Grief

How do I write this without once again giving into grief?

Or maybe that's not the right question because I haven't had many moments of grief over the past year.

But that's not to say I didn't grieve.  I grieved.  Deeply.  Most of that, though happened during the 2.5 years between The Declaration and The Move Out.  I already wrote about all the crying I did when  The Declaration first happened.  I wrote about sobbing in a therapists office, though that happened in other therapists offices, too.

One Sunday afternoon in October of 15, I was standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes and listening to one of my favorite musicals, Once.  Keep in mind, this was 14 months before The Move Out

Part of me/ Has Died/ And won't return/ And part of me/ Wants to hide/ The part that's burned

Once, once/ Knew how to talk to you/ Once, once/ But not anymore

Hear the sirens call me home

Part of me/ Has vied/ To watch it burn

And the heart of me/ Has tried/ But look what it's become

Once, once/ I knew how to look for you

Once, once/ But that was before

Once, once/ I would have laid down and died for you

Once, once/ But not anymore.

Hear the sirens call me home

I moved out on a Friday afternoon.  I went to Ikea that evening to get some furniture for my new place.  The ride home was snowy and as a result of the guy ahead of me losing control of his vehicle, I got into a minor accident.  The frustration of that was tempered, though by the fact that I narrowly missed getting t-boned by another out-of-control vehicle.

The accident could've happened earlier, though as a few minutes before my car slid out of control, it was taking all my effort to simply keep my eyes on the road.  It was surprisingly hard to concentrate on the road as I was sobbing, pounding the steering wheel, yelling out F-bombs - all while listening to this song.



 I've only cried a few times since that day, though.

The most significant was the actual divorce hearing.  It took every ounce of strength I had to  continue to agree to the things the judge was asking of me and not break down and double over with sobs.  In looking at the judge and feeling the people around me, I kept having flashbacks to the face of the pastor who married us and the 300+ people who surrounded us that day.  The act of "undoing" my vows was one of the more difficult things I'd ever done.  During the walk from the courthouse back to my apartment, though I felt a wave of relief.
I did, though cry myself to sleep that night.

I still get blindsided by the occasional moment of grief.  While it's always unexpected, I can always pinpoint the reason.  A movie, a song, something that stirs some sort of emotional memory.

While we are both still breathing, we experienced a significant and painful death.  Not only the death of our marriage but the death of our ideals, our dreams, our expectations of what life would be like and the future we'd always assumed we'd experience.

Back in 2002, when we first set up our IRA accounts, we put everything in my name because it would be easier.  I remember telling stating, "it does't matter whose name the account is in, it's not like we're ever getting a divorce."

For the record, a divorce decree allows you to transfer money from an IRA tax and penalty free.  It's cheaper than a death tax but possibly more painful.  Either way, it will leave a scar.