Posted on | July 24, 2011 | 12 Comments
I have mixed feelings about the next few weeks.
On the one hand, I know it’s time to pick up the pieces of my heart and move on. I know it will be good to let go of the hope that he will change, that he will somehow become the man I know he could be. I know it will be good to stop wondering how it all could be different. It will be good for me to put aside the “what if” of my marriage and try to move forward with the life that is ahead of me. It will be good to stop wondering.
But on the other hand? On the other hand, I have three weeks remaining in my marriage.
Approximately two weeks ago, my attorney called and said the divorce would be final in August. The court had given them an August 5th date but my attorney had trial and couldn’t be there then. He asked if there were any days in August that I couldn’t do.
Um, let me think.
August 22 is J’s birthday.
What a mixed bag of memories I will forever hold in the month of August… The best day in my life coupled with one of the hardest. It’s hard to think about where I was on August 12 of 2009… glowing with pregnancy, still wearing the wedding ring we had picked out together … in August of 2006. It’s hard to think about where I was on August 12 of 2007, finished with the bar exam and falling head first into the finishing touches of planning our wedding.
August will forever be a heartache and a blessing of a month.
My mother has agreed to come to Macon to hold my heart in her hands from August 11 through J’s birthday. She will be there to dry my tears and make sure I eat or sleep or whatever else I might forget to do in that madness of a week.
On August 12, I will be divorced.
On August 20, I will host my son’s second birthday, with his father in attendance.
When I think about driving to Savannah a married woman and driving back to Macon single, I feel a new set of “what ifs” take over; I find a new set of “wondering” setting up shop in my heart. When I think about the hair appointment I’ve made for noon on August 12, I wonder if I’ll feel different, sitting in that chair… I wonder if I will cry as she trims my split ends, clipping away at the me I was when I was a Mrs. I wonder if I will look different or sound different or if somehow everyone who passes by will know that I am now divorced. That I am now single.
I wonder how it will feel to do stupid things, like change my facebook status, or mark my first “divorced” on a form.
I wonder how I will survive the month of August. I wonder who I will become. I wonder who, if anyone, I will ever love again.
In three weeks, I will be a single mother. In three weeks I will watch as a judge orders me to drop the “r” and become a Ms. In three weeks, my son will forever be from a “broken home.”
And though I wonder how all of this will affect me, I find that the tears fall most freely when I wonder how all of this will affect J. Will he be bitter that his father isn’t home all the time? Will he blame me for leaving? Will there be a time in the future when he tells me he hates me for not making things work with his father? Will he wonder what life would have been like for him if he didn’t have to spend time in two homes? With two very different parents? With two Christmases? Will he wonder why I didn’t try harder; why we didn’t try harder? For him?
When the wondering becomes too much, I have to close my eyes and pause. I have to remember that my son is happy. I have to remember that my son will never remember what it was like to have both parents in one home. He will never remember the fighting or the tears or the blame. I have to remember that he will know how much I love him and I hope, how much his father loves him. I have to remember that this IS the right decision not just for me and for his father but most importantly for him. This is the right decision for J… no matter how hard it will be to answer his questions and hear his complaints. No matter how difficult it may be to have my son look at me when he is older and tell me he wishes he lived with his father or wishes I weren’t so controlling, or difficult, or whatever his complaint will be… this decision, this August, this horrible, horrible year… this is for J. This is us, his father and I, doing what is best for our sweet, smart, wonderful little boy.
And though I know I will still hold onto a lot of wondering as the days go by, I hope that I can remember through all of this, that I am doing it all for him.