The day before I left with my children on a two-week vacation to the West Coast, my ex-wife brought by the paperwork. After our 90-day waiting period and each having attended the court-mandated parenting class, it was official: we were divorced.
I still struggle with the finality of much of it. There are days that it is so surreal that I’m certain I will wake up and have everything back to normal. Other days, I am completely aware of the reality of it and the grief is so great I don’t know how to go on. I spent 15 years of my life with this woman, and in a matter of months, it’s all been vaporized.
Like it never happened.
Like she never really loved me.
Because she didn’t.
Today, to be divorced means trying to accept my new identity, but really not wanting to.