Dissolution, a most appropriate term for the demise of a marriage.
Unlike a fierce explosion, each segment, part of a bigger puzzle, slowly, in constant motion, the pieces flow away; the erosion of coupledom, dissolving; the morphing of two complete and separate individuals. And the finality, near end, tidying up cell phone transfers, automobile insurance and pick slips, one less day of Mrs, one more closer to Miss, Ms. or more important – simply me.
The anticipation, it stings a bit. Settlement now pending, soon a draft finalized, ready for court and judgement.
Why is it that numbers and words have such a greater impact on a piece of paper? I imagine where I’ll be sitting, mediator’s office, pen in hand, signatures in tact. And then…and then, I am divorced. Just like that. Twenty-seven years behind me; the parties, holidays, date-nights, mortgages, bathing kids, picnics and baseball games, childproof cabinets, long car drives, family getaways, checking accounts, memories, hopes, dreams – the surreal still married to reality, I anticipate those two will part ways as well.
Reality, my reality, ever clearer each day, here, by myself. Living alone, an experience of its own, my life is now becoming that: my life. With my children still at bay, their distance propels my longing to continue on with grace, integrity, humility and strength. My love for them prevails, despite dissolution. Nothing can ever sever that. So for this moment, new discoveries to be had – in myself, the individuality of me.