The End (but only of my marriage. Life goes on.)

"I'm really scared for you," the therapist told me after hearing my story during our first session.  "You need to cry, to be angry, to give yourself a chance to grieve."

"Man," I thought to myself, "isn't that what I've been doing for the past seven months?”

Three months after Sheldon left, I was still really struggling with grief.  I missed him so much, I wanted to do what was right, but it was sometimes very hard to figure out what that was.  How do you deal with loosing a spouse, a friend, a companion, a protector and provider? 

Nights were getting better.  At first I went to bed as soon as I put the kids down, the house was so lonely and empty, but little by little I got used to being alone and returned to my old routine.

Money was, of course, still a real issue, but I knew I would have a steady income, albeit small, once I began teaching school.   In the meantime the Lord had been more than generous and provided for our needs.

What I really missed, and really needed, was someone to talk to.  Which sounded pretty silly, because I had my parents, my kids, my brothers and sisters, my Bishop, and a really good friend who came over almost every day to check up on me.  But still, especially at night, I ached to have someone's shoulder to cry on. 

One Sunday when my Bishop asked how I was getting along I tried to explain my feelings.  "I just wish someone would tell me what to do so I can get over this grief and get on with life," I told him.  "I know the steps of grieving, I've even counseled other people how to do it, but now I wish someone would tell me what to do."

"You might try seeing a counselor," he suggested.  "I'll set it up for you if you want."

The therapist was really nice, and it made me feel good when she heard my story and admired how strong I had been.  "Most people in those circumstances would not have handled things as well as you," she told me.  "It's amazing that you are still smiling and dealing with life, but I'm afraid you are smiling too much.  Instead of looking for the good in everything you need to take time out for yourself, and just let your emotions out."

She spent the rest of that session asking me questions and telling me how amazing I was for putting up with my ex-husband.  It felt good to be praised, but by the time I left I was exhausted and pretty depressed after remembering all the garbage Sheldon had dished. out.

The following session was more of the same, and again I left feeling worse than when I had come.  But she said I needed to deal with the past, and how else could I do that without bringing it all back to the forefront and talking about it?

I went one more week, and once again left feeling worse than when I'd come.  When I met with the Bishop the next Sunday he asked how the counseling sessions were going.  "The therapist says I need to cry and get it all out of my system," I told him.  "I've been doing that, but it's not actually making me feel any better. The more I open up and face the past, the worse I feel."

"I think you've had enough counseling," he finally told me.  "You've already grieved enough, I've seen you."

It was a relief to hear him say that.  I wanted to go through all the grieving steps, and heal properly, but I sure didn't want to spend any more time focusing on the past and being depressed.  I wanted to get on with my life.  And it was time. 

Sheldon left at the beginning of May.  I filed for divorce a few weeks later, hoping that would force him to wake up and realize what was actually happening, and perhaps decide it wasn't what he wanted.  He considered coming home once, but only because he was homeless, not because he wanted to change and make our marriage work.  Once he got an apartment and settled down he forgot all about coming home, and soon he was dating another woman, introducing her to the kids and talking about getting married again.  I wondered what happened to wanting "freedom to be with any woman he met."  Oh well.

Our divorce was settled the first of September.  That was a horrible day.  It was the end of ten years of marriage: of loving, laughing, fighting, forgiving, compromising, and enduring, at least on my part.  It was the end of a dream.  On the other hand, it also opened the door to the anticipation of new dreams and hopes for a better life.  Like I had been feeling for the past few months, it was good and bad, happy and sad.  But there it was. 


I went to court in the morning, signed a couple of papers, and walked out a single woman.  Sheldon didn't even attend, he was on a fishing trip at Lee's Ferry.  Funny, but that's the way our life had always been.   And so the future was before me, a blank page to write a new story on.  I wondered that day as I left the courthouse, what kind of story it would be?