and now it's really over

Today was the day.



The judge signed the papers.



The divorce is final.



Brad left 5 months ago, just days before I published this post. Supposedly it was going to be for just a few weeks to "sort himself out spiritually". But he never really returned. I had been purposely taking my time getting the papers filled out--- not only because moving slowly made it less stressful for me, but also in the hope that all the prayers I was offering for Brad would somehow change his mind--change him-- and make him come home. I kept wishing and wanting and trying to be worth coming back for.

Brad was so perfect for me. I loved how brown his hair was and how blue his eyes were. I loved how his smile just lit up his whole face. I loved how broad he was through his chest--he made a nice pillow. I loved the way he smelled. I loved that he called me every day just to make me laugh. I loved how he would push the shopping cart really fast through the parking lot, then jump on it and let it coast to the van. I loved that he would dance in the kitchen with me after the dishes were done. I loved that we could lock our eyes across a crowded room and, for a few moments, be the only two there. How we could talk for hours about nothing and everything, or just be content in the silence. How we held hands every time we rode in the car. He could finish all my sentences and always knew when I needed a little time to myself....or a little ice cream. I continue to think he has the potential to be the most amazing dad ever. Even after 14 years together, he could still make all my insides go pitter-patter just by being near. And though he ripped out my heart and spit on it on his way out, I still ache for the bad decisions he's made. For this crazy nothingness he's pursuing. I mourn the loss of the spiritual giant of a man I thought he was. I spent most of my young life caring for him and making him know every day how much I adored him, how he was my hero, and now to have to stand by and idly watch him "implode" --and be powerless to help-- is pure. raw. torture.

I couldn't, and can't, change anything about where I'm at right now. Though I know I will be able to stand in front of my Heavenly Father one day, look Him in the eye, and say honestly "I did everything I could"-- I just want to offer my advice to anyone who might find themselves feeling that their marriage is nearing its end. Those who are ready to just throw in the towel and give up. If there is any desire left in you, if there is even the faintest spark---fight for it. Fight, fight, fight like your life depends on it. I know that some consider themselves beneficiaries of divorce, and I'm certain there are times when it is totally necessary--but I can testify that it will be the most unimaginably painful, difficult, stressful, sad thing you will ever have to endure--that process of separating yourself from the person that use to mean the absolute most to you. Separating yourself physically, emotionally, mentally, financially and even spiritually. It feels like they're dead---but they're right there---just dead to you. Fight. For yourself, for your future, for the promise of God's healing, for your precious children. FIGHT.

*************

And now I'm going to let myself slip into my memories one last time and re-read this post that I put up on our last anniversary (Dec. 28, 2007). Then I'm going to have one more swollen-eyed, heap on the floor, two hour cry. Dwell senselessly on how good I thought it was, and how good it could have been. Try and find some part of all this mess to blame myself for. Ask a bunch of pointless "why" questions that I will probably never have answers to. And maybe even find something to break. I will try and refrain from tattooing, piercing, or bleaching any part of myself. I may, however, have a little one night stand with Ben and Jerry....

And then I promise I'll go to bed. And wake up. And kiss my children, and hold their hands, and twirl in circles with them on the grass, and make up silly songs to sing with them in the car, and cook them pancakes in funny shapes, and leave them happy notes, and laugh at every one of their jokes. And keep letting time and faith heal my wounds. And begin again--whatever that might mean for me.

God is still in charge. He has good things in store for me. I'm going to go claim them.

happy 13th anniversary to us!
OUR STORY

how we met:Once upon a time there was girl. She was attending college. She thought all men were jerks. (this would be ME). Then, at the start of winter semester, a new boy moved in across the street (this would be BRAD). I was interested right away, but so were all five of my roommates. (We all thought he had beautiful blue eyes, a great smile, and talent coming out his ears). Unfortunately, Brad also had a girlfriend back home. I thought my chances of catching his eye were slim to none. Still, we became friends. We watched movies. We listened to music. We grocery shopped. We talked. We laughed....a lot. Then, come March, he broke up with his girlfriend. Then, come April, he asked ME out. (Hooray!!!)

how I knew I was in love:Our first date was to a nature park. We went hiking with another couple. It was getting dark as we headed back to his truck--his spanking clean, nearly new Chevy Silverado truck that he washed every week faithfully. I wasn't watching where I was going and I stepped in a big mud puddle. My Doc Marten boot was covered in black, slimy mud. It was the first time I had revealed my extremely clumsy, very un-perfect side to him. Most guys I had dated up to that point would have acted very put off, and probably made me and my muddy boot ride home in the back of their pristine truck (which is why, incidentally, I had thought all men were jerks!). Brad laughed with--not at--me. He helped clean me up as much as possible and let me ride home next to him--muddy boot and all. He even bought me pizza. Sounds silly, but I knew from the "muddy boot" incident on that I was in love.

how it ended (and began):He had to propose twice. The first time he asked, I panicked. I thought I was too young. I thought I hadn't seen enough of the world. I thought I needed to establish a career first. Then I spent a few months kicking myself for saying no. I thought he'd surely move onto someone else. But he stuck around anyway.....and he asked again. And I didn't feel so young anymore. And I knew I'd seen enough of the world. And I knew there was no way I could go on in life unless it was with him. We were married for time and all eternity Dec. 28, 1994 by Brad's father. Through the ups and downs of seven homes, five jobs, four boys, and one orange cat--I think we have had a very happily ever after.So Happy 13th Anniversary to my sweetheart who:
Brings me ice cream every Saturday night.
Tells me I look beautiful even when I first wake up and my hair is all crazy. Will still be a big goof with me. Takes me on a date once a week (and doesn't he clean up nicely?!) And is the best father in the whole wide world.
I LOVE YOU! -your Jennifer
*Funny choice of music to accompany this post, I know. But I loved old re-runs of the Partridge Family in college. I bought their "Greatest Hits" CD and took it to Brad's apartment to listen to on his monster stereo. He stuck around and listened to it with me. What a keeper!
Posted by Jennifer P. at 6:34 AM
Labels: Anniversary, Brad, our life