In this month’s theme of “saved” and on the eve of the three-year anniversary of my wedding, I am contemplating that thing I was unable to save—my marriage.

Tomorrow is July 7, 2010. I was married on 07-07-07—ostensibly a favorably auspicious date—to a man with whom I believed my life was destined to be entwined. Our wedding invitation was inscribed with a haiku I had written using the word we thought believed our relationship: inevitable.

my heart and your heart
twining our lives together
inevitable

I really believed my own propaganda. It truly seemed that his desires for his life were on point with my desires for my own life. I thought I had found—not the man who would “complete” me but, the man who would encourage me, support me in my unfolding. And I would do the same for him.

Today, I think I still believe in all that, but my (ex) husband has made it clear that he does not. And I tired of trying to sway him, and I let myself become beat down by his need to un-do us; I lost the heart to try and “save” us.

So here I sit today, ten months since our final split, trying to come up with a new direction for my life. I’m having a damn difficult time sorting through my interests and talents and desires to find which direction I shall turn next. And this may sound pitiful, but I still feel broken-hearted, and that makes it difficult to feel enthused.

For now I will sit seaside and watch the sky and water turn the colors of dusk, while the swallows swoop through the driftwood, harvesting their dinners, and I will work on soothing my heart, rather than planning my life.

My (ex) husband was born February 10, 1960, which means that today he is 50 years old.

I am having very mixed feelings about this day. On the one hand, I find myself all mean about it, gloating in the fact that I am not hosting a small dinner party to mark the occasion. The dinner party that I began planning over a year ago. No dinner party for this birthday boy.

On the other hand, I am very, very sad that there is no party for him. More than very sad.

This is the kind of thing that I never anticipated while steeling myself for the divorce.

Odd stuff.

The divorce was finalized just about 48 hours ago, and the grief is rolling in.

I do not know really, why the marriage ended. The man who was my husband (I am not prepared to use the prefix, “ex”) might be flabbergasted to hear me say that–that I don’t know really why he had to divorce me–but I don’t. We didn’t talk about it much.

And what I do know of his reasons, I think they are dumb. Stupid. And why end a marriage over stupid reasons? And that makes me sad.

But I understand that they are his reasons, and he will feel what he will feel; there is nothing I can do about it. And it is this kind of rationalizing “acceptance” that I am relying upon to keep me making one step in front of the last, to keep me moving along.

I am not doing so well at this moment with the making one step and then another. I would really rather go slip into that bath that I have running, and slip under the surface of the water, and remain there. And be done with it.

Probably it disturbs people to hear that. But right now, it is how I feel. So why not say so?

That’ll change, sure. It has already. My feelings are pure roller coaster–swoop up, swoop down, click click click creep up to a height replete with vista, and whoooosh . . . along down to depths. Again. Again.

The violent hate that possessed me scant weeks ago is dissipating. Hallelujah. And I strive to keep a sweet perspective, to frame circumstances and my feelings in a positive way, even to extracting the good messages from my nightmares.

But. I hurt. All up and down my being, from the tip of my big toenail to the end of those wild, silver hairs on my head, I hurt. I am sad.

I wanted my marriage. I wanted my husband. I wanted our lives together. I still do. In spite of my intellectual understanding that it’s not to be.

photo: widdowquinn and used with Creative Commons licensing

There was a comment on my blog recently that I hesitated to let be published–thinking it might disturb my brother. I finally chose to mention it to him, and am now making the comment public. The comment was left on this post where I rant and rail about my husband. I know who left it (the signs are obvious). I will let you make of it what you will.

We feel really bad for you Leila. But, until you work beyond the “hate”, you will never be free. You need to learn to let go. You suceeded [sic] in destroying your brothers [sic] marriage. Perry saw your “true colours” and realized what you really were. Let him go Leila, he did nothing but try to help you while you were together.

Two days ago I learned that within just three weeks of dumping me, my husband was back in the arms of a former lover, a woman with whom he had been serious not long before he and I met. I had known of her and had learned that they had reconnected, but I did not realize to what extent.

With this new knowledge, I stand here and look at myself, at him, at our marriage, and I wonder, wtf.

Over these few months since the break-up I have been doing a lot of thinking and self-examination about “what happened” and looking for explanations for the demise of my marriage and exploring my own role in its decay.

But knowing now that my husband (he is legally still married to me) was so quick to leap back into something that he had assured me many times, and under many circumstances, was not only over, but something he had no interest in . . .

Well I guess it helps in some ways, in that I can release some of the blame that I have placed upon myself for the demise of the marriage. Maybe he was enthralled with her all along. Maybe he just wanted to jump her bones and couldn’t get that out of his mind. And maybe, it was neither of those, maybe he’s just an opportunist who saw an opportunity to rekindle a flame–and if that’s the case, the speed at which he did that indicates to me the small level of commitment he had to our marriage.

Is there a polite “mourning” period that civil people adhere to after ending a marriage? I wasn’t so silly as to expect such a thing from my husband. But, I really never expected him to go back to something he had vehemently told me was not only OVER, but also was really not his cup of tea.

I have to tell you, I feel enormously betrayed. I know, I know: what’s the point? He left the marriage, I should expect he would be moving on. But the particular way in which he has moved on just makes me think that he must have been lying to me all along. And THAT feels worse than him ending the marriage.

I have been struggling with what to write. I find myself in this space where I just do not understand how I got here, and mostly all I can fathom is to blame myself–for not paying attention or something.

I find myself adrift. I find myself without a dream to follow. I find myself with a heart that is quiet and abstaining from giving me guidance.

Actually, my heart is in shambles–so perhaps it IS trying to give me guidance but all that it can emit is garbled whispers through the bruises.

It has been eight weeks ago that my husband revealed that he was done with our marriage.

I didn’t see this coming. (Which would be the part that starts me blaming myself for not paying attention, or something.) I truly was taken by surprise, and for the last two months I have repeatedly wondered, “How did I end up here?”

The “here” being, of course, abruptly without the life I was living–a life with a husband, a home, a mutual future–zip, poof, gone.

Now, I did know the extent to which I had most of my eggs in one basket. My home, my income, even my vision of my purpose–all strongly tied to my husband. And you know, I didn’t have real qualms with that, it seemed destined and correct. I certainly was not fearful of a cataclysmic rearrangement of my life.

But here I am now, riding on the back of a cataclysm–as if I am straddling some rare winged beast, flying without reins.

And all I seem to be sure of right now, is that the only way to hang on is to let go.

Have you ever had a pet, say a cat or dog, and they died, and then for awhile, every time you turned around they were starkly absent? You know, all the familiarity, the things you shared.

You’d sit on the couch and expect your friend to come lie beside you. Or, you’d habitually go into dinnertime mode, and then realize you were alone for dinner. Or, you’d walk down the sidewalk that was part of your normal exercise routine, and be hit with the fact that your walk partner was missing.

I hate this. The familiar triggers memory and memory ignites pangs of loss.

And so it goes as I adjust to the fact that my husband wants a divorce. Simple stuff, just hurts. I snuggle into the window seat with my nephew who is here for one last sleep-over. He is delighting in watching the critters outside, and as I share this space with him I have to yank myself away from tears; all the hours that my husband and I did this same gazing out, are now solidly in the past and nevermore. And I look out at the plants and the rocks that we’ve placed here and there, and know that I must walk away from my dreams of this garden and this home.

I don’t want to walk in Discovery Park anymore; my husband was my navigator and companion there and I ache when he is absent from my side. Restaurants, too. The places we discovered together, Hazelwood and Volterra and geez, even the grocery store where we used to design meals together. Oh. And ReStore; I stopped there the other day and it was all wrong, with no home to be restoring and no partner in such endeavors.

My husband is so blithe about this transition, like, girl, just move on, it will be good for you. He’s always been one for just throwing things out. My brother is like that too. Life begins to feel too cluttered or complex and next thing you know, my brother has built a bonfire and started tossing things on it. Which has always seemed to me like trying to send a message to the heavens: “I have no need for attachments, they weigh me down. I set myself free.”

In the meantime, the heavens are saying, “Well actually, this fire you rage is a temporary blaze. The flames will die down, the embers will fade, and there will be ashes blowing about messily in the wind. You may be left with a sense of freedom. But this pyre actually is not your key.”

Like those soda pop contests, where you pop the bottle cap and underneath it says, “You are a Loser. Please try again.”

Photo by ne* under creative commons license.