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I am two years in.
Well, maybe not ‘officially’, but two years in since the I knew in my heart of hearts that the wheels had truly fallen off the wagon of my life and this time there was no putting them back on again.
For the past two years I have done my share (and then some) of crying, grieving, cussing, fist shaking and ‘why me, God’ over and over again. I have fallen down, gotten back up and dusted myself off more times than I can count. I have put every spin, spiritual and otherwise, I could put on the situation. I have gone through self-denial, self-pity, self-righteousness, self-help and every other type of self this or that out there.
I have studied the Bible, listened to tapes and sermons, read a dozen or more books and blog sites on ‘surviving divorce’ as well as received counsel from pastors who have been gracious enough to overlook my potty mouth as I tried desperately to find the right words to express my outrage and sorrow in my quest for ‘why did this happen to ME?’
I have screamed, stomped, yelled at the top of my lungs and spent many evenings in a ‘wanna burn down the world’ state of furious. I have lit candles, said countless novenas, prayed a million prayers; Mother Mary and I continue to have ‘girl talks’ in the middle of the night several times a week.
I have also spent more than my share of solo evenings nursing the creature and reminding myself that I could really use a good local pub because drinking alone is never the greatest of ideas, even if you are enjoying the ten year old version of the nectar of the gods.
And two years in, it still sucks.
So as the official two year ‘anniversary’ of slogging my way through approaches (just after Easter, but it’s Lent, so indulge me), I decided to make a short list of things I’ve learned (so far) about life as a human who never believed in divorce or that divorce would ever happen to me.
Being married for TWENTY FIVE YEARS was a LONG time and a LOT of ‘muscle memory’. I go to work every day and interact with multiple teachers who were not even ALIVE when I walked down the aisle! 25 years is a long time and the memories of over two decades of life with a spouse are not easily undone, nor do those memories simply ‘go away’ – not in your mind, your body or especially your heart. Sorry, Mick, but time is not always on your side…
Rolling Stones – Time Is On My Side
Waiting for the doorbell to ring is not a good plan. People have good intentions. They really do. But they also have their own lives and those lives typically do not include divorced women over the age of 40+ who are not part of their already established rule of life or family unit. I do not currently belong to any Red Hat Societies and the few that exist around here are well established, not ‘friendly to newcomers’ and way too tame for my tastes and sense of adventure – more along the line of sweet tea at Golden Corral types of gatherings, which is fine but not my personal version of a ‘girls night out’. I have discovered that the doorbell does not ring nor does the knock on the door come and, despite Burt Parks’ masterful Miss America 1976 performance, the supper invitations (or any invitations, truth be told) rarely happen unless they come from me.
There are only so many places you can have a ‘good time’ alone. I live in the rural South. That is likely ’nuff said’ for many, but for the uninitiated this means there are no museums, no art galleries, no boutiques, no friendly pubs, no cultural life except for the neighborhood Applebees, Taco Bell, Walmart or Waffle House.
I live where a person has to drive at least 30 miles one way to go anywhere with ‘culture’ and then 30 miles (or more like 60 for someplace really decent) back home again at the end of the evening. Alone. Not too terribly likely… Of course, many (including my own son) have suggested that moving is a solution to this dilemma. I do not disagree and I do look around, wistfully hoping that the miracle job will appear on my radar at any time. But finding the right job as an older adult, especially an older woman who needs stability, living on a single salary, having decent benefits and being able to maintain the cost of living is not the simple task that others much younger or just starting out believe it to be.
Widows and Orphans do not often get checked on, despite what the Bible says (and a person only has so many Church Suppers in them). I wont preach a sermon but trust me; it’s tough when you hear more from your mechanic than the folks you go to church with every week (Pastors included). I used to attend the countless church suppers that pass as the only form of fellowship around here (at least for a chaste person who does not want bar stool companions), but honestly; who can do this regularly when alone and in pain, facing the same questions, the awkward ‘I hope someone will sit with me this week’ anxieties? I even avoid the receiving line at church anymore – one can only say ‘I’m fine’ so many times, after all…
“If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.” – William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
Life DOES go on. It really does! I set my alarm, get up, fix my screaming cat her breakfast, go to work, come home, do schoolwork, fix the screaming cat her supper. I pay bills, read books, watch movies. I go for walks, exercise, and catch an occasional school-based event (mostly for my students; 25 years of Friday Night Lights is a helluva lotta HS football).
When I was young and single, this type of life was new and exciting; I loved the freedom to do as I pleased, have my own place to myself, leave dishes in the sink and dirty clothes on the floor if I wanted. But 25 years is a long time to live with another person. A long time of sharing your way of living, your hopes, your dreams, your joys and your sorrows with another human being. Twenty five years is a long time to simply or easily pick up and move on.
After two years for trying hard to move on, trying hard to do the right thing, trying to be brave, trying to believe that something good will actually come out of this dark night of the soul, it is increasingly difficult to believe there is anything resembling a phoenix left in me still waiting to rise from the pile of ashes that has become my life.
Several have mentioned the story of Job to me as I have wandered through these two years of darkness. I’ll admit it – this story has crossed my mind more than once..
JOB 2 (NIV): “On another day the angels came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan also came with them to present himself before him.2 And the Lord said to Satan, “Where have you come from?” Satan answered the Lord, “From roaming throughout the earth, going back and forth on it.” 3 Then the Lord said to Satan, “Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil. And he still maintains his integrity,though you incited me against him to ruin him without any reason.” 4 “Skin for skin!” Satan replied. “A man will give all he has for his own life. 5 But now stretch out your hand and strike his flesh and bones, and he will surely curse you to your face.” 6 The Lord said to Satan, “Very well, then, he is in your hands; but you must spare his life.” 7 So Satan went out from the presence of the Lord and afflicted Job with painful sores from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. 8 Then Job took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes. 9 His wife said to him, “Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!” 10 He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” In all this, Job did not sin in what he said.”
A whole lot of hefty sermons have come out of that passage as well as the entire Book of Job – it is chock full of life lessons and contains its fair share of pain, suffering and drama. In the end, Job has all restored to him, though in my current state of weakness, ongoing pain and doubt, I am still pondering how that could possibly be the case; especially after losing absolutely everything he counted as dear to him including the lives of his children. But what often gets missed, what I have – after years and years of hearing sermons about Job NEVER heard preached by any pastor in any church or at any conference – is the passage that follows in the very same chapter:
11 When Job’s three friends, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhiteand Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon him, they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. 12 When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. 13 Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was.”
It is hard, this Gospel of Life. It is hard to walk it, live it, and especially to BE it to others in need. But at the end of the day our Brothers and Sisters NEED us in their lives. Especially the Widows, the Orphans and the countless Others in distress, burdened by loneliness and despair and searching for hope amidst the ashes of their life.
To hold on to HOPE. THAT is the biggest lesson I have learned (so far) and two years in.
Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?