One of the most difficult aspects of a second marriage is not inviting your first spouse into the union.
Not literally, unless you’re into that sort of thing and you have a California king filling your master bedroom, but emotionally. My ex-husband committed literal bigamy. I have been guilty in my new marriage of practicing emotional bigamy, of listening to the past and allowing its whispers to drive my responses in the present.
Early last fall, my new husband and I purchased a home. From the beginning, he expressed an interest in converting the partial basement to a small home theater. His intention? A space for us to enjoy together and share with friends. My reaction? Complete and utter panic. Rational? Not in the least. But based on experience and rooted in fear. Click here to read the rest.
It’s quite funny. I’ve been engaged for a year but for some reason, many of my coworkers only realized that I was getting married soon after the following picture made it on Facebook:
There is something about a picture (and the word “bride” by my face!) that makes it real. I feel very comfortable about the decision to marry again. It has been deliberate and each step towards commitment has been intentional.
I found this article, Ten Tips For Those Considering Remarriage, on Psychology Today. It’s good advice and helps you make sure that you’re thinking with your head as well as your heart (or your fear!) as you make the decision to remarry. Even if you feel that remarriage is well in your future (or you don’t think you’ll ever venture down the aisle again), it’s a good checklist to help you take inventory of your current emotional health and relationships.
Fourteen years ago, I was preparing to marry you. I was so excited but, even more, I was so sure. Sure that we were so good together. Sure that we would continue to weather any storm. Sure that we would be together forever.
My belief in our marriage lasted until the day you left. I remember my shock, my disbelief so clearly. I couldn’t understand how you, my beloved husband, could do those things. Even now, four years later, I still don’t understand the choices you made. I suppose I never will.
In an instant, you went from the man I adored to a stranger I feared. In many ways, you have been dead to me since you left. I remember you as you were since I can’t comprehend what you’ve become. It’s almost as though you are two completely separate men to me — the one I was married to and the one who betrayed me. I just can’t understand how you could be both my protector and my persecutor.
Planning a second wedding is quite strange. It’s like walking a familiar road after being absent from a city for decades – you think you know the sites and the layout but nothing is as it was.
I don’t want to think about the first time, endlessly reflecting on how it was done before. But I do, if only to make sure I do it differently now. The basic structure of the wedding is the same: private ceremony followed by celebratory dinner with loved ones. But the details are intentionally altered. My first wedding was on a beach; this one is in the mountains. The first date was in the winter and this one is in the fall. My first dress had straps and my hair was up. Now? Strapless and hair down and loose. A Thai restaurant is replacing the Italian that served the first dinner.
There is an unplanned difference between the celebrations that struck me yesterday as I was working on the guest email list (That’s right, wedding Evites. Don’t tell Ms. Manners). There is a good chance that my dad will be the only guest present at both. As far as my family, we’re small and spread throughout the country. My mom will actually be in Italy at that time (don’t feel guilty mom -go and enjoy yourself!) and I don’t think any other family will travel. I got married the first time only 6 months after moving to Atlanta. So, the friends at our celebration were coworkers that we had at the time since we had not yet developed any meaningful relationships in the new city and our friends from Texas could not make the trip.
This time around, the friend list is long and rich with history and meaning. I have friends that have known me through my entire marriage, supported me through the divorce and have seen me blossom again. I have others that have only known me after. Brock has friends that never thought they would see him marry until they saw us together and said they knew. Even the restaurant has personal ties, as they know us well, saw the evolution of our relationship and have hosted many a gathering for Brock’s martial arts students. We will be surrounded by our community as we celebrate. That feels good.
Having friends around means I also have a shower this time through. Something I’ve never had. The hostess texted me yesterday and asked me to pick a theme: kitchen, wine, bathroom, lingerie or camping. I had to smile at the last one. She is very much a city gal so I knew she threw that in for me even though it pained her:) I chose lingerie since it’s something I never buy for myself and I left all my collection behind in my old life. Plus, sometimes it’s nice not to be practical:)
It’s crazy that, even as I’m about to move on from the past in the biggest way possible, the past still follows behind, tapping me on the shoulder occasionally just to remind me it’s there. But even though it’s sometimes strange, I’m okay with my awareness of the past. I’m not trying to run away from it or bury it where it can’t be seen. I’m hopeful that now that the planning is done (yippee!), the past will take a polite step back and maybe not follow so closely.
My life is generally divided into B.D. (before divorce) and A.D. (after divorce). I divvy up experiences, locations and even relationships between these two categories. I am (often painfully) aware of this division, this singular event that has fractured my life in two.
Last night, for a magical few hours, that mental division was erased and the crevice between my selves felt filled.
It was just a simple evening at an outdoor concert with friends – two couples, one with a kid. One from B.D. and the other (at least for me) from A.D. These blendings of friends are rare in my life due to the twin constraints of busy lives and Atlanta traffic (my B.D. friends live a minimum of 45 minutes away).
It felt great to join the two groups, but that wasn’t the magic. That’s where the kid comes in.
The B.D. friends, Sarah and Curtis, are extremely special to me (they are the ones who opened their home to me in the first year A.D. – Wanted: The Ronald McDonald House for the Recently Separated). They have been in my life for the past decade. Due to Curtis’s schedule, Sarah, my ex and I used to enjoy events together – everything from a King Tut exhibit to the annual Brew at the Zoo. We were thrilled for them when they started the adoption process almost five years ago. Although my ex and I never wanted our own children, we both enjoyed playing the avuncular role with other’s offspring.
Sarah and Curtis received the wonderful news in April of 2009 that they had a baby girl waiting for them. She was still in the NICU and would be for several more weeks due to prematurity and other complications. In their eyes, she was perfect. She came home that May. She was still quite fragile and was tethered to tubes and alarms that kept Sarah anchored in a corner of the master bedroom for the first couple weeks.
On her first Saturday home from the hospital, I made plans to visit. My ex declined to accompany. I thought it was strange for him to miss meeting this child that meant so much to our friends. I thought it was strange, but I brushed it off. In retrospect, he didn’t want to meet her because he knew his days in that life were numbered.
I’m glad they never met. That tiny, fragile infant has since grown into a spirited four year old (Let’s Go On An Adventure) that embodies a Botticelli beauty. A child that has no memory of my life B.D. and a child with whom I have no memories associated with my ex.
I loved watching her with Brock last night as he taught her how to walk Tiger on a leash (unfortunately, no photos were taken but just picture this 30 pound girl walking a 95 pound pit bull through a crowded park – the looks we got were priceless!) and she gifted him a “friendship rock.” He has fully embraced the uncle role with her, even though they do not see each other often. Brock may not have been there for those years waiting for the adoption and the first year of her life, but he’s here now. And, as far as she will know, he is the only husband (okay, so he’s not that yet, but soon:)) that I have ever had.
Brock and Tiger – two peas in a pod:)
A quick side note here – Is it weird that I love watching Brock interact with kids even though I don’t want them? I just love seeing how comfortable he is and how he understands how to communicate with them at various developmental levels. Makes me smile.
Last night, the harsh distinction (that exists more in my mind that anywhere else) between B.D. and A.D. blurred as I sat with friends who have made the journey with me and friends that have only known me after. As I looked around the group gathered on our tarp, it didn’t feel A.D.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 