I've been doing mostly OK since the divorce. I have felt wistful at times, even a little anxious, but not nearly what I was prepared for - I (and others) fully expected a full nervous breakdown. My doctor even asked if it was necessary if I attend the actual court proceedings.
I spent the 45 minutes before the hearing wondering if my husband would show up, and if I really wanted him to, and what the hell would I say to him if he DID show, wishing he would because I really needed him there - and ultimately - he didn't. I don't know why. I could guess, but - honestly - I have been guessing and second-guessing his behavior for years, and I am too tired now to mess with it.
I do feel sad about it. We never really talked about why he left - other than he was miserable... miserable how? Miserable in what way? Miserable-how-the-hell-can-I-do-anything-about-the-problem-if-you-won't-talk-to-me? We never really talked about him moving out. He announced he was doing it and *poof* he was gone. We never really talked about his affair. He said he was having an emotional affair with her the day he moved out. That he needed space and time to work on things. We never talked about that deception. We never talked about anything really.
I guess, ultimately, I'm not really surprised he didn't show up for the divorce.
And I was pretty much OK until tonight. Tonight, I came home and the apartment dumpster was empty. I thought, "Oh! Now would be a good time to dump the mattress! It would be on the bottom, and wouldn't take up a lot of room that way!" I even went so far as to thinking about how silly it would look to have a friend and her son help us get it into the dumpster. This mattress set is old - and neither I nor ex-Mr are small people. My folks are giving me a spare set from their place to replace it, so this really seemed like a good idea.
And then all hell broke loose - a figurative emotional hell. Not quite histrionics, but definitely in the snotting on the shirt because Kleenexes just aren't going to cut it category.
I realized I'm not ready to give my bed up. It is my marriage bed. It is my bed. It was our bed. My husband held me in that bed. He loved me - as best as he was able - in that bed. I slept beside him and felt safe in that bed. Our dog chewed a hole in the mattress and bled on it when he tried to go through the bedroom window after the postman. We tickled our kids in that bed. It still holds the depression of his body. He read to me in that space. I grieved for him, and for our marriage, in that space. I still wake up reaching for him in the night expecting him to be there - and he isn't.
I understand the sacredness of that space is lost on him. I know (now) that he was sleeping with her whilst he was sleeping with me in that bed. I wonder, sometimes, if he was thinking of her while he was sleeping with me. There were times I knew something was wrong - but I couldn't figure it out. So, on one hand, my marriage bed has been violated and must go! On the other hand, it is the last real part of my marriage and all the hopes I had for it. It is the last bit of him I have.
In another time, in another space, I think I would have been OK burning the bed - cleansing by flame with water and wine and bread and salt - healing, purification, closure. I don't want to return it to him - because I'm really not OK with sharing our bed with other people. But, throwing it in the garbage seems so .... sacrilegious? Ungrateful? Sad. Mostly sad - incredibly, heartbreaking, damnthisreallyishurtingtonight kinds of sad.
I could never bring anyone else into that bed. Right now, that isn't a big deal. I can't imagine taking anyone else to bed - this bed, or any bed. I'm sure that will change as I heal, but I don't think I am there yet. Just another something missing in our society. No one in our society would question a widow wanting to keep her bed. She would receive understanding and compassion, and support. In our society, a divorcee is expected to toss the mattress or have as many people in it as possible.
I honestly don't know what to do. I don't regret divorcing ex-Mr. That was a healthy and necessary choice. That was the right thing to do, for me, for my son, and ultimately - for ex-Mr. I hate the choice I made, but I would make the same choice again without hesitation. THAT part, I'm OK with. It is sorting through the detritus of my marriage that is hurting tonight - the unhooking, the shredding remnants of something precious to me, the biding farewell to wishes and hopes and dreams, the letting myself just feel and grieve.
This is a process (so sayth the Therapist). There will be fits and starts and some days will be better than others. Grief isn't a one-direction trip. Healing doesn't happen in a straight line. I am going to handle this in my own way and in my own time and I will be stronger and healthier at the end of it all.
Yeah. If I repeat that often enough, I might believe it one day.
Right now, I just wish it done.
Still.
I wish I could burn it.
No comments:
Post a Comment