Making Strides: Part I

The desert sun rose today, shining brightly through the small east-facing cubed glass windows just as it always does. Coffee press to the left, a gift of unwashed dishes from my midnight marauders to the right–same as it ever was. But it’s not.  My shoulders were soft, not weightless but bearable; comfortable–it was nice. I dare not say I felt happy, as that would be hyperbolic, but I felt something that I haven’t felt since, well…since.

Yesterday, we did the child-swap, my standing bi-weekly reminder that things are different now, that somewhere along the way we ran out of disaster plans, that all recovery efforts were moot: futile–progress nil, mission aborted. We are divorced. Yesterday though, was an exception–a plot twist in the insipid tale of the middle-aged housewife abandoned for a young co-worker. (As a writer, can I tell you how much the banality of my own story pisses me off. I just knew it’d be my big break; my very own sell-out, tell-all novel. Alas the Universe had other plans.) A new story begins.

The summers were our time, family vacations, 3:4 birthdays and our wedding anniversary (now aptly named, “Inception of the Allen-Mercado Family Day“)*. It’s no wonder that now is a particularly tender time of year for all. This year, Yael’s birthday marked not only the passage into her teens, but an adjustment of mammoth proportion as she would now join the declining number (I’m just never amongst the cool kids.) of children of divorce. I turned thirty-nine this year without the usual bells and whistles, but thirty-nine is hardly a pivotal year, and Joe’s forty-third year fared about the same, I guess. Then, came what would’ve been, but could not be, so we reclaimed it.

On the eve of what would have been, amidst the flood of emotions surrounding that which has become and what will (I strongly hope) forever be, it all came to me. Yes, some, but not all has been lost.

 

To be continued…

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