Mystery

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The story of this missing plane just keeps getting stranger. It’s interesting to me to watch how surprised people are that we do not yet have answers. How shocked people are that it remains a mystery even in the face of technology and manpower. We like to read mysteries, not live them. We crave the information that can fit the pieces of the puzzle.

I caught part of an interview yesterday with the wife of one of the passengers. I ached for her. She is caught in limbo, understanding that most likely, she will never see her husband again yet also lacking the concrete information that lets her begin to grieve.The questions, the mystery keep her anchored in maybe. And that’s a horrible place to live.

I know. I lived there myself for a few days. Yes, I had a text and a typed letter when my ex left, but I no information. What he left was worthless, gave no real answers. All I knew was that one moment, I had a husband who said he loved me and couldn’t wait for me to get home and the next, I had a brief electronic communication saying he was gone. Disappeared.

For the first twenty-four hours, I had no information. I didn’t know if he was alive or if the letter was really a suicide note. My mind raced, trying on different scenarios for fit. In some, in walked back in the door and explained it was all a mistake. In others, his body was found in a motel. I couldn’t rest. I needed to know.

As with most mysteries, information dribbled in. I learned that all the money was gone. I found proof of another woman. Then, I figured out what state he was in. That was the point where I first filed for divorce (less than a week after the text). The first go-round, the plan was to file by publication because his true location was still unknown.

And I was still restless. I knew some things, but I still didn’t understand why. And then I learned about Uganda and found some more answers. And then the bigamy, which answered some things and raised more. I was dogged. Determined. I needed to know. I searched for information with the same desperate urge as preteen reading the battle scene in the final Harry Potter. I could not stop turning pages even knowing that I may not like what I would learn.

In the end, that search provided the pieces that I fit into the puzzle years later. I still don’t know if I built it correctly. And I never really will. That search cost me, in terms of additional money spent for the divorce and in time spent playing Sherlock Holmes.

But, when I saw the face of that poor woman on TV last night, it’s a cost I’m glad I spent.

If  it was still a mystery, I would always be wondering.

At least now I know. And I can lay it to rest.

I hope that the families of the passengers on the missing place find answers soon so that then they can work on finding peace.

 

Divorce Tool Box

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In my second year of college, I took a psychology of grief class. I signed up because I needed another psych credit but also to help me understand my own experiences at that point with grief and loss. One of the first images in the textbook was the Holmes-Rahe Stress Inventory, a scale that quantifies stressful life events with a score of 1-100. I was no stranger to the instrument; my counselor mom had dozens of copies (and versions) in the books that were scattered about the house. But that day, perhaps bored with the dry lecture, I looked at the scale differently. I wondered what experiences listed on the page I would have. I feared the big one, the 100 point Death of a Spouse. In my mind, that was the only item on the list that would destroy me. The others seemed inconceivable or inconsequential.

A brief note here – Some versions of the scale include death of a child, obviously near the top. This particular one did not, a question I raised with my professor on that day.

I noted that divorce was listed as second only to death of a spouse with a score of 73. That didn’t make sense to me. Perhaps because I thought it would never happen to me (I was three years in to the relationship with my now ex husband at that point and I could not fathom one or both of us choosing to end it), but I just couldn’t understand what could be so devastating about divorce.

I guess the universe wanted to show me I was wrong.

Using the scale that was in my textbook that day, I faced:

73 divorce

53 personal illness

44 major behavior change in spouse

39 new family members

38 financial hardship

30 foreclosure

29 in-law problems

29 change in habits

25 housing change

19 change in recreation

16 change in sleep

15 change in eating

15 change in family get togethers

For a grand total of 425 points. The sirens start to go off at 300 points. And, if you add infidelity, most scales place that around an 81, which would raise my total to a lofty 506. I probably should have been escorted into a padded room at that point. I would also add a few more points for a tsunami divorce, which is somewhere between a death and a divorce. I looked, they haven’t studied the impact of bigamy. I hope that they never need to.

What the scale in my textbook didn’t make clear is that there is no life stone unturned when it comes to divorce. It. changes. everything.

And change, especially unwanted and unexpected change, is stressful.

If there’s ever a time in life when you have to use everything you have at your disposal, it’s divorce.

You can inventory your stress and tally up your debits but you can also inventory your personal tool box and count up your implements of healing.

Here’s what I had in my Divorce Tool Box. Maybe yours looks a little different.

The Extra Battery – Fortitude

There’s no way around it. Divorce is draining. It goes on and on. And on. Just when you think the struggle is over, something will pop up and make you go again. A huge part of getting through is simply getting through, having the ability to persist even when the path is tough. So, pack an extra battery. Hell, pack two:)

The Hammer – Determination

It’s easy to fall apart in divorce. You feel beat down and the instinct may be to roll over and play dead. There is certainly time for acceptance, but there is also time for determination. If you want a better life, you have to build it. Pick up that hammer and make it happen. Just look out for your thumb!

The Tape Measure – Attention

There are a ton of details in divorce. Personally, I think everyone who has experiences it should qualify as a paralegal. There will be times when you have to push the grief and anger aside, pull out the tape measure and pay attention to every detail in every document. Remember, measure twice, cut once. Make sure you know what you’re signing.

The Level – Balance

It’s easy for the divorce to overwhelm your life until it becomes your entire life. Needless to say, that’s not healthy (or much fun). The level in your tool box is to remind you to find balance. Or to check to see if that picture you hung where the wedding photo once was is level:)

The Spackle – Humility

You’ll screw up. You’ll create a hole where there wasn’t supposed to be one. You’l inadvertently bang up someone else as you try to aim at your ex. When you reach for the spackle, you admit that you made a mistake and show that you’re trying to repair it. If you can, buy the spackle that starts pink and dries white. That way you know when your mistakes are corrected:)

The Business Card – Assistance

You can’t do it all. When you’re overwhelmed or stuck, reach for that business card with the name and number of an expert. Call them. And then listen to them. Don’t let your ego get in the way of your healing.

The Liquid Nails – Confidence

You will have to make some big decisions. Do it with confidence. Pull out the permanent adhesive and believe in your decision. Deep down, you know what’s best for you. Make it stick.

The Saw – Humor

When it all starts to overwhelm, reach for the saw and cut it down to size. There’s nothing like a little laughter to put everything into perspective.

That’s my tool box. What’s in yours?

Four Years Ago Today

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Four years ago today, I awoke afraid of seeing the man who had abandoned me eight months before. And when he passed me in the courthouse hall, I didn’t even recognize him.

Four years ago today, I was ready for the divorce I never wanted from the man I thought I knew.

Four years ago today, I sat in a courtroom with the man I had spent half of my life with. A man I once considered my best friend. We never made eye contact.

Four years ago today, I looked at his face for any sign of the man I had loved.  I saw none. After sixteen years, he was truly a stranger to me.

Four years ago today, I sat alone in a hallway waiting for the attorneys to decide his fate and mine. Hoping that the judge saw through his lies and would not fall sway to him charms. She didn’t, even asking my husband’s attorney if he was “psycho.” The lawyer could only shrug.

Four years ago today, I cried and shook with the realization that it was all over. It was a relief and yet the finality was jarring.

Four years ago today, I felt a heaviness lift as I cut the dead weight of him from my burden. I believed I couldn’t begin to heal until his malignancy had been removed.

Four years ago today, I laughed when I learned he hadn’t paid his attorney. I had warned the man my husband was a con. Maybe he believed me now.

Four years ago today, I held tightly to that decree, still believing that its declarations had power. I felt relief that he would have to pay back some of what he stole from the marriage. The relief was short lived.

Four years ago today, I took my first steps as a single woman. Steps I never expected to take. The first few were shaky. But I soon started to find my stride.

Four years ago today, I sat around a restaurant table with friends and my mother. A table that had held my husband and I countless times over our marriage. We celebrated the end of the marriage that night. I had celebrated my anniversary there the year before.

Four years ago today, I read my husband’s other wife’s blog for the last time, curious if she would mention anything about the court date. She did not. I erased the URL from my history. It no longer mattered.

Four years ago today, I sealed the piles of paperwork from the divorce and the criminal proceedings into a large plastic tub. As the lid clicked in place, I felt like I was securing all of that anguish in my past.

Four years ago today, I started to wean myself off of the medication that allowed me to sleep and eat through the ordeal. I was thankful it had been there, but I no longer wanted the help.

Four years ago today, I fell asleep dreaming of hope for the future rather than experiencing nightmares of the past.

And now, four years on, I could not be happier with where I am.

Not because of the divorce.

But because losing everything made me thankful for everything.

Because being blind made me learn how to see.

Because being vulnerable created new friendships and bonds.

Because being destroyed made me defiantly want to succeed.

And because losing love made me determined to find it again.

I am happier than I’ve ever been.

And I could not be where I am without four years ago today.

Significance

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It’s amazing the significance that can be found in the smallest of things. I found it this past weekend in a can of stain.

In my former life, my husband and I had an amazing deck built about 15 months before he left. This deck had been a dream of ours since we purchased the house nine years prior. I loved that space and spent every available moment on it. When the deck’s one year anniversary came around, we made plans to stain it, as advised. We researched products and purchased a five gallon bucket of stain.

A bucket of stain that still stood unopened in the basement on the day he left.

During those months between the deck’s birthdate and his life’s death date, he made excuses not to undertake the project. He was too busy to pressure wash (his domain) or was worried about the pollen. Or the weather. Or his blood pressure. Or even the cost of tea in China. He always had a reason.

But the real reason was that there was no need to stain a deck to ensure its longevity when your life is on its last breaths.

A few years later, and my new husband and I purchased a house with a new deck. The planks one-year anniversary was this spring and we celebrated by coating it with stain over the weekend. He pressure washed and covered the large expanses of deck while I tackled the nooks and crannies of the railings and steps. It was a simple process yet suffused with meaning.

This deck, this marriage and life are coated to last.

Strength

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Several years ago, I taught eighth grade in the gifted program at a school with a population that qualified our suburban location as “inner city.” I had this one little British boy that year that stood out. John couldn’t have been more than four feet tall, the stack of books in his arms frequently bypassing his eyebrows. He was very quiet and gentle and spoke with coolest accent as he shared his brilliant insights. He was safe on our gifted team; we had many kids who fell outside the norm and this group was very accepting of differences.

But that wasn’t necessarily the case with the rest of the school. I worried for my kids when they were in the halls and the lunchroom with the greater population. I feared they would fall sway to bullies or worse.

But John taught me not to worry.

One day, another student was put in John’s science class for the day as a form of consequence. This student was built like an NFL linebacker and had the temper of a taunted cobra. The science teacher, who had a nature even more gentle than John, sat the punished student at a table in the back of the room.

But the table was already occupied.

A large glass aquarium filled all but a thin, four inch strip of the table. A strip where this student would be completing his work. Inside the aquarium was a large tarantula, that just happened to be crawling on the front wall of the aquarium when the student sat down.

Panicked, he turned to the kid who was closest to him. John.

“Is this thing safe? I hate spiders, man,” his eyes belying the terror just beneath the surface.

“You see those fangs,” said John in a British-tinged whisper, “They use them to pump venom into your body that liquefies your flesh and then they suck out the juices.” This was illustrated with his fingers, just in case the other boy didn’t quite get the picture.

“But don’t worry,” said John with a small smile, “I think the lid will hold.”

And with those words, our little David defeated that Goliath.

For the rest of that year, I saw the bigger boy act in deference to little John in the hallways and in the cafeteria. I’m sure the other students and teachers looked on quizzically, wondering how this diminutive child defeated one of the tougher kids in the school.

What they failed to realize is that strength is not always visible on the surface. That true toughness comes from an ability to reason, use what you have at your disposal and a determination to see the challenge through to the end. And that is something we can all do, even if we can’t see over the load we carry.