The Day I Got Through

I got through my divorce day by making promises to myself. They were not pretty promises. There I stood, head against the stall of the bathroom at the Green Lake County Courthouse, squelching tears, clenching fists, breathing deep -- all the over-the-top stuff you don't think is real until it is your heart on the floor. I hoped when I walked out that he'd take my hand and lead me out the door, that he would have realized that this was wrong.

I did not want the divorce. I regretted everything I'd done to hurt him, to lose him. I had the job in Colorado. My bags were packed. This was a formality. But it was so real. We walked into the courthouse on a sunny May Monday, holding hands. He spoke to me in gentle tones. I couldn't speak. We were going to be friends and maybe more again someday.

Afterward we went out on the lake together in the boat. We ate the gourmet cheeses and crackers I'd brought. I had vowed to give him this, to do this graciously. He would not see me cry or shake. I would not plead. I would give him this. He was never to know the price. I sat in the boat, holding my feet in Wisconsin water. I studied their blueness. I studied on my promises. I would keep them. I chewed cheese and made conversation.

The lawyer was there and did most of the talking. We had ended amicably, had agreed. The lawyer had congratulated us on our equanimity, wished all people would end like this. I had to agree once, twice, I don't know how many times. I summoned a voice from underneath the knot, beneath the beating ribcage, forced it past the corrugations in my throat. We'd had to sit apart. I felt him there. I hoped he'd say "no." He said yes.

I would give Colorado a fair shake. I would give it two months and if I still couldn't breathe without pain, if every thought was of him and loss and cyclical regret, I would go into the mountains and keep walking. Or get in my car and drive to Denali and walk there so that my sister would have no shade of responsibility for the sister under her wing. The promise gave me courage. I would give this to him, this freedom. I would do it well.

Leaving the courthouse, he took my hand into his, that big mitt that I loved. He squeezed. "I'm so proud. You didn't even cry."