I have been in limbo for so long that it began to feel normal. I've been waiting for the court date, waiting to feel human again, waiting for the heat wave to pass, waiting for the rain that's not even in the forecast yet. It's been almost two years since J moved out, a year and a half since he asked for this divorce. I vaguely understood that life would be somehow better on the other side of the court date, and now here I am.
How do I feel? Numb, still, but yes. Better. I feel not so stuck. I feel lonely and kind of old. Still waiting for the rain.
Getting divorced in a small county is probably different from doing it in a large county. The courtroom was empty--only ours was scheduled for that morning. I risked running into family and friends, which I didn't particularly want to do, at least until after it was over. I thought about wearing movie star sunglasses and a floppy hat to guard my face.
I had already planned to ask S to come with me for support. I had plenty of people I could have asked, but she is a relatively new friend, and had never met J. I felt like that was better. When I told another friend about the court date he suggested that I would need someone to be my eyes and ears, because I would not be able to remember anything. It turned out to be good advice.
It was eerily like another traumatic experience I had years ago, where all these professionals were just doing their job like they do it every day, making small talk about the weather, and I was just trying to keep myself from falling apart.
I put on a nice dress, a blue and white print cotton summer dress. It was kind of like a blue willow pattern, probably too festive for the occasion, but I wanted to look nice, and to feel cool, and crisp. I passed through the metal detector and stopped. I didn't know where to go, and I wasn't about to ask Harry, the sheriff's deputy who guards the door, where I had to go to get divorced. Usually, I do ask him. "How are you doing, Harry? Where do I go to pay my land tax?" Not today. I just stood for a moment considering the staircase up to the courtrooms, and then I saw my attorney's legs, then the rest of her, coming down the stairs. She told me everyone was up in the library, and S and I followed her up the heavy staircase. J was seated with his lawyer, wearing a blue shirt and silk tie. He looked nice, but uncomfortable. He said hello, and I introduced him to S. We sat down, and that's when the nervous small talk began and I just sat there blinking. J didn't look at me anymore, and my lawyer gave me a stack of papers to sign. I didn't read anything, just started signing copies and copies. J's signature was already there. I usually take pride in my signature. These days I write longhand so seldom that when I do, it feels artistic. In the courthouse library I just scribbled my name so it was barely legible on all the copies of the dreaded document. I thought about how that messy signature would be in the courthouse for generations, how my grandkids might look it up someday if they want to study their genealogy, and that messy signature made me sad. But they might correctly read my sadness into that scribble.
Finally I finished signing and we were in the courtroom, rising for the judge. The judge was the same one who married my sister ten years ago, and that felt like a nice symmetry. I know the court reporter a little, and she waited until the end of the hearing to give me a small wave. I appreciated her waiting, and appreciated the wave. I waved back. Nobody asked me to testify, and when J did, he was crying a little. I appreciated that too. He is not a crier. In 25 years I would only need one hand to count the times I've seen him cry. It was a simple ceremony, and took about 20 minutes. The judge had some questions about the arrangements, and then rubber-stamped our split. We stood up again as he left the room.
We were done. It was over. Twenty five years of marriage. And now on to something else.
Some things have obviously changed, but some things will be the same. I had a few things in my car to give J. Just some things he left at the house last week. He said, "I'm really sorry." And I said, "I'm sorry too." I said, "J, we should be friends," and he said, "Of course." He drove me to my car so I could return his things.
We said more to each other after he drove me to my car, and I treasure those things. I asked for a hug and he gave me one. This has been a very amicable divorce. Even amiable if such a thing is possible. Does that make me feel better or worse? Better, I'm sure, in the long run. I wouldn't pull bitterness down on us or our family, though it might make it easier if I could hate him.
Afterwards I felt utterly drained, washed out and rinsed. All I could think to do was sleep, and I'd already been doing that for days.
Where do I go from here? I'll need to recover my strength and vitality. A broken heart sure takes a lot out of you. But I know it's better to have this finally behind me.
