Seven Years

Some time on Saturday morning or maybe late Friday night, I started to just feel … off. You know what I mean? That feeling like something is wrong but you can’t quite put your finger on it? I thought it might just be because I was missing my kid but when he returned on Saturday, the feeling remained.

I woke up this morning with a catch in my throat and my eyes on the verge of tears and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Was it returning to work after a long weekend trip? Was it because Banks and I argued? Was it because my son was whiny or my dog was whiny or was it just that the sky was gray and foreboding? I plodded through the morning with my normal mantra of “Get dressed, J. Put your shoes on, J. Brush your teeth, J. Put your shoes on. PUT YOUR SHOES ON, J” and still the feeling hovered.

When I got to work and turned on my computer the date flashed up at me and it all made sense.

It seems that no matter where I go or what I do, October 13th will always haunt me.

The first year after my divorce, I cried on my anniversary over the loss of my husband but I was sure that by the second year it would all be different. And it was. I still cried, more from the exhaustion of single parenting and the overwhelming sense of loneliness. When the third year rolled around, I was deliriously enthralled with Banks and deep in the honeymoon phase of our relationship. October 13th was just another day.

And now, it seems, I have reached the fourth year. Officially. I’ve almost been divorced as long as I was married. But though it seems it shouldn’t matter any more that on this day, seven years ago, I was surrounded with friends and family on the day of my wedding… somehow it still does.

I can’t, in all honesty, say that I am sad to no longer be married to my ex-husband. I can’t say that I wish he were still here, still a part of my life. Because the God’s honest truth is that I don’t. I’m happy to no longer share a home with him, to no longer share my heart and mind and soul with him.

But the thing about divorce is this: it sort of feels like one big epic F- on a report card. Like I can’t pass “Marriage 101.” Like I’m flawed in some seriously major way that makes me unlovable, un-manageable, and yes … un-marriable. Though last year this day rolled off of me with the weightless wonder of new love, this year it weighs so heavy on my heart that it feels unbearable. I feel unbearable.

I failed at marriage. Failed at being able to salvage the friendship we once had, the love we thought we had… the life I thought we’d build together. And though I don’t want it back, not for all the diamonds in the world, the loss of it feels overwhelming.

Because if I failed at being married once, who’s to say I won’t fail again? As my relationship with Banks deepens and grows and evolves into something bigger and more and amazing… who’s to say that the weight of my insecurities won’t drown this man I love, won’t swallow him whole with my sheer doubt of my own existence. Who’s to say that second time’s the charm, that THIS time it’s right, that I won’t fail again. It seems the closer I get to Banks, the more terrified I become and I wonder if maybe I’m just too broken, just too scarred, just too much of a failure to ever make it work again.

This year, October 13th weighs so heavy on my heart.