Falling Out of the Sky…

This is from a guest blogger who wishes to remain anonymous -

May 20^th - 2012 -Last paragraph of a blog saluting our 38^th wedding anniversary: “So what makes a marriage last? I can honestly say “I don’t know”. I guess if you’re really, really lucky, someone offers their hand and helps you get through each day, one at a time. And then, before you know it, there are more days behind you than in front of you, and your both still standing….holding hands. That is more than enough for me”

Oct. 11th, 2012 - He let go. Suddenly and unexpectedly he decided that it wasn’t enough anymore and let go of my hand… and me. We had just returned from a long weekend at a seaport in Maryland which was both lovely and romantic, when he came down the following morning and spoke the words that he must have been practicing the whole time we were away.  The whole time we were shopping in quaint shops for ornaments to hang on our tree…the whole time we were sharing crabs and wine in a bayside restaurant, the whole time we were making love and talking about our son’s wedding…the whole time he was planning his departure speech.

I sat in an almost catatonic state hearing phrases like “need some space”, “haven’t been happy for a while”, moving my things into the guest room”. I’m sure there was more said, but those are the words that resonated for days, freezing me in time, leaving me both dazed and nauseous.

I have a friend whose lifelong wish was to skydive. When she finally got the opportunity, she said the most terrifying part was between the time she left the plane and the proper altitude at which she could pull the cord to open the parachute. “You’re in a complete free fall. There is no turning back. There is no changing your mind. You have lost all control of the situation.” I now know that feeling. She felt exhilarated by this. I panicked. I don’t like not being in control and feel like my personal plunge was the result of being pushed out of the plane.

 I have known my husband since I was 13 years old. Since our first encounter, he was the love of my life. I’m 58 now, so do the math. Anyone who knows me well, knows of my affection for this man. We have two great sons and a lifetime of doing almost everything together. Different personalities seemed to work. He is quiet and most of the time I was the only one to hear his thoughts ...until now.

By nature I am both expressive and animated. I can play verbal volleyball with anyone. But that one awful morning, I stood motionless and speechless. I couldn’t even react. We were in our 38^th year of marriage and 44^th together. I can’t honestly remember a day without him in it. I sat at the kitchen island holding on to my coffee mug as if it were a life raft. He paced before me, and with a sense of excitement, announced that we would put our home up for sale, split the equity and file for divorce. The word “divorce” was dropped like a bomb. The concussion rendered me deaf. I saw his mouth moving but I couldn’t hear the words. Ten minutes later, he left for work.  I stayed in my seat for hours. My marriage and home had been ripped out from under me.

In a three day span I went from a romantic weekend in St. Michaels, to my husband moving into another bedroom, to divorce and the need to find a place to live! Stunned into submission, I kept nodding in agreement. Looking back a few months, “stunned” was a word I used a lot when talking to family and friends. But when someone Tasers your emotions, leaving you writhing on the ground, there is no better word.  “Shocked” doesn’t do it. “Surprised” should be left for unexpected events. Webster’s dictionary describes stunned as “to make senseless, or dazed, like with a blow; or paralyzing astonishment”. Stunned is the right word.

Three months ago we were looking at retirement properties, now we are looking for separate addresses. A therapist described the three stages of divorce as “stunned, hurt, then anger”. I must say, that once I got my footing somewhat, I got to the anger phase rather quickly because staying in the” hurt” phase was toxic. Crying and vomiting, both things I never usually do, consumed my days. I was determined not to linger in that area. You can’t make good decisions when you’re crumbled on the floor in a heap. The irony here is that at a time you, more than ever, need to think for yourself, you can’t think at all. The “hurt” stage is inevitable but you can’t dwell in it and survive.

A tougher situation to overcome is the fact that he has chosen to live in the house until it sells. This could take months. A man, who for the past four decades has entered the house and immediately walked over to kiss me, now comes in as a stranger. He seems so uncomfortable and I realize that this has to be hard for him as well. There is somewhere else he would rather be than here. That is obvious. But I waste no compassion on him…for me, it is harder. I can’t turn off the love for him, so I resolved to dial up the strength.

My attorney once told me that “it takes two people to get married, but only one to get a divorce.” This is so true. You can’t demand that someone stay in love with you, or even stay married to you. And for the partner that doesn’t want it, living in the house with the initiator is torture. The marriage becomes a brain dead patient. It is technically breathing, so you look for some type of life, a movement, a touch, a blink, a glance. Any sign of the life you once knew. The clock ticking on the wall breaks the strained silence with the same rhythm of a heart monitor. All that is left is for the judge to pull the plug.   

Now a few months into this abyss, I realized that time does not heal all, but it does heal. I also realized something else. It would be so easy to crash land after a free fall. The pain you feel would instantly stop. But it takes real courage to pull the chord. To land on your feet and take control back is a monumental victory.

I’ve decided to pull the chord, land softly and move on. I am blessed with a great family and awesome friends. They walk beside me as if I were a four year old learning to ride without the security of training wheels.  I know they’re there, and I love them for it, but this ride is mine. I have to own this journey. ..I have to.