Today, I grieve. My house is no longer my home and for whatever reason, the act of packing, taking the pictures off the wall, putting the books in boxes, taking down the curtains, makes my heart ache. I’ve known this was coming and yet losing my home makes being divorced much more final. The ink has been dry on the divorce papers for two years. The kids have adjusted well. The marital bed along with sheets, pillows and blankets left my bedroom long ago. I thought my grieving was over. I was wrong.
With every picture I take off the wall I remember the hopes and the dreams that came with the beginning of a marriage. With every book and knick knack that gets tucked into a box I remember the joy, the plans and the love that once was. There’s a story, a memory behind everything that I touch.
Today I took a picture of my dad off the wall, the same picture that hung in my mother’s home and my grandmother’s home. I wrapped my arms around this picture, sunk to the floor in the hallway of my empty house and sobbed. Now I cry all the time, over books, movies, happy times or sad, there are always tears but today I sobbed, deep gut wrenching sobs, the keening sound of a wounded animal, when everything is laid bare and nothing is held back. Taking my dad’s picture off the wall brought all my heart breaks crashing down around me.
My grandparents were married for more than 60 years. My parents were married for 37 years. My sister has been married for 17 years. I come from a long line of until death did them part. My parents bought a home and raised us in the same town forever. I went back as an adult to my childhood home, with my children. This was my dream, my plan, to be married forever, to give my children the stability of a forever home, to raise my children and then spoil my grandchildren and to share that with my husband. I dreamed of a forever family.
I stood before God and made a promise that I couldn’t keep. I feel like I failed, that I couldn’t love enough, be accepting enough, be strong enough. Divorce is painful no matter why it happens. I knew right from the beginning of the end that I was mourning the loss of my dreams more than I was mourning the loss of a man. I think that makes it harder, not easier. It’s much easier to see that there will be other men, much harder to believe that there will be other dreams.
So I grieve, for the loss of my hopes and dreams. I grieve the loss of innocence. I grieve the loss of trust. I grieve because I was part of causing so much pain to the man I loved so deeply and to my children. I grieve for the loss of in-laws that are gone from me now. I grieve for the loss of my happily ever after. I grieve for the loss of my home. Tears fall and I grieve. There is no anger, no regrets, just heartache.
I know grief is part of healing. I know that in time I will come to love my new home. I know in time I will forgive myself for my part in this. I know that there will be new love, new hopes, new dreams. I know that this experience has made me a stronger, more compassionate person. I have met this challenge with grace, wisdom, strength and courage. In all things, as we journey through life we meet our challenges, we grow from them and we move on. Today I grieve so my heart can heal and I can move on.
