I just came out of my first four-way divorce meeting; his lawyer, my lawyer, him, me. Four chairs cozy-ed up around a small, round table. The first thing I noticed when I walked in, was the box of Kleenex smack dab in the middle of the table. Hmmmm.....I told myself. You are NOT going to need those. Not today. You've cried enough to launch the Queen Mary.
But I did. Not a lot of blubbery boo-hooing, just an initial, sniffle-y episode that managed to streak my mascara across my cheek - unbeknownst to me. I was not aware until almost the end of our two hours (or in lawyer lingo - our $200 per hour, times two, session), when my (what term do I use? I don't like "ex;" we are still espoused, but not maritally functioning, at all)......(let me start again)......when the man I've been married to, reached over and gently wiped the mascara smudge off my cheek.
And I let him. I didn't recoil and hiss "don't you dare touch me!" I didn't pine for more contact. I didn't register anything. And I've been thinking about that all day. I didn't register anything. During our separation I have registered everything. Anguish, fear, heart-break, loneliness, rage, forgiveness, un-forgiveness, confusion, hope, cynicism - the whole melodramatic roller coaster. I've groaned great, spasmodic, gut-ripping sobs. In fact one time my crying came from such a deep, animalistic place (and I had no idea how loud I was), that my neighbor asked me the next day if I had heard that strange howling the night before. Oh, I have felt, registered, deeply.
And there I was....he touched my cheek, and I was ok. Really, OK. I am in another place. I don't exactly know how to define it, but it is different; distinguishable; a new direction.
Launching the Queen Mary; indeed.
5 comments:
The nominative singular pronoun, used by a speaker in referring to herself.
You have officially become "I". Congratulations!
No words for you. Just want to reach out and hug you my dear sister.
Oh Carol,
I need the box of tissues!
There is another kind of love waiting for you, the kind that gives you the courage to be better than you are, not less than you are, one that doesn't make you doubt yourself, one that makes you feel that anything is possible!
You deserve it!
Hi Carol. This is Jessi Radovich. Mom sent me your link.
I have found so much in my young life that my internal transitions have the movement of tectonic plates. I feel like I am in the same place for so long, until something causes me to look around and I realize the scenery has indeed changed, or I am standing on different ground. But it all happens so imperceptibly, like the slow shifting of the plates of the earth, the kind of shifting that creeps slowly and silently and eventually rearranges entire continents. This reminded me again of that thought.
Thank you for sharing your writing, and your heart with me. It has given me hope in the madness, many times over.
Carol, behind the supreme eloquence of your article as well as behind this hymn (that seems terribly trite in contrast to your writing) is the same Truth that we're all grasping for:
The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care, [what pair is he referring to?]
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.
O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure
The saints’ and angels’ song.
When years of time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men, who here refuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mountains call,
God’s love so sure, shall still endure,
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam’s race—
The saints’ and angels’ song.
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.
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