Nothing Really Fits With a Broken Heart
A Valentine’s Day Reflection
A call
My husband called me yesterday, two days before Valentine’s Day. He was in a drug store, and sounded frustrated and a bit confused.
“I’m having a problem.” (What kind of problem could he have in CVS?)
“Just ask for help,” I told him impatiently.
“It’s not that kind of problem.” He lowered his voice and sounded hesitant about continuing the conversation.
“Brian, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m going to e-mail a card for Keara.”
“That’s good.”
(Our daughter is blissfully married and missed hourly by her mother. )
“So tell me again. What’s the problem?”
“ I can’t find anything for you. Nothing really fits.”
“Well, of course it doesn’t!” I sputtered.
“We’re getting a divorce!”
“Yeah,” he soldiered on, “I get that, but I expected they would have something. But I knew you would hate the general, sloppy, flowery kinds. And there were the funny cards like we used to give each other. And then there were the romantic cards, but they weren’t…”
“They should have divorce Valentines,” he suggested.
Right now, I’m wishing for an advance in technology that would allow me to press a button and deliver a punch to the person on the other end.
But that would allow someone to punch you. Right in the chest. Where you lose your breath, maybe forever, and maybe you even hope that happens.
“Brian, we aren’t even having a simple divorce.
We have a “You’re leaving me for another woman— but we’ll have blueberry pancakes together on Mondays — and then we’ll FaceTime our daughter — You’ll empty the garbage— and call me every single day — kind of divorce.”
“Listen, call off the search, I tell him. I’m not even trying to find one for you.”
“OK, I just didn’t want you to think I forgot.”
How in God’s name could I forget?
He has been living with a woman, who’s not me, for several years. Recently he announced that he wants a divorce so they can get married. But he’s not exactly making it happen.
Circles
I always thought that Separated, Divorced and Married were finite descriptors. Three circles on every form you ever fill out. For forty years I could have circled “Married” in my sleep.
But some things get so complicated when they start coming apart. It’s not a neat jump from married to separated to divorced.
Negotiating through those transitions is excruciating, uncertain, and confusing.
In addition to the pain, there’s a betrayal you thought possible from only the worst of enemy forces, not from the comrade who fought through the wars with you.
Who savored the victories, shared your secrets and accepted your flaws. And the one who made you laugh since when you were a ridiculous age of fifteen till the most recent time you talked. Who befriended and then loved you like crazy.
What is my circle? Nothing fits.
Finding our way
There’s no map, no bullshit self help book to guide through the terrain apart. With my husband’s succinct announcement, my first reaction was paralysis.
I couldn’t move. I kept thinking about my beloved pony, Peanuts, who my father brought home stuffed in the back of a station wagon. I loved her and she loved me.
But then something happened. And I still don’t know what. When I bent down to brush something from her shoe, she reared back and smacked me in my chest. She looked like she wasn’t finished. I couldn’t breathe or move. I was going to die. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it. I carried the deep mark for years.
After paralysis, I spent months adrift in my rage and my grief. I hated him. We didn’t speak. My fantasies were violent. At the same time, I balanced the relationship between my daughter and her father.
The loss
I was a stranger in my own life. Nothing fit. I swam in my King-sized bed.
The imprint of my wedding was a tattoo that never faded.
The Christmas tree was too big. And the ornaments we made when we were young and poor remained in their boxes.
The refrigerator was perpetually empty.
I didn’t quite fit in the same way in my family, and certainly not his.
The contact of a loving child just isn’t the same as the hot touch or cooling comfort of a man.
Turning Points
In the past two years, I came millimeter by millimeter closer to forgiveness. It was not entirely a generous journey. I realized that there were things I missed that I didn’t want to give up.
The biggest one was him. Beneath the married grown ups was a layer that began in adolescence and continues to this day. It was one of enduring friendship. No one will know me like he does. And I’ve got his number. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. But I don’t care.
Am I still angry?
I am pissed! But…
The scars will never disappear, but they may heal.
I found a blue opal ring for my empty finger. I can’t stop looking at it.
And I learned that when you sleep alone, you can eat cold spaghetti at 3 a.m. while you watch Law&Order reruns.
Somehow, for the time being, it’s starting to fit.
Good Valentine’s Wishes