Someone once told me that it takes a full year before you can really move past the grief and begin to heal after a person you loved has died. I had always believed that there was truth in this statement, but I never fully understood its wisdom until I experienced the loss of someone who had inhabited a significant presence in my daily life, someone I thought I could not go on living without. In my case, it might not have been a literal death of a person, but it was still a death—the death of a
relationship—and I am convinced that the same principles apply.
Therefore, my "new year" celebration happened a bit later than everyone else's this year. Instead of counting down the clock to midnight on December 31st, my countdown occurred a few weeks later when I reached that bitter anniversary of the day my ex-husband crushed my heart. I have experienced, and lived through, an entire year of events: birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, occassions, and seasons. And, if I am correct in my predictions, my path only goes uphill from here.
Not that the path has been only
downhill until now—it definitely hasn't. There have certainly been steep mountains to climb, deep valleys to cross, and clouds that looked so dark I felt as though I'd never again see the sun. But, on the other hand, there have also been clear blue skies to admire, loved ones to hug, and days I laughed so hard I felt as though sadness had died a horribly gruesome death at the feet of happiness.
Life has been good—and not because divorce just feels oh-so-wonderful, but because I have learned to be content no matter what my circumstances and to realize that I am so much happier with those circumstances
now than I was just a little over a year ago.
And who knows? I just might have reached the final stage of grieving—
acceptance. But it certainly didn't start out that way for me a year ago...
The
Denial Stage — January 2010: "I'm actually okay. I'm really
fine. Really." This became my motto once the shock had worn off after that first week. My sister, Steve, had a front row seat for the horrifying opening scenes of the dramatic production, as she happened to be visiting me from out-of-town when my ex-husband dropped the "D-word" on me. For the first six weeks, I was completely swept up in finding a new apartment, securing a second job, disclosing to friends, establishing new credit accounts—creating a new life. Everything had changed, but I didn't have time to look at the changes. I
couldn't look at the changes; I had to keep busy.
Friends started getting concerned by my nonchalance toward the whole episode. "You have to deal with it at some point," Chanel would say to me. "It's not normal
not to deal with it. You should be upset; it's okay!"
But Chanel didn't get it. Neither did Rugrat, or Mamasita, or Stella, or Faith, or my parents, or anyone else who tried to get me to deal with it. Heck,
I didn't even get it. All I absolutely knew for certain was that I wasn't trying to be tough, I wasn't trying to suck it up because that was the brave thing to do—I was not dealing with it because I simply
couldn't deal with it. Simple as that.
Welcome to the definition of "Denial." Drive safely, and enjoy your stay.
The
Anger Stage — April 2010: At the beginning of April, my Aunt Glitz came for a visit. Aunt Glitz is also going through a divorce, so we spent the week commiserating on a beach together. For the first time in months, I had someone who didn't tell me "it's going to be okay," or "you are better off," or the worst one, "Cheer up! It could be worse!" For some reason, being around someone who actually truly knew what I was going through was the doorway into the next stage.
Except my "anger" was not quite the slashing-tires, bombing-houses, sabotaging-reputations type. Instead, it was crying into my pillow every night, screaming in pain,
how could he do this to me?!? I never let anyone see it, and I tried not to talk about it as much as possible. I knew that my friends would have told me that it was normal, but there was still a part of me that felt I shouldn't still be crying after almost six months had passed. Suffering in silence seemed like something I almost deserved, something that I needed to do. On the outside, I went through my days, laughing and happy for the most part, and truly being happy with my life.
Then night would come, and the anger demons would feed on my broken heart, ripping pieces off with jagged teeth, and chewing with a force that was almost too much to bear.
The
Bargaining Stage — June 2010: Though I didn't think the "anger" would end, it did; however, the stage which followed was not much better, though much shorter-lived. I went through a period of time where I blamed myself with a strange intensity, as if it were completely my fault that my marriage had ended.
Had I been too needy? Too nit-picky? Too restraining? Maybe I should have asked for less, cared more, and not forced him to be affectionate, romantic, or intimate in the details of his life with me. Maybe then it wouldn't have ended...
There were days that I just wanted to go back to my old life. I wanted the
old husband, the one who I had fallen in love with, the one who had desperately loved me. I cried at night, begging God to allow me to go back, pleading and promising to do anything just to have my old happiness, the old me. I wished for Superman to fly backwards around the Earth, reverse the gravitational pull of the Sun, and take me back in time to when I knew what my future held. I dreamed of Doc Brown throwing me in his time machine and sending me back to the place where I had been loved. A place where I felt safe. A place I knew.
But deep down, I knew that there was no going back. There was no Superman, and a movie could not make a time machine really exist. I wouldn't have wanted to go back anyway—not really. As Abraham Lincoln said, "I hope to stand firm enough to not go backward." And as Dad told me, "Nothing good ever came of driving while looking only in your rear-view mirror."
The trouble was: I just didn't recognize the road ahead.
The
Depression Stage — July 2010: I sat on the divorce proceedings for a long time; I guess I just couldn't face making the whole thing real. Finally, on June 30th, I went to court and told a judge that my marriage was "irretrievably broken." The judge actually looked up from his papers to regard me with sympathy, the first time he had looked at a petitioner all morning, because I could barely get out the words that I was required by law to say. Then I cried the entire train ride back to work.
A few weeks later, six months since I had left our home, I found out my ex-husband had cheated on me. To this day, I cannot actually confirm the specifics of it, but my source was reliable enough to trust on the details I did receive. I didn't want to know the rest.
The day after I found out, I could barely get out of bed. It was bad enough that he had wanted a divorce because he didn't want to be married, just didn't want to be with
anyone. It was far worse that he had just not wanted to be with
me.
But I couldn't stay depressed too long; by this point, I had seen sparks of light, stars of hope, and dreams of happiness. I had friends who loved me, family who would always have my back, and a job that I adored even on my worst day. Who can sink in sorrow with ropes like those to pull you out?
Stage Five — Present Day: Since the beginning, I always knew that my ex-husband's words had brought forth sorrow, hurt, anger, guilt, and despair—but that there had also been
hope. After living for almost two years while watching the husband I once knew shift in form, leading me down a road that, to me, looked dark and gloomy, I was almost
relieved. When he had asked me to leave, my ex-husband had set off a bomb, one that blew away my access to his path, but one that had also shaken free the dirt and bushes so that I could see the bright sunshine and feel the warm breeze blowing from the opposite direction—and I could finally see another road was there, had always been there. And
this one looked more like the one I had always hoped for in my future. I just would be traveling down it alone.
But, you know what? I've been traveling that road for over a year now, and it has been
good. And it
will be good. There may be bumps, there may be storms, and there may be roadblocks along the way, but there will also be sunshine and daisies and victories.
Reaching the stage of acceptance? While it is the last step on my journey through divorce grief, that victory is just the
first of many to come.
Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée
