I have been divorced once in my life and it was between me and one of my best friends ever. And I do see it as a divorce. There wasn't paper work starting the friendship or lawyers ending it, but it was more significant than a falling out. It was more than a fight or a break up. I separated my life from a person who knew every piece of me and it felt pretty epic.
We bonded instantly and shared absolutely everything. She had moods. I had rages. But we were so comforted by each other and so enamored with one another, so loving and giving to each other. She was my first marriage.
We lived next door to each other for years and then lived together for years. We saw the effects of dates gone wrong and dates gone right. We filled in where partners did not, keeping us in relationships that seemed far richer than they probably were. We provided hugs and kisses for each other when away from family. We had each others' backs and knew when the other was vulnerable and stepped up and took the helm. We shared a couch under one blanket, we shared laughs and sorrows and insane ideas. We chose places to go to in our pajamas as a part of our series entitled: Pajama Adventures.
One day I noticed that I was in it alone. That I was loving, outwardly anyway, alone. I was throwing out all that I had and it was being absorbed at times and flying away in the wind like dried grass other times. I watched it fly away, bereft. Eyes stinging from the tossed debris. Nothing coming back to me but what she ignored.
And I gave warnings and heartfelt yearnings and she swore, yes, she would come back.
And I wrote angry emails, and caring letters and she swore, yes, she would come back.
And I fed her and I warmed her and I cried by myself.
And I gave up.
Then I declared our relationship over.
My husband asked why I had to make it a thing? Why not just let go of my end like she let go of hers and let it drift away?
Oh, no! No no no.
I hurt too much for that. And not a seething- after an annoying fight- feeling hurt- thing. I was broken hearted and I wanted to shut the whole thing down and fold it away and throw letters out and put drawings in closets and take down her photo or cover it with a new snapshot. And I did. I did all those things. I let her know this was happening. That I was hurt and that I didn't want to have her try and fix it. I wanted her to not send me cards or my children cards. I wanted her to no longer exist in my life. But she wouldn't stop. She kept randomly reaching out. I contacted her husband telling him to make her stop. But every birthday a card would appear. My children didn't understand who this person was who was sending them cards, and I would let them read them and that night while cleaning, I would recycle them.
I missed her. I mourned her. And the person sending me letters and cards was not even the person I loved with all my heart. It was a farce and it infuriated me and depressed me. It felt like a bad scene in a movie- me looking out the window, through old photo books, punching a wall and saying "I can't quitchooo..."
Then enough time passed. Enough space. And I turned 40. And people were diagnosed. And people passed away. And I got an email from her wishing me a happy birthday. And I didn't feel punched in the gut. And I had no spark at the base of my throat seeing the email address. I was at complete peace.
She said, "I hope you are having a happy and joyous day."
And I wrote back, "I am. Thank you. And you know what? I love you."
And now my divorce is complete.