I knew it
was coming. My solicitor advised me last week that she’d applied for the Decree
Absolute and it should come through any day. I got myself prepared. I went to
my Storage King unit and extracted my wedding box. I wanted to be ready so that
when it arrived I could, if I wanted to, spend some time looking through the
wedding paraphernalia representing our coming together, and finally say goodbye
to my marriage.
It was still
a shock when the email arrived. And with the most unfortunate timing, I read it
just as I was walking into school to collect the kids. Mask on. All the way
home, with a stop off at my sister’s house, I held onto my façade and told no
one. I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud. My marriage was over.
I decided to
wait until the kids were in bed, then go through the wedding box, shed my tears,
then package it all away to move on with life.
That was the
plan. But when do things ever go to plan?
By the time
we’d got home, eaten dinner and the kids had gone to bed I remembered I needed
to make 24 dairy free, nut free chocolate cupcakes for my son to take to school
for his birthday the next day. Except, I had no cocoa powder, and not enough
eggs. I ended up with some rather unappetizing looking buns, for want of a
better word. I squirted them with Dr Oetker’s chocolate icing (thankfully also
dairy free) and shoved them in a tin, hoping I wouldn’t be judged too harshly
by a precocious 9 year-old Mary Berry wannabe the next day.
So, to the
wedding box.
Crap! I
hadn’t wrapped his presents or set up the birthday banners! I raced around like
a very silent mad woman trying not to wake the sleeping children upstairs. At
last, I was finished.
Ok, time for
the wedding box.
Double crap!
I had a funeral the next day too and, for reasons I won’t bore you with, I had
to pack a bag of suitable clothes to change into at my sister’s house after
walking the dog. Having realized I looked 6 months pregnant in my classic
funeral dress, I threw all the black items of clothing I owned into a bag and
decided to worry about it the next day.
Finally, I
had the time to sit down with my wedding box.
Except by
that point, it was almost midnight and I was exhausted. I wasn’t feeling
remotely sentimental and wouldn’t have done the task justice. I would have been
doing it just to tick it off my to-do-list but, as much as that generally
pleases me, it didn’t feel right. I went to bed instead. Although not for long…
Birthday
presents, pancakes and Star Wars Top Trumps (strangely addictive by the way)
began at 5.30am and I was in full on mummy mode! We partied, then I took the
kids to school, walked the dog and got into my funeral clothes with 25 minutes
to spare.
For those
interested in my attire, I decided on black trousers with a slight floral
imprint, a sheer black long sleeved top and a black over-top with a little
fringe at the bottom, a black suit jacket and some rather sexy high-heeled
suede boots. My team of dressers would have been proud (see Who’s Up For Some Zhooshing?!).
I debated
with myself for quite some time about the suitability of the boots for such an occasion
but I decided they worked with the outfit, made me feel happy and were the only
footwear I’d packed anyway.
Sitting at
my sister’s house while everyone else was getting ready, I realized I wasn’t
used to having a 25 minute window with nothing urgent to do. So, I cut and
painted my nails whilst listening to the radio. It was bliss. And if you think
the sexy boots were disrespectful…my nail varnish was red!
I promise
you that the deceased would have been quite happy with the whole thing. And
when I say “the whole thing” I don’t just mean the raunchy boots and vampish
nails. She had been ready to die for a long, long time. For her, this would
have been a release. She was free of her failing body and in a happier place.
It was her time.
This got me
thinking. It was her time to go and here I was having time for me to paint my
nails. There’s a time for everything and, despite the way I generally live,
that doesn’t have to be dictated by the predetermined timetable of the day.
Sometimes,
the time’s right for one thing and not another. And you don’t know until it
happens what that thing is.
Time to be
happy, time to grieve
Time to play,
time to cry
Time to
paint your nails, time to close your eyes and sleep
Time to wear
high-heeled boots, time to snuggle in your PJs
Time to
nibble a salad, time to devour macaroni cheese
Time to
reflect
Time for the
wedding box
So that
evening, I didn’t rush it. I did what felt right at the time. I put the kids to
bed, slipped into my PJs, ate a bowl of macaroni cheese, scoffed 2 chocolate éclairs,
and then I was ready.
In the same
way that you can’t plan when you’ll be ready to do these things, it seems you
can’t prepare yourself for how you’ll feel either. My emotions weren’t what I’d
expected.
Of course
there were tears. I touched the boxes that had stored our wedding rings. I felt the feathered hearts glued with care to the front of each order of service. I read the index cards from my now ex-husband’s wedding
speech and I was touched. He knew me so well and loved me so much then. When
did that change?
But equally,
I laughed at the comments in our wedding guest book including the competition
between our two witnesses over who was best at the job and the wedding haiku written
by a particularly lovely friend.
I smiled at
myself in the mirror as I put on my wedding tiara. It didn’t really go with the
PJs but the wedding dress is now 2 sizes too small with a gravy stain down the
front so I wasn’t about to do the full bridal thing. Here’s a tip, choose your
wedding breakfast carefully taking into account your clothing for the day!
But the most
unexpected feeling was one of warmth. People’s comments about how happy we
looked, the poem I wrote as one of our readings called My Best Friend, the laughter
on people’s faces in the photos taken on the disposable cameras… what a day!
I remembered
how happy I was, not just on that day, but also in my marriage.
I reflected
on our time together. The nights out, nights in, holidays, arrival of our
children, plans we made, homes we built, achievements, successes, crises we’d
come through together, times we’d stood by each other despite feelings of
betrayal, difficulties in our marriage we’d overcome, issues we were trying to
resolve, then the separation and divorce.
Our marriage
was more that just the end bits. With all the negativity and upset of more
recent years, it’s so easy to forget the rest. A marriage is something that
happens over time. And that reminded me of one of our readings...
EXTRACT FROM THE VELVETEEN
RABBIT
By Margery Williams
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were
lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room.
"Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out
handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse.
"It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long
time, not just to play with, but Really loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always
truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked,
"or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse.
"You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to
people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and
your eyes drop out and you get all loose in the joints and very shabby. But
these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly,
except to people who don't understand."
So here I
am. My hair hasn’t quite been loved off,
although the grey roots are in need of some attention. My joints are more stiff
than loose due tennis elbow and now a cricked neck. I’m not too shabby, but
perhaps a tiny bit overweight. Nothing that a few more running sessions and my
new Nutribullet can’t fix.
Overall, I’m
not as fit as I was 20 years ago, but I’m real (see A Different Sort Of Singleton). My life, my marriage, my baggage made me real, made me who I am
today. And, on the whole, I like me.
This week,
as my marriage has finally come to an end, I refuse to regret a single moment
of it. This reflection has given me the space to see that there was a time for
us to get married, there was a time for us to be happy together and there was a
time for it to end. However much I didn’t want that to happen, that’s the way
it was.
And now, it’s
time for me to move forward, but without bitterness. Time to draw a line under
the darkness that’s dominated recently and step back into the light. So, bring
on the sexy boots and bright red nails – it’s my time now. Or, I could just pop
my PJs back on and nibble some Green & Blacks chocolate. Just for now…
Love
SPB
xxx
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