Settling into a good friendship took three years after our divorce. But it was worth the effort and I strongly urge others to give it a try. Besides, breaking rules feels great. Who says "they" have to be right?
Buds
In January of 2011, after thirty-seven years of life together, my husband and I met at the Court House where we received and signed thick wads of paper covered with legalese known as Final Divorce Decrees, designed to define our future interactions.
We had been through that dramatic epic, with a cast of two, complete with long silences, followed by vociferous bursts of ear (and mind) shattering exchanges. We became experts in the zig-zag dance where partners contort their bodies into extraordinary positions to avoid the teeniest brush of contact when passing in hallways or reaching for a dish towel We both hated what was happening, but even after counselling, therapies and yoga, had no clue what to do about it.
A lot of people assume that there was infidelity involved. Perhaps one of the main reasons we have been able to get through this right side up is that we did not have to deal with cheating. The sense of betrayal and crippling blow to the ego, when a partner has been drawn to another person, certainly intensifies an already emotionally complicated situation.
We had no children. Property was divvied up with little fuss—his, mine and I got the rest. To be honest, we both felt tremendous relief to be left alone to create our own way of doing whatever the hell we needed to do next.
What we had been dealing with for the last five-six years of our marriage was the sense that each was holding the other back. In a nutshell—and it took a while to figure this out— our sense of responsibility as partners in the life we had chosen became a system of slow suffocation. Ironically, what had begun as mutual support had collapsed into itself. On top of that, although we were both working our butts off, neither felt those efforts were being recognized or appreciated by the other.
My Ex, Schuyler or Sky, is a handsome, hardworking, creative, intelligent, Antinuke Activist, who loves animals, art, beauty and, among others, me. I don’t march, carry banners or write letters to the editor-- my activism is far more subversive than his-- but I am all of the above (except handsome) and I love him, among others, right back.
As of Columbus Day 2014, we share forty years of experience, forty years of watching families grow (and grow up), dealing with crises, loving pets and losing people we both treasured, not to mention the daily business of life with its curly cues-- like no money, broken bones… inexplicable mood swings.
Neither of us had wanted to marry in the first place. Commitment had been firmly established, when we realized we wanted to be able to legally protect one another and our meager assets. Issues involving hospitalization, insurance, death and dying, taxes-- with all their bothersome details-- needed to be tended to. The obvious, most expeditious way to deal with it all was to marry. So, we did (the bride wore cutoffs).
Although now living separate lives, we make the effort to get together for an evening once a month, or so, and chat every couple of weeks just to stay on top of things that matter to us both… alimony payments, current relationships, or lack of same. And, yes, we share hugs and a bottle of wine-- sometimes we even chop onions and celery together, laugh out loud, philosophize, encourage, argue-- just like old times.
Eleven years younger than I, Sky says he isn’t really looking for a partner. I am content with my life as it is-- the thought of sharing time and space in close proximity with another human being makes me very tense. Facing the reality of my own lonely demise has been a tad scary and a big propellant towards staying healthy and active. But, it is clear that, if humanly possible, Sky will be there with me-- providing I don’t outlive him.
For a long time we made a great couple. Now we make a great couple of pals.
What’s wrong with that? Is there a law forbidding such a thing hidden in the fine print of those divorce papers? Is there some ethic, some higher principle involved which we have failed to notice? Is it necessary for judgments to be made? Does somebody have to have been wrong?
We tried that and it felt really awful.