, months later, the silence becomes just that–and more often welcome than not.
I can laugh about some of it now. Does that mean my 30-year marriage was just a comedic tragedy? I don’t think so. But the fact that I can laugh means I no longer have the numb feeling that I once had. If dying is a part of life, then maybe I can start to accept the death of my marriage as a part of that process.
OK. If you’ve read this far you’re probably moaning by now. Are you moaning aloud or silently? Sorry about that. Thanks for reading.