His n' Hers . . .

If I were to describe divorce as an object, I would have to describe it as a shapeless blob of goo. It has many dimensions, many layers, and oh so many sides. On one side, there is you and on another side there is him. No matter how jolly and amicable you are, at the core, where the nuts and bolts are, there exists some measure of you against him … and if you are that amicable, well damn you for giving up. I can’t put a value on marriage, but I sure can attest to the cost of it falling apart. How bittersweet it is - from this turmoil, priceless gems of insight, experience and growth have emerged, but most of that has been born out of recognition of something lost. I have wasted my fair share of time grieving stuff, literally “stuff” - washer, dryer, garden, house, home, and the pinnacle side-by-side stainless steel fridge I bought with the extra bonus pay from my first overseas mission … it’s so hard to be graceful when you’re in denial about your bitterness. This has been and continues to be silly. It is just stuff and it far under weighs the other far greater expense and reward of divorce - relationships.

Looking back, my ex-husband ceased to be my most treasured and valued best friend very early in our marriage. In fact, now that I think about it, I’m not sure if our relationship even ever got to that stage. There was a very brief time in those first few years that he was my most present and attentive friend, but there were always things that remained safely hidden behind the fences each of us kept hedged up. We never grew to that stage of bare-bones raw honesty. My earliest memory of being sad about those fences is the period of time when we were trying to conceive … I got pregnant quickly and lost the child in the same amount of time. “He” … the dad … was stressed and overwhelmed about work, and I let him focus on that, and was dishonest about how much I needed him. Instead I turned to my best female friend, and she was an incredible solace. I underestimated the significance of the loss - I packaged it neatly and tried to tuck it away, and she didn’t just give me permission, she encouraged the grief … what I failed to recognize was that I needed to be sharing this grief with the father of my lost child. Hence the divide began and swelled quickly from there. I began to run … from myself, from him … and he let me. If there had ever been a chance for us to grow together, that might have been it. Might have … might. Who knows. It’s history.

When you divorce, the loss of the relationship with your spouse is pretty obvious … unless you’re catatonic … which you are some days. There are also the tidily connected relationships. Your parents will always struggle with how to relate to your ex-husband, the father of your child. His parents share that struggle with you. There is tension and frustration. Not very long ago they shared in every occasion of your life … sometimes uninvited, but usually welcomed. They sent cards, they occasionally called. They cared and had the freedom to show it … now they don’t. I’m sure some in-law … or more accurately “ex-laws” choose to overlook this and continue to acknowledge your presence on earth - and I’m sure people in that situation are just as bothered, because the whole thing is quite naturally bothersome. What is far less apparent is the loss of your peripheral acquaintances. People you enjoyed staying in touch with, if only once or twice a year. People your husband went to high school with, guys he played hockey with and buddied around with … you know, the dudes who acted like buffoons at your wedding, and even though you glared you were secretly chuckling a wee bit at the spectacle. There has been so much going on that I’ve barely had the time to notice the evaporation of these loosely connected relationships. There in lies the odd catch-22 of it all - they aren’t necessarily the people you even think to share any of your news with - you failed to inform them that you got into law school, didn’t even consider telling them you bought your first house, and they are the last people you will declare your ecstatic-glee-filled news of new love to (if and when that ever happens) - yet you are bafflingly disappointed to realise that you are no longer the recipient of their news. Yessssss, just as you realize that your friends are magnificently yours, you understand that there are others you sort of miss hearing about on a more routine basis, his friends, who were sort of yours, in a very peripheral way, and they are just not there anymore … they have no reason to include you in their lives. So, you have to be satisfied hearing about these folks the old-fashioned way … through the proverbial grapevine. It is awkward … it is real … and ultimately, it is so not a big deal … save for the fact that you’ve discovered the magnificence of your true friends.

Mmmmhmmm. Now there’s something that’s worth wasting your time on. That’s a magnificent thing.