Two Minus One

by Kathryn Taylor

  As day turned into evening, fatigue settled in. He began to budge on support but was insistent that I owed him for monies spent during our marriage. Hours continued to pass as the mediator moved between the rooms. I was fighting back tears and working through budget scenarios on my tablet with my CPA. It seemed to me that whatever numbers we keyed into the budget, the life I had known was about to change dramatically. I was worried that this onslaught would never end.

  Suddenly, a modern-day miracle again occurred in my life. As the mediator reentered our room, he sat down across the table from me, brought his chair in close, and looked me directly in the eye. “I think we may have a deal. He has relinquished the battle for repayment of expenses incurred during the marriage. He will meet our number on monthly support. He will continue to pay all of your household expenses through May. And, if you are willing, the house will be completely yours.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Just moments earlier, I had been wondering where and how I would live. Unexpectedly, money issues were now seemingly resolved, and the home would be mine. There would be no requirement to list or sell it. I would not be expected to move. I would not have to split the equity. It was all mine, with only the stipulation that I have it refinanced in just my own name by the following May. Gazing around the table at my team, I saw that we all shared the same perplexed but relieved looks.

  Yet his turning over the house made perfect sense from my perspective. He had never been involved in anything to do with our home, aside from paying the mortgage and mowing the lawn. He had shown little interest in its purchase or enthusiasm for its decor. He would certainly not want to take any responsibility for the sale. Details were finalized and documents collected, and he and his lawyer were shown out. When the parking lot was empty and I could be escorted to my vehicle without fear of confrontation, we exchanged hugs around my table, enthusiastic holiday greetings, and recipes for the treats I had shared. The day’s final advice from my attorney was, “Go and get Lucy. Get home safely, open a bottle of wine in front of the fire, and relax. It’s over.”

  I climbed into my car and rechecked the seat and the mirror adjustments as bad weather confronted me once again. As I drove home in a deluge, I found myself focusing once more on my personal safety. I gripped the wheel and concentrated on my destination. Good fortune allowed me to pick up Lucy, and, with dog in tow, I headed home. When I arrived, I put her outside and exchanged my wet clothes for warm and comfortable pajamas. I dried Lucy and brought her back inside, where a cozy fire, a lighted Christmas tree, and scented candles awaited. I opened a bottle of wine and made my promised call to Robbie to tell her that it was over. I was unable to offer much information. I needed time to sort through all the documents, as well as my own emotions, before I could fully understand them and explain what had occurred and how it had happened. But for now, I could relax.

  As I hung up the phone and sipped my only glass of wine, exhaustion overcame me. Final papers would be prepared and signed in court the first week of June. The delay was deliberate, as that date marked a long-term marriage that had lasted ten years. It would assure me of my share of his Social Security benefits. When that day arrived, neither he nor his attorney would be in court. An associate from the law firm would handle the final phase, and the judge would wonder why that was so. My attorney and I were not surprised. He and his attorney would have had to appear like naughty puppies with their tails between their legs for all of the hostility and inhumanity they had displayed over the two years it had taken to come that far.

  Still, for the time being, it was behind me. I could focus my energies on rebuilding my independent and unchartered life. I had experienced pain and loss that had been both unexpected and unimaginable. The road I had traveled had appeared unnavigable, but, with support, I had reached the end. I was unsure of what lay ahead or the path I would take, but of one thing I was certain: I had survived. Now that both shoes had dropped, I could confidently choose a new pair and fashion a new path, one step at a time. Perhaps I would select dancing shoes—perhaps ruby slippers, like Dorothy wore. I would click my heels three times and be transported to the place of which I had been dreaming—the place that I would know was home. Whatever the shoes, I would blaze my own trail, rather than following the one laid out precariously by someone else. I would choreograph a new life and realize new dreams. I would never be the same, but I was determined to be even better than I had been before. But for now, it was time to put this day behind me and head to bed for some much-needed sleep.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Moving On

  “[But] it’s no use going back to yesterday,

  for I was a different person then.”

  —LEWIS CARROLL, ALICE’S ADVENTURE IN WONDERLAND

  IT IS EARLY SATURDAY MORNING ON ANOTHER spring weekend in April, but four years have passed. Lucy has been let out, has finished her breakfast, and lies, lazy and contented, on her bed in front of the fire. Nearly two years have gone by since I was sent home from mediation and assured, “It’s over.” I have worked diligently at rebuilding my life. My sparkle has returned, and it is contingent only upon me. There is an effortless cadence and new serenity to each day since the reality of my healing made me whole once again. Each day, and every choice I make regarding how to fill it, belongs only to me. I long ago stopped wishing for the phone to ring or for the voice mail light to blink, indicating a message from him. I have grown accustomed to questioning looks from casual acquaintances wondering why I am still here. Because I no longer need to spend every ounce of my energy focused on healing, divorce, and survival, I can quickly address the routine challenges of daily life. They no longer seem like insurmountable obstacles.

  My refrigerator remains essentially empty. Having never prioritized food, I still eat little, but what I eat stays down. Meal preparation is sporadic, and cooking for one remains a challenge. Occasionally, I invite friends over for dinner or a luncheon because I do enjoy the experience of cooking. Surprisingly, I have found myself trying to take an interest in looking at new recipes, and, while I rarely follow through, at times I even prepare a meal. I stopped using the dishwasher long ago. It took so long to fill, the items I placed inside it began to smell and it was much more efficient and pleasurable just to hand-wash any dishes I had used.

  I have also changed my name, reverting to the English translation of the Polish name I was given at birth. I shared my plan with my family early on in this journey, and my father and my daughters were in full support. My new name is on all of my documents, accounts, and Social Security profile. I have finalized my will and established trusts for myself and my daughters. Whatever I have has been protected and will go directly and exclusively to them. I have secured the details of my life and death. My daughters have brought me nothing but joy, and I hope never to burden them. I have made every effort to leave nothing to chance.

  Grief was my prison, loss my captor. They were both difficult to escape and required all my strength, as well as the aid of my family and friends to move beyond the walls of confinement. Still, I often stumbled and fell back. I had days when I felt driven and compelled to move forward, only to then experience isolation, loneliness, and a sense of being trapped. New friendships and connections were slow to develop and required time to grow.

  I found that unexpectedly starting over, alone, at sixty, and trying to create and build a new life was far more difficult than it had been at forty, when I had children on whom to rely for motivation and purpose. But, at last, I have patiently established a genuine sense of community. I have made new friends and connections, and I eagerly anticipate my daily interactions with the people whom I have come to know and value. When they are aware of my absence, they follow up with questions and concerns regarding my safety and well-being as I do for them.

  My days are full and contain much meaning. I continue to watch my daughters, now in their thirties, grow into their own and overcome their own obstacles. I bask in the shared moments and experienc
es I have with them. I delight in the pleasure it brings to my heart to know that they want me in their lives. I look forward to the concerts, holidays, vacations, and special visits we share. I have a life filled with peace and joy—the joy a dear friend consistently prayed would find me. Aside from my career, from which I retired to relocate, my grandchildren, whom I selflessly relinquished, even though I cherished them more than words can express, and my geographic proximity to my daughters, I have regained all that I sacrificed in the name of love and commitment. I would like nothing more than to have my daughters close by. I miss having them drop in on their way home from work, or calling to arrange time for shopping and lunch. I miss our routine and our history of shared holidays and daily interactions, and I often consider the possibility of returning to be near them. When I think of them, I experience a sense of total confusion regarding just where I ought to live. It is unclear whether I will ultimately be able to stay or go. However, it is too soon right now to make that decision. I am newly healed, and I am experiencing something completely foreign to me. For the first time in my life, I have only to think of myself and what I want from life.

  I am still uncertain about how my future will unfold, but for now I will remain where I am and continue to reside at my current location. I am comfortable in the world I have created and even enjoy sleeping alone and undisturbed each night. I have rediscovered a balance in my life and focus on living day by day—although I sometimes still rely on cues in my journal or my daily calendar to remind me to focus on those important concepts.

  I had always been one who celebrated life—the clinking of glasses, bubbles in the tub, birds at a feeder. Although he did not understand the value of these little pleasures, I have continued to enjoy them. Each provides a sense of peace, joy, and appreciation of the world, which I want always to acknowledge. As I made each small gain in my journey, I had a tiny celebration. I purchased two new wineglasses when my divorce was final, two new coffee mugs when I refinanced my home and the house was legally mine. I shredded my journals. I pampered myself in meaningful, not extravagant, ways. Some found my behavior pretentious. Some found it unnecessary. Trite or trivial, pretentious or not, that is who I am and who I will remain.

  I am determined to waste not one more moment of this precious life I have been given. I am grateful that he chose to leave and, in so doing, opened so many doors. Because he did, I have become fearless and eager to move on. I have realized through writing what a difficult and isolated road I traveled. Four years is too much time to have spent in the search for understanding, and I am more than ready to put that experience behind me. I have, at last, left my pain behind. I have accomplished my goal, with no residual emotion, regret, nostalgia, or concern over the why, what, when, or how of my former relationship.

  I never anticipated, imagined, or could have foreseen that by giving up myself, I would in fact discover exactly who I am. I am finding my stride and enjoying my newfound freedom and the new friends, new opportunities, new independence, and new life it has provided. I am no longer lost; I have found myself once again. And I have discovered that much of what once seemed so important holds little value. I am pleasantly content and at peace in my new life, in my home with my pup, my tulips, and my wine, which I now enjoy in celebration, not self-medicated escape.

  I recently completed my final purging process and treated myself, yet again, to small indulgences. I have purchased a new headboard, updated my bedding, and installed new light fixtures, which my husband would not have supported. I have swapped rugs and picture frames from room to room, and each little change has had a huge impact on the growing feeling that I am truly living my life the way I want to live it. I understand beyond a doubt that my home is an integral part of my health and well-being. Its size, location, or appointments are not what matter; it is the love, family, and serenity that reside there. I need a place that is a haven for me, a place where I can be me and where I can embrace those who matter—and will grow to matter—in my life.

  I have returned to beginning and ending my day with music and the inspiration that it provides. As I recently strolled along my favorite beach on an unseasonably warm and pleasant day, I clearly realized that life is not about endings, but about beginnings. I know that for each chapter that closes, another chapter awaits. I know I will return to this beach and discover new treasures there. I understand that with luck, strength, support, and time, the more we lose, the more fearless we become. That life really is good.

  I have stretched beyond any limits or boundaries I ever anticipated. I know that each person I may encounter on any day is at a very different place than I. I realize that to expect anyone to meet or understand my needs when they are in a different place sets me up for misunderstanding, bitterness, resentment, and disappointment.

  I have challenged myself with new social situations and pushed myself out of the unstructured leisure of retirement to discover a new opportunity, and the realization of a lifelong dream, in writing. Amazingly, I have relied only on myself for the first time ever. I have embraced life and everything it has and will continue to offer. I have accomplished more than I ever imagined I could on my own. I have risen above unimaginable obstacles.

  This book began as an immediate and instantaneous response to the most painfully unexpected experience of my life. Having regularly found answers in books, I hoped that this time, writing one of my own would help me discover answers to the hardest questions I had ever faced—those I didn’t even know I needed to ask. Sitting on the beach, I began scribbling ideas, thoughts, and chapter titles. Notes were added and collected over more than four years of writing during sleepless nights and rare lucid moments. Fingers and bedsheets became covered in ink dots as I repeatedly opened and closed the pen that remained close by to scribble thoughts onto paper as words floated through my head in the dark of night.

  I sit, pen in hand, with a steaming mug of coffee and the sun about to rise. There is the promise of another glorious day, and I am awash with emotion. I have accomplished my goals. The story has been submitted and accepted for publication. In less than a month, I will visit with both of my daughters and have time with my best friend as we celebrate birthdays and the coming of spring. He may have been finished, but I was only beginning.

  And as time has passed, I have gained a new perspective. I am able to step back and see, with an altered view, that even the most irregular pieces of this most complicated puzzle have finally fallen into place.

  He had been involved with someone else and had been looking for a way to escape our marriage. The man who was “instantly intrigued” and “had to know” me became intrigued by someone else and had to know her. He had married yet again, to the woman he had sworn was not in his life. The young man who came to assist him in loading his belongings was indeed her son. Learning of his new situation through a random post on social media, I was overcome by unexpected emotion, but not by the emotion that one might expect. I felt a liberating sense of relief. The discovery of this information provided the confirmation of what I had always known. He had been involved with someone else and had been looking for a way to escape our marriage.

  The signs I had missed along the way became readily apparent. The spin I had assigned to his actions and words took on different meaning. I felt embarrassed by my foolishness. I had been completely gullible. When we moved to South Carolina, he insisted I not sell my home. Yet he spinelessly allowed me to sell that house—and planned to invest the funds from the sale in a backyard pool in the place where we had decided to settle permanently—only months before he knew he would walk away. He knew from the time of our relocation the way our story would end. He never had my back. He knew all the motions and the right things to say to manipulate me. He was calculating and deliberate in his meek and mild demeanor and used my insecurities to his benefit. He had a grand plan to which I was not privy.

  So it is now time to amend the story of us. “Once upon a time, a beautiful woman fell under the spell of a charm
ing and handsome man. He whispered the most enchanting words and provided the most magical experiences—until one day, he told the woman that he was done and disappeared without a word. That woman was transformed by his leaving. That woman was me.”

  Epilogue

  “Life must be lived forward but understood backward.”

  —KIERKEGAARD

  Divorce is devastating—especially to women. For those of us who are older, the resulting changes in financial security often force us to rely on investments or Social Security before we can obtain the full benefit of either. But I had angels watching over me, showing me the way, providing miracles in even my darkest times. I was one of the fortunate ones. I had a strong network of personal and professional support and remained financially secure. My therapist assured me that my network and my writing saved me. She told me that few people had the support I had. I had always thought friendships like mine were typical. I believed that what we put out came back to us, and that everyone had a network like mine in place. When I learned that was not the case, I was more grateful than ever before for what I had.