I Know The End
on divorce and closure
I am getting a divorce.
We knew this was coming, I just didn’t realize how soon it would be before I got tired of being in limbo and took this step forward. Seven months was all it took before I broke through an emotional paralysis and said the words I needed to say to him.
Before I said that, though, I said other things. At the behest of my therapist, I wrote a long letter cataloging all the ways in which I felt hurt, betrayed, and abandoned. The catharsis I felt after hitting send on that email was tempered by the anxiety I felt as I waited for a reply. I had sent it at 4:30 in the morning after sleeping fitfully on it. I went back to sleep and woke up at 6:30 to a response.
There was guilt and remorse. There were apologies and admissions. And there was the subtle, underlying understanding that it was completely, irretrievably over. There was nothing to hang onto, no hopes of reconciliation, nothing that said we can work on our problems together. The response was a room emptied of furniture and belongings, dirt swept up into a corner, left for someone else to dispose of.
I felt relieved to have let all those feelings go at the same time I felt the feeling of limbo worsening. I couldn’t let it all still hang there. I unburdened myself, but to what extent? It all just left more questions than answers and I knew someone needed to scoop that pile of dirt up and throw it out. If I wanted to move forward, it would have to be me.
I waited two agonizing days before I worked up the courage to say the words to him.
I think we should get a divorce.
A lump formed in my throat, my heart seemed to clench, my stomach lurched.
I agree.
I don’t know what I expected. Somewhere in the back of my mind and deep in my heart I wanted him to say no, to plead with me to get back together, to come crawling to me in a desperate attempt to stave off an ending. I didn’t expect his words to come so easy, so quick. I started crying - we were doing all this over text so he had no idea - a deep, mournful cry that sucked the breath out of me.
The ending of things is never easy to bear. Even when you know it’s coming. Even when you’re part of the decision to bring things to an end. After seven months in limbo, the finalization of “I agree” struck me like a closed fist. I reeled, I shook, I felt all the emotion I had been hoarding since January 30th come roaring out, a monster that had been hibernating inside of me let loose and I realized that after all the betrayal, after all the heartbreak and abandonment and shock of him leaving, I still loved him, so much. Fourteen years of love do not go quietly; those years make a lot of noise when they’re being shaken loose. Images of vacations, of celebrations, of quiet dinners out, of our wedding and birthdays spent together and chill evenings in the backyard all came tumbling out of their canisters and I cried about them, mourned them, realizing that they were never going to happen again. It was over.
A short conversation ensued. I’d get the house, he’d still pay my car insurance and the dog’s insurance, he’d help out wherever I needed it and I wouldn’t ask for any kind of alimony. The conversation was cut and dry and belied the tears that were pouring down my cheeks. I felt terrible. I felt elated. I was incredibly sad. I was relieved to have this part over.
We have no children together. Once the house is mine alone, there will be nothing binding us together. Nothing except fourteen years of love and devotion that I’m glad existed. We had some spectacular years together and I wish to hold on to those years, those memories, I wish to curate them in some corner of my mind, a mental museum meant to secure the good times because you don’t lose those things when you lose the relationship battle. I’ll wistfully revisit them some night when I’m tired and lonely and listening to The National. But mostly that curation will stay gathering dust because while it’s good to maintain the memories, it’s best to move forward.
I pull out our marriage certificate so I can have the information ready for my attorney; I forgot the name of the place where we had our ceremony. I stare at that piece of paper like it’s all written in a foreign language. It doesn’t seem real to me. We got married seven years into our relationship, back when I thought forever meant something, when I felt like the world was ours for the taking. I couldn’t imagine then things going sour. I couldn’t imagine it would end this way.
Over the past few months I kept saying this word to myself: closure. I needed closure. And for that closure to happen I needed an admittance of guilt, I needed an apology, I needed him to be contrite and remorseful. I got all that, and then I got the ultimate closure in an agreement to divorce. It’s not what I wanted, yet it’s what I needed.
After that conversation dwindled down to a “let’s try to stay friends” ending, I felt a great weight lifted from my soul. It was over. Ended. Done. I can move on. I don’t know where I’m moving on to, I don’t know what the future holds for me, I just know that I won’t be carrying a burden anymore. I won’t be walking around with words rattling inside me that need to be let out. I won’t be carrying a guilt I don’t deserve. I will be free and unburdened of the negativity that carrying those things around produces. I will be divorced.
I will be free.