Ken and I have been living together for seven years now. Why, you might ask, are we bothering to get married? And why now?
The breakup of my first marriage was truly traumatizing. Well, what divorce isn’t? I never realized until I went through it myself how divorce rips your guts out and leaves you, collapsed and hollow, trying to make sense of the wreckage of your life.
When I got married the first time I truly believed, with all of my heart, that I would keep my marriage vows. ‘Till death do us part, honour and cherish, the whole nine yards. And I really, truly tried. That marriage lasted for five years, and we had some good times, but in the end we could not make it work. I remember one time, at the end of another long argument, we both admitted that while we still loved one another, we also had grown to hate each other. I was losing my mind and my self in that marriage. For the sake of my survival, I couldn’t stay.
After that, the thought of remarrying seemed bizarre. If I had believed my vows with all my heart the first time, why should I trust myself any more now? We can’t see the future; can’t see all the ways in which mates will change and possibly grow apart. For a long time it was all I could do just to take one day at a time, to get out of bed, go to work and keep my apartment clean. There was no such thing as Forever anymore.
Also, I felt that I couldn’t promise anyone that I would be there for them, to support them through thick and thin. I could barely care for myself. My emotional life, for a long time, consisted primarily of sadness, despair, anger, and frustration. How could I promise to love someone for better or for worse? I was in the middle of my own worse. I didn’t believe that I had enough left to give, or that I could be resilient enough to withstand the misfortunes of another person on top of my own.
When Ken and I were still fairly new to the idea that our relationship was a serious one, he used to promise me that even if I got really sick or was crippled in a car wreck or if I lost my mind, he would still love me and care for me always. I was ashamed not to be able to return that promise. But at least I was honest. I wept and confessed that I wasn’t sure if I could do the same for him. He said “yes, you would”. He had more faith in me than I did.
The passage of time blunted the pain of my divorce. Ken had to ask me a few times, but I finally agreed to go with him to pick out an engagement ring. That was three years ago. We bought wedding bands quite soon after I started wearing my ring, but we never got around to actually picking a date.
Another part of the problem was that I didn’t want to have another wedding. I wanted to BE married, but the idea of planning a wedding completely turned me off. I’ve written about my first wedding, and how disappointing it was. I didn’t want a repeat of that experience, but the thought of going down to City Hall to sign a paper with no ceremony whatsoever seemed meaningless. I didn’t know what to do, so I didn’t do anything.
Finding my faith, and my church, has made all the difference.
First of all, now that I know God is on my side, listening to my prayers and ready to lend me all the grace that I need to get through life, I’m ready to face the scariness of making a lifelong commitment. If Ken got really sick, or went senile, it wouldn’t be easy, but I trust that I would be able to get through it with God’s grace and support. I could keep my vows. I don’t have to believe in my own strength and tenacity. Or I do, to some extent, but I also trust God to meet me halfway, or more than halfway if I need it.
Secondly, we now have a meaningful place and way to get married. Of course we will be married in our church, by the pastor whom we trust. It won’t just be an administrative exercise of signing forms and making a change to our legal status. It will be a spiritual experience, which we undertake in part because we hope that it will be pleasing to God. This is entirely different from my first wedding, which was more of a staged ritual for the benefit of our audience than it was for myself and my first husband.
I am looking forward to this wedding with more joy and less stress than that with which I anticipated the first one. Nine weeks to the big day – and I’m sure they’ll fly by.
Showing posts with label first marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label first marriage. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Friday, February 1, 2008
The Big Split, Part III
The Big Split Part I and Part II led inevitably to Part III.
The final step was getting my ex down to the courts with me to sign the divorce papers together. We met at the subway station. I looked up from the book I was reading to see him walking towards me, a nervous grin stretching across his face. We took our last walk together to the court building.
He was on his best behaviour. He was always one to present his most charming persona to the outside world, and today was no exception. He was looking very handsome and was doing everything he could to be courteous and helpful.
When our number was called, the clerk who accepted our papers was a middle-aged black woman. Her accent told me that she was from one of the islands in the Carribean. She sifted through our paperwork, checking a detail here, banging down a red-inked rubber stamp there. All the while, she kept glancing up and searching our faces.
She asked us some questions regarding our paperwork. She had us sign here, and here. Now this copy. The she asked:
"Why are you two gettin' a divorce? You seem to get along alright."
"Uh..." We glanced at each other. "It's complicated."
She carried on, shuffling forms, and weilding her rubber stamp. A little later on, she fixed us with another searching look.
"Are you sure you want to get divorced?"
Who was this woman? The Oracle of the Family Law Department?
"Yes. Yes, we're sure." My ex's nervous grin stretched so tightly across his face that I though his lips would split.
She continued processing the paperwork. Finally, she gave us one more long stare, and rendered her verdict. Satisfied that she understood the situation at last, she tilted her chin towards my ex.
"You! You're the bad one."
I stifled the urge to do a touchdown dance. My ex protested.
"Me? Why me? What did I do?"
But it was too late. Her mind was made up. Having settled that matter, she finished our paperwork, took our $400 payment, and sent us on our way.
Now, of course a marriage is a complicated thing, and in no way do I wish to imply that my ex was 100% responsible for our breakup. We both had our issues and we both were experts at pushing each other's buttons. But I tell you, that woman totally made my day. She turned one of the saddest experiences of my life into a crazy, funny story.
Poor Ex. He won't soon forget that day either, methinks.
The final step was getting my ex down to the courts with me to sign the divorce papers together. We met at the subway station. I looked up from the book I was reading to see him walking towards me, a nervous grin stretching across his face. We took our last walk together to the court building.
He was on his best behaviour. He was always one to present his most charming persona to the outside world, and today was no exception. He was looking very handsome and was doing everything he could to be courteous and helpful.
When our number was called, the clerk who accepted our papers was a middle-aged black woman. Her accent told me that she was from one of the islands in the Carribean. She sifted through our paperwork, checking a detail here, banging down a red-inked rubber stamp there. All the while, she kept glancing up and searching our faces.
She asked us some questions regarding our paperwork. She had us sign here, and here. Now this copy. The she asked:
"Why are you two gettin' a divorce? You seem to get along alright."
"Uh..." We glanced at each other. "It's complicated."
She carried on, shuffling forms, and weilding her rubber stamp. A little later on, she fixed us with another searching look.
"Are you sure you want to get divorced?"
Who was this woman? The Oracle of the Family Law Department?
"Yes. Yes, we're sure." My ex's nervous grin stretched so tightly across his face that I though his lips would split.
She continued processing the paperwork. Finally, she gave us one more long stare, and rendered her verdict. Satisfied that she understood the situation at last, she tilted her chin towards my ex.
"You! You're the bad one."
I stifled the urge to do a touchdown dance. My ex protested.
"Me? Why me? What did I do?"
But it was too late. Her mind was made up. Having settled that matter, she finished our paperwork, took our $400 payment, and sent us on our way.
Now, of course a marriage is a complicated thing, and in no way do I wish to imply that my ex was 100% responsible for our breakup. We both had our issues and we both were experts at pushing each other's buttons. But I tell you, that woman totally made my day. She turned one of the saddest experiences of my life into a crazy, funny story.
Poor Ex. He won't soon forget that day either, methinks.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
The Big Split, Part II
The Big Split, Part I, can be found here.
When I get emotional, I get symptoms. Severe fatigue, hives, sore joints, and aching lungs have all shown up at one point or another, over the years. The theme for my divorce years was a terrible heaviness, like gravity had been multiplied a dozen times. There were days when I could barely pull myself up off my sofa. At times I thought I might not be able to keep working. I don't know how I managed to hang on to my job.
After my ex and I had lived apart for one year, according to Ontario law, we were permitted to begin divorce proceedings. But first we had to figure out what to do about the house we had bought with his mother. I had to get my name off the mortgage and have it signed over to the two of them.
We had agreed that if he would handle this changeover with the bank, I would handle the paperwork for the actual divorce. I can't prove this, but I strongly suspect that he was not in any hurry to finalize things. It took 14 months to get the house ownership transferred.
That done, it was time to fill in the divorce papers. I'm sure you know the saying: "A man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client." Well, lawyers charge a pretty penny, but it only costs $400 to get divorced in Ontario if you fill in your own paperwork, so I decided to be that fool.
The process of filling in those papers was one of the most difficult that I have ever been through. And it wasn't because of the content, either. We had vastly simplified things by transferring ownership of the house before proceeding with the divorce. There was no contested property and we had no children. All I had to do, essentially, was fill in our names, addresses, and dates of birth on around a dozen forms, answer checklists of simple questions, and then get us both down to the courts to sign them all in front of a notary public.
However, because of my emotional state, mired deep in grief and depression, I may as well have been writing a university-level biology exam in Greek. I would stare at a form asking for my name and address, and my mind would go absolutely blank. I forced myself to answer one question at a time, using all my willpower to push through the artificial confusion. It was like running in a nightmare, when your limbs are made of lead and you can't move forward.
Finally, after a lot of effort, all the papers were complete. I brought them to the courthouse to have them checked by a clerk before setting a date with my ex to do the final signing. I took a subway train downtown and then walked two blocks to the court building. The sidewalk was flat, but the heaviness was so great that I felt as though I were struggling up a steep slope all the way there. Every step was like climbing a mountain. It took all my strength to keep going.
When I finally got into the proper office and found the correct clerk, I thought that I might faint. He was very kind and patient with me, going over all the papers and reassuring me that I had done them correctly. My legs were rubbery as I left. The hardest part was yet to come.
To Be Continued...
When I get emotional, I get symptoms. Severe fatigue, hives, sore joints, and aching lungs have all shown up at one point or another, over the years. The theme for my divorce years was a terrible heaviness, like gravity had been multiplied a dozen times. There were days when I could barely pull myself up off my sofa. At times I thought I might not be able to keep working. I don't know how I managed to hang on to my job.
After my ex and I had lived apart for one year, according to Ontario law, we were permitted to begin divorce proceedings. But first we had to figure out what to do about the house we had bought with his mother. I had to get my name off the mortgage and have it signed over to the two of them.
We had agreed that if he would handle this changeover with the bank, I would handle the paperwork for the actual divorce. I can't prove this, but I strongly suspect that he was not in any hurry to finalize things. It took 14 months to get the house ownership transferred.
That done, it was time to fill in the divorce papers. I'm sure you know the saying: "A man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client." Well, lawyers charge a pretty penny, but it only costs $400 to get divorced in Ontario if you fill in your own paperwork, so I decided to be that fool.
The process of filling in those papers was one of the most difficult that I have ever been through. And it wasn't because of the content, either. We had vastly simplified things by transferring ownership of the house before proceeding with the divorce. There was no contested property and we had no children. All I had to do, essentially, was fill in our names, addresses, and dates of birth on around a dozen forms, answer checklists of simple questions, and then get us both down to the courts to sign them all in front of a notary public.
However, because of my emotional state, mired deep in grief and depression, I may as well have been writing a university-level biology exam in Greek. I would stare at a form asking for my name and address, and my mind would go absolutely blank. I forced myself to answer one question at a time, using all my willpower to push through the artificial confusion. It was like running in a nightmare, when your limbs are made of lead and you can't move forward.
Finally, after a lot of effort, all the papers were complete. I brought them to the courthouse to have them checked by a clerk before setting a date with my ex to do the final signing. I took a subway train downtown and then walked two blocks to the court building. The sidewalk was flat, but the heaviness was so great that I felt as though I were struggling up a steep slope all the way there. Every step was like climbing a mountain. It took all my strength to keep going.
When I finally got into the proper office and found the correct clerk, I thought that I might faint. He was very kind and patient with me, going over all the papers and reassuring me that I had done them correctly. My legs were rubbery as I left. The hardest part was yet to come.
To Be Continued...
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The Big Split, Part I
When I heard the news that my mom and step-dad were separating, the worst thing was the shock. It was so sudden! One day we were all sitting down to a warm, friendly dinner together, and only a few days later I heard that he was jetting off to Arizona to take a holiday with his mistress.
However, the actual process of their separation is going to be very slow. This is going to be a long, drawn-out process with legal and financial complexities, paperwork, arguments, and confusion. Just getting him moved out of the house is going to be a painful and involved process of packing and discussions.
Thinking about it like that, and knowing how hard it's going to be on my mom, makes me wish that it were possible to get it all over with in one big shock, like ripping off a band-aid.
I was married for five years the first time around. The logistics of dividing our lives was daunting when we went our separate ways. Splitting up our CD collection and photo albums added fuel to flaring arguments.
To simplify things, and because I wanted to start a new life, I barely took anything beyond my clothes and books. I packed up enough kitchen basics to get me started, and I took the toaster oven, because he barely used it and I make toast every morning. He let me take the old TV without an argument because he was looking for an excuse to buy a flatscreen, but he did put up a fight for the toaster oven. Go figure...
Of course the toughest joint possession to deal with was the house. We had bought a house jointly with his mother only a year before we split up.
Everyone say it together now: BAD IDEA!
Even though the house was divided into two separate apartments, that much proximity to my mother-in-law was one of the final nails in the coffin. Not that she's a bad person, by any stretch of the imagination. It's just that his relationship with her was so clearly much more valuable to him than his relationship with me. He barely ever did a lick of housework in the five years we lived together, despite my complaints, but he would run to her beck and call for any task she wanted done. It was too much.
In the end, dividing our material possessions turned out to be infinitely easier than dividing our identities. We had started dating in tenth grade and had been together ever since. We had essentially grown up together, and I had considered him my best friend for many of those years.
I once heard it said that trying to extract oneself from a long-term relationship is like trying to separate two eggs that have been scrambled together. And that is exactly how I felt. I was a scrambled egg, and I couldn't tell which pieces belonged to me and which to him.
To be continued...
However, the actual process of their separation is going to be very slow. This is going to be a long, drawn-out process with legal and financial complexities, paperwork, arguments, and confusion. Just getting him moved out of the house is going to be a painful and involved process of packing and discussions.
Thinking about it like that, and knowing how hard it's going to be on my mom, makes me wish that it were possible to get it all over with in one big shock, like ripping off a band-aid.
I was married for five years the first time around. The logistics of dividing our lives was daunting when we went our separate ways. Splitting up our CD collection and photo albums added fuel to flaring arguments.
To simplify things, and because I wanted to start a new life, I barely took anything beyond my clothes and books. I packed up enough kitchen basics to get me started, and I took the toaster oven, because he barely used it and I make toast every morning. He let me take the old TV without an argument because he was looking for an excuse to buy a flatscreen, but he did put up a fight for the toaster oven. Go figure...
Of course the toughest joint possession to deal with was the house. We had bought a house jointly with his mother only a year before we split up.
Everyone say it together now: BAD IDEA!
Even though the house was divided into two separate apartments, that much proximity to my mother-in-law was one of the final nails in the coffin. Not that she's a bad person, by any stretch of the imagination. It's just that his relationship with her was so clearly much more valuable to him than his relationship with me. He barely ever did a lick of housework in the five years we lived together, despite my complaints, but he would run to her beck and call for any task she wanted done. It was too much.
In the end, dividing our material possessions turned out to be infinitely easier than dividing our identities. We had started dating in tenth grade and had been together ever since. We had essentially grown up together, and I had considered him my best friend for many of those years.
I once heard it said that trying to extract oneself from a long-term relationship is like trying to separate two eggs that have been scrambled together. And that is exactly how I felt. I was a scrambled egg, and I couldn't tell which pieces belonged to me and which to him.
To be continued...
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