This is really happening

When I had cancer, after the initial diagnosis I was required to have three surgeries (two large and one small) before I started chemo, and then I did two sessions of chemo before I started to really lose my hair, about two months after the initial diagosis.  I chose to get my head shaved, rather than having it come out bit by bit, leaving a trail around the house, because it completely unnerved me to touch my head and have a handful come out.

Being PollyAnna, I turned it into a bit of a party.  I got my closest friends to come, and my hair stylist hosted us at her salon early on a Saturday before it really opened.  I didn't want to see myself half shaved - I've never been a punk rocker - and so I faced away from the mirror, towards my friends, as she shaved me.

Finally, it was done, and they asked me if I was ready to see myself.  I took a deep breath, and they slowly turned my chair around to face the mirror.  The words that flew out of my mouth at that moment shocked me, because what I said, with tears streaming down my face, was, "I have cancer!"

I knew I had cancer.  I had plenty of proof that I had cancer already.  But there was just something about seeing my bald head that drove the point home in a whole new, painful way, and it was at that precise moment that I finally understood that this was really happening to me, that it was not a bad dream, that my life was forever changed.

I feel like the next stage of my divorce might be similar to that moment of seeing myself in the mirror.

After much resistance (a topic for another post), Bryan has finally agreed to go out and get an apartment on schedule for his July 1st move out date.  In so many ways, this makes me happy: when he's here, it is awkward in the extreme, and I never know if he's going to be nice or snap my head off with sharp words; I am always certain that he will leave a trail much worse than breadcrumbs that I will have to clean up.  But the biggest reason of all, is that it allows all of us to move forward, to start the next part of our lives rather than this really difficult living in limbo.

We have been exchanging lists of what to keep, what to give up.  We've got a plan for Katherine's room (and I need to go furniture shopping for a new bed for her).  We're divvying up the kitchen things, and I have a shopping list for that, too.

But despite the fact that for more than a year we've lived separately in this house, that we have had a child custody schedule of alternate weekends, that we are very open with friends and family about the divorce, that many life changes have taken place to move us closer to divorce (including my working outside the home, and him working out of state during the week)....I'm pretty sure that the day he moves out and there are spaces where his things used to be, it's going to be a bit of a shock.

I have no regrets about the decision to divorce.  I gave it everything I had, I played by the rules, and as hard as I tried, I couldn't make the marriage work.  If Bryan begged to have me back - a VERY unlikely scenerio - I would not be tempted, because I know that our marriage was not good for either of us.

But still, some days, it's hard to believe that this is happening, that this is really my life.  Sure, I'm a capable woman who is taking charge of her future....but this is scary stuff.  Sometimes I wonder how I'll make it through.

And I'm really dreading the moment that I look in the mirror in a half empty house, and see the face of divorce.

Note: I will address the parenting aspects of this major change in another post.  Tonight, that just feels like more than I can manage.  Katherine is doing great, but I am not a fool, and every time I think about the changes in her life I feel my heart breaking.




Does this make sense to anyone, or am I truly looney to feel this way?

What has made your divorce feel more real and tangible? 

Do you ever feel like this (divorce, or other difficulty) isn't really happening to you, that somehow this can not be your life?

Thank you, dear readers, for sharing your thoughts.

One foot in front of the other

Yesterday was a tough day.

In addition to the horrors seen in the media (which hit WAY too close to home), I had to exchange email with Bryan about move out dates.  He keeps wanting to push the date back: for me, it's a rock solid date, but he has suggested date after date after date, later and later dates.  This puts me in the uncomfortable position of having to reject him over, and over, and over again.

Just to be clear: I don't think he wants to be with me.  He's not asking for love, romance, or even companionship.  I just think that he can't bear the idea of moving out.  I don't blame him for not wanting to move away from our daughter; in his shoes, I don't know how I'd do it.  But I think it's more than that... I think it's inertia.  I think it's that he likes the illusion that living in "our" house allows him that things aren't that different than they used to be.

On days when he is "on" with Katherine, he still gets a lot of help.  He goes to the refrigerator, and it is stocked with snacks and food and even beer (which I don't drink, but he does, and I buy for him).  He never thinks twice about laundry for the girl - her drawers are magically refilled (and when the clothes get to small, they automatically show up in the next size - magic!).  He works on bikes out in the garage, and when she wanders around saying "I'm bored, Mama" I do activities with her.  When she says, "I'm hungry," I feed her.

When he moves out, all that will change.

I'm mad at him for all of this, sure.  But I feel sorry for him, too.  I fill hopeful about the future.  I feel certain of my own ability to manage.  I am proud of the effort I put in to making our lives rich and full, even on a shoestring budget.  He is depressed, angry, lonely (he has isolated from many people).

I know he's hurting.  I feel compassion for him, and I work hard on that compassion.  (It turns out that being compassionate is very hard work.)

But it absolutely wears me out to be the strong one, the one setting the agenda, the one who has to keep pushing him away.

And I feel even more worn out when I think of the to-do list associated with his moving out.  Some days I'm barely holding on by a thread, and I feel like I can't manage one more single thing.

Deep breaths.  One foot, then another, then another, then another.......