Divorce Memoirs: Over It

::Over it::

"Hello?"

I answer the phone, expecting to hear my friend's voice on the other line.  The early October air has just a hint of chill to it, the leaves only just starting to change.  Homecoming Dance is a few weeks away, and we have just spoken about going together as friends. I assume he has forgotten some detail and needed to call back. 

Divorce Memoirs: He Left It For Me

Another step in the journey through my parent's divorce...

~~~~~

::He Left It For Me::

Stepping off the school bus, I know that today is the day. I’m not sure what I had expected: grey skies drearily drizzling rain? A large moving truck to haul away his things?

Nothing.

Divorce Memoirs: I Knew

The next chapter in my story from the Divorce Memoirs...

~~~~~

::I Knew::

I was laying on my parent’s bed, the afternoon light filtering in through the windows behind me.  After arriving home, I’d thrown off my backpack, and trudged up the stairs to their room.  I’m not sure why. I had no reason to be in there, and yet, I wanted to be there.  Needed to be there.  Because something in me knew.

I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, legs crossed at the ankles, my hands draped lazily over my chest.  How many nights had they laid side by side staring at this same ceiling? Talking about their day.  Dreaming of their future.  Flirting before intimacy.  How many nights had they fallen asleep side by side, together?

I wonder how long those nights had been numbered.

Three weeks had tortuously crept by since learning that something was significantly wrong between my parents.  I had gathered every ounce of courage to breathe the question of divorce, my world crumbling to my mother’s answer of Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe they would get a divorce.  

But maybe, just maybe, this would all be okay.  Maybe I would wake up, and maybe this would disappear.

Maybe.

Yet, I knew.

Laying on my parents quilted bedspread, I knew.  It did not come to me as a grand epiphany, rather a paced journey to understanding.  It came slowly, starting at my finger tips, making it’s way up my arms, and down to my toes until it completely radiated from every part of my being .  I knew.  I knew it would not be okay. And somehow, I knew exactly why. There was no earthly reason for me to know, no one had told me. Nothing about it was obvious. It made absolutely no sense.  Yet, it made perfect sense, and I had to shake my head of the fog that told me it had always been my reality.  No, this is new. And it is true.

I knew.

She entered the room, not surprised by my presence.  The same absent stare, the same clothes as the day before.  She was living life by going through the motions.  Wake. Walk. Talk. Eat. Walk. Sleep. Perhaps, if she was consistent, if the routine became rote, life would make sense again.  She hoped.  

Words came from her mouth, asking me how school was today.  I answered that it was fine.  She looked at me briefly, even managing a smile. My legs still crossed at the ankle, my hands now clasped behind my head as I observed her.

Her body bent in half to pick up a few more items from the floor before bringing itself to the upright position.  I hadn’t intended to ask, but as she turned to make her way out of the door,  the words quietly began forming on my tongue. She was halfway out into the hallway when I found myself asking confirmation for that which I already knew.

He’s having an affair, isn’t he?

She stopped. Midway into the hallway, her form halted and became a statue.  Perhaps she hadn’t heard me correctly and was trying to decide whether she should ask for clarification.  Perhaps she heard me perfectly and was too stunned to do anything but freeze.  

Slowly, almost comically, her body swiveled to face me.  Her eyes still wide and blank, but her brow now furrowed, horrified.  Her mouth set, slightly drawn down on both sides. She knew. She knew I knew.  And I wonder how much of her was relieved to have someone else know, to not be alone in her nightmare.  To have someone to hold on to as the world ceremoniously fell away in various pieces.

As if she could respond in no other way, she tilted her head up and back down.  Once.

I don’t know how much time passed.  Somewhere a clock was ticking. A second? A minute? A year? Our eyes never left each other.  Begging not to know. Begging to wake up. Begging for a different answer.

Can I guess who it is?

She stared at me, her expression unchanging. Her silence, affirmation.

Is it Gail?

One. Slow. Nod.

I knew.

And now we knew.  Now, we were in this together.  Partners in this hardship. A team. Never has being on a team ever felt this lonely.

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes squinting as though she were concentrating on a difficult riddle.  We stared at each other a few seconds more before she asked, her voice barely audible, how I knew?

I shrugged.

I just knew.

And with that, she turned and followed her original trajectory out of the room, into the hallway, down the stairs and away from me.  I sat, my legs crossed at the ankles, my hands clasped behind my head, wishing for even a moment of blissful ignorance.  

Because once you know, you can’t unknow.

You can’t forget.

And I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.

~~~~~

To catch up on previous Divorce Memoirs or to read other posts in the Divorce series, you can find other posts here. More of the series to come next week.

How has divorced touched your life?  What is your story?  Leave a comment and tell us about your journey.

Divorce Memoirs: Maybe

Last week, I started a post series on the topic of Divorce.  One aspect of the discussion will be a letter I have written to a kid dealing with divorce (shared over the course of several weeks). Another aspect I am introducing today. Weekly, along with the letter, I will be sharing some narratives I've written on specific memories  I experienced over the course of my parents divorce. I hope it encourages you to tell your stories, to partake in discussion, to be apart of the conversation.  In case you missed them, you can go back and read the Intro post and Letter to a Divorced Kid, Part I.

Thanks for being apart of the journey.

~ Steph

~~~~~

Maybe

One word.  It took only one word for my world to start to crumble.

She gave me an unexpected answer. The day, imprinted perfectly in my mind, was New Year’s Eve and I was dress shopping with my mom. The Winter Formal was only a few weeks away, and it would be my first official high school dance. I had missed the Homecoming Dance, due to a prior family engagement, and regretted it terribly. There were so many stories of what I had missed: boys I could have danced with, songs I could have swayed to, laughs I could have exchanged, the dress I could have worn.  I didn’t know I would miss so much more, only months later.

Mom put the car in park, and absently opened the door with her left hand.  Her face, vacant. Her hair, unwashed.  But she had insisted we go out and find a dress.  And after a week of barely hearing her talk, holed up in her bedroom, I obliged.

I struggled to concentrate on the myriad colors and cloth on the racks in front of me. I couldn’t stop stealing glances of Mom, who wandered aimlessly around the store.  Every once in a while, her arm would slowly raise to touch a dress, feeling the soft fabric between her fingers.  I began to worry that maybe something was really wrong.  Was she sick? I wondered. Did something terrible happen that I know nothing about?

I found a dress that met the stringent qualifications to make an appearance at a high school dance, so we paid and walked back out to the car. I let my mind wander as the ignition growled and the car jumped to life.  There was an uneasy feeling building in my stomach, a question I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t bring myself to give it voice.

Sometimes we ask questions because we know the answer. Because we need the answers to be true.  To never change. These answers are the constants in a life of variables. We have an arsenal of these questions. We hold them dear because they give us comfort, give us life.  Because we know the answers, and as long as our answers remain constant, our universe stays in place.  We are safe.

Attempts at small talk were futile at best.  I wanted to dig into whatever problem I was sensing.  Are you ok, Mom? She answered with a shrug.  Do you want to talk about it? She shook her head. Following the lead of my gut, I asked, Does it have to do with Dad? Eyes glistening, she gave me a small nod.

Asking the question was inevitable.  I mentally unearthed it from my bag of Constants.  The anxiety was building and I needed to find comfort, fast. I needed to ask so that my axis did not tilt and my world did not shift.  I needed things to be ok.  So I drew in a breath and asked.

Are you getting a divorce?

Silence.

Maybe.

Sometimes we ask questions because we know the answer.  To find comfort. To be assured that the constants in our life were still constant. That things are under control.  That we are ok.

It started with a small piece here, followed by a larger piece there.  Slowly, my world began to crumble, right there in the car, all around me.  With one word, the biggest constant in my life became a variable.  With one word, my axis tilted, and my world began to fall apart.  

Bit.

By.

Bit.  

Would I be ok? Would we be ok?

The only answer I could come up with:

Maybe.

~~~~~

Read the next chapter in Divorce Memoirs: I Knew.

I hope you'll share a comment with your thoughts, questions and stories.