It seems people aren’t interested in my brownie recipe or my humorous toilet paper horror stories.
My keywords indicate they’re drawn to “separation” and “divorce.”
I’m an open book and fairly transparent. As with anyone, I have my secrets. Sorry to disappoint, but I won’t be airing my stuff here. It’s a blog. Not my diary.
But as I said, I’m fairly transparent:
When my husband and I first separated, I was doing fine. When someone says “fine,” you know they’re not “fine.”
I was fighting through – and with – my emotions. I’m strong, I’ve got this, or so I thought.
My life started to unravel around Christmas. My life became a roller coaster ride that kept slowing down and speeding up. Smooth ride, then buckle up b***hes.
I didn’t understand. I was eating healthy. I went pesco pollo vegetarian – avoiding red meat. I mediated. Exercised. Journalled. Read. And, of course, wrote, wrote, wrote.
But I couldn’t face the fact my marriage crashed and burned. It’s normal to mourn your marriage, however, I found rather than deal, I’d rather lose myself in my work. Because I couldn’t deal with the fact my marriage ended.
I became a crier. A complete mess. I was so down, my aunts and uncle – and my soon-to-be ex-husband – were calling me, and each other – to make sure I was okay. Visiting. Getting me to talk.
Typical me, I slapped on a brave, happy fake face. By then, I wasn’t fooling anyone.
Then the inevitable bitterness set in. I was mad. Mad at my husband. Mad at everything. I couldn’t listen to our songs – and we had a lot. I went from crier to super sonic crier. Often, I’d just sit on the couch and stare out the window with tears streaming down my face. Pretty sure I was slipping into a depression.
The future with my husband was gone. We’d never have a yellow Labrador or a dream house in the country. We’d never travel to Europe like we planned, like his grandparents. We’d never have little Tammurs Twins – because twins run in my family. When my neurologist gave us a glimmer of hope that children were possible, I bought two baby girl outfits for our future Emma and Tatianna.
But what I was really doing was mourning what we never had. The future isn’t guaranteed. Who’s to say what the future would have held?
What we did have were tons of memories. Memories of trips. Maybe they were to Saskatchewan, but they were awesome trips. We watched our niece and nephew grow up.
When I travel to Winnipeg, we meet for Tim Hortons. We talk about Edmonton – and that time we went off the beaten path to Caroline, Alberta to see the Kurt Browning Arena.
Reality smacked me. Treasure what we had, not what we didn’t. I still have a future with my husband, who still hugs me and kisses my forehead when we see each other.
No, we won’t make our 17th anniversary. But we’ll celebrate a first anniversary as best friends who vowed for better or worse.
Sometimes those words mean more when you’re not married.