“I signed them this morning. I thought you should know.” His familiar voice cracked as I jammed the handset further into my shoulder and the kids raced around my legs and over the mess of un-packing that has taken over Little House. Hot tears sprang to my eyes, and I couldn’t choke out an answer. I swallowed hard, when I opened my mouth to say something, instead of something calm a sob escaped. It’s done. It’s over. Ten years of marriage and 19 years of him being my best friend, and today, it’s over.
Emotional condescends to the visceral. It’s hard to breathe as the room swirls around my drowning eyes, and I sit down hard on the box closest to me. Leaning my head between my knees, flashes of the life imagined and scenes from happier times fire rapidly on the screen in my mind, like an award-show retrospective of those who’ve died. Yes, there I am in my wedding dress, peeking through the curtains when he spies me and bursts out laughing- the happiest day of my life. There I am holding his hand at the top of Vernal Falls on our honeymoon. And there, in the hallway at our little rental house as we inspect the little stick with two pink lines on New Year’s Eve. And there, holding my right hand and crying with joy as our first baby slides from my body. There we are, walking together into the first house we bought. There he is carrying my fainted limp body from the floor in the bathroom, and then there is a surprise baby girl. There we are buying our dreamhouse, and then there are the lights dimming. There is sadness that permeates years. There are more tears than I can count, and then there is this. Today, his soft, sad voice saying out of respect for me, he signed and it is Over.
Three children are calling for me, needing me to be strong, to carry on, and be their mama. I quietly hang the phone up. What I want is to curl up and let the wall of sorrow crash over me, to cry and wail in pain and sadness. Instead, I need to make dinner and finish sorting and unpacking and figure out what comes next. My kids are fighting and Abby is crying because Bean hit her and it’s all me. As much as I want to cry, like so many things, that will have to come later. Later…
20 thoughts on “Final”
Would that internet hugs were not so cheesy and inadequate at times like these, Tracy. I pray that God heals all your broken hearts.
I’m so sorry. I wish I could come, because at times like this words are inadequate. However, they are all I have. So know that I am praying for you.
Congratulations?!! I’m sorry?!!! You pick which one, and I’ll shout it from the roof tops. Tell me how to react, and I’m THERE. I’ll even go back and forth, if needed.
Somebody will say something perfect and beautiful to comfort you, but it won’t be me. My words are all knotted up. Just commenting to let you know I love you. And I’m so sorry.
Sending hugs, Tracy.
Tracy, I am so sorry. We don’t know each other, but I’m weeping quiet tears for what you and your family are going through. I wish I could lift your burden in some small way. I’ve never commented before, but you and your family have been in my prayers over the past few years–as you’ve dealt with a difficult pregnancy, job loss, and now this. I’ll continue praying for you and your three children.
Im so sad for you. I remember when I went through a breakup and felt like my heart actually ached. Now In the mornings it was horrible the overwhelming sadness I remember mostly. Now I have 2 small babies & COULD NOT imagine going through what you are now. I know your getting help and are surrounded by people who love you. But I know it doesn’t completly take away the pain. I wish I could smack him in the face! Ugh!! I’m angry for you!!! One day he will be sorry, very sorry. My prayers are with you. Day by day, you will heal. I promise.
Tracy, I’ve been following your blog for a long time, and I just have to say how truly sorry I am. I can only imagine how overwhelming this is.
Oh Tracy I love you!
I wish I could come hug you and let you cry.
I’m crying with you. With all of what has been going on with your family I remain in awe of how tender your feelings/descriptions are towards your (now former) husband. My heart ached and the tears came as you described, “19 years of him being my best friend, and today, it’s over.” Such a sad tale. Wishing this was a fantasy book you were working on and not your life story…
Your writing is hauntingly beautiful.
I pray for your peace.
I pray for good things to come for you and your family in the future.
Your certainly deserve it…
*crying with you*
Like others, I wish I could give you a hug in real life. I like hugs. Even though I can’t, I’m thinking about you.
Honey I’m so sorry for your pain. I wish I could take that all away from you. Love you.
Tracy I’m sorry, love to your family. I’m amazed at how well you share your fresh raw real emotions.
Something your post seemed to communicate is that there isn’t a ‘done’ or ‘happy’ surrounding divorce. It sounds as though in your (ex) husband’s lucid moments he is dearly sorry, it seems as though he has given up on many things, including himself. While you’re relieved to not be tormented intimately by his demons anymore, there is still a loss of who he once was and the potential you had together that is so sad. I’m glad that you strive to see him as a child of God, despite all the pain he causes you and your children. I hope because you do that God blesses you in greater measure.
I didn’t want to let this pass without an (inadequate) comment of support and love.
You don’t know me, but I pray for you often.
I’m so sorry Tracy.
I’m sorry Tracy. My hope for you is that you and your kids are able to find joy and happiness in your new home together. And that the four of you as a family can heal together.
You’re stronger than you ever imagined you could be. It sucks so hard that this is the way you had to discover it.
Wish I could say or do something to make it better.
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