“And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” Khalil Gibran

Five years and eleven days. After all those years, I finally sobbed and said, “I love you. So much. So much.” In the midst of tears, I began whispering to myself all the things I loved about him and, as I did, waves of gratitude and affection comes over me. Then I knew our life together would soon be over. Completely.

In September 2008 I wrote my then husband I wanted a divorce. I moved out by November. The divorce became final by October 2010. What binds us still to this day is a house we bought in November 2005. Because it’s a unique home, bought when the market was relatively still high, now in need of repair and under water, it has remained as the painful reminder of our past. I want out no matter it takes. He however wants to maintain his credit rating. Phone calls are contentious and all end the same. The matter remains unresolved, filled with frustration and resentment.

We were the poster couple. No one ever saw us fight. Neither of us, in the 12 years of marriage, complained about the other to friends and family. By all outside measures, we had everything we needed and wanted. For all that it was on the outside, at the core it, were deeply profound differences in personality and philosophical views in life, a lot of 'growing up' still left to do.

Genuinely we both hoped and believed it could be bridged; especially since we recognized, six months into our marriage, how our union stood on foundationally weak grounds. Over the years, I steered and encouraged his career while he helped me find my voice in self-discovery and self-expression. It looked promising. We saw enough reasons to believe that given plenty of love and understanding and most importantly, a generous allotment of time, these haunting and ever present differences will dissipate. Quite the opposite, time and love unleashed the depth and breadth of the differences.

Here, today, after not having spoken to each other for months, voices and emotions rose at a whole new level. At some point I was shaking and yelling so loudly, my adrenalin was pumping my feet to walk madly in circles. Towards the end of the call there was this strange calmness mixed with resolve for us to settle the house. There was no date set and so, by all intents, it seems like just another one of these calls. But it wasn’t. Something is different...

.....He always opened doors for me.... He loved big, wild jungle cats and think they're beautiful just like I did...He bought the best presents: jewelry, tickets to Andrea Bocelli in Vegas, a French Opera of Romeo and Juliet for Valentine’s Day...or finding exactly the kind of house I would fall in love with....He loved his family dearly. When I met him as a twenty something he carried pictures of his younger siblings in his wallet...He has a deep, comforting voice...He gave me in-laws who I fell in love with.....He took me to places I’ve never been to and allowed me to explore life.....He made me feel beautiful and always told me so....He loved and gave me all that he had, the ‘bestest’ that he knew how to...

It must be the end. I am able to say all that and how he will be ever a part of me...how I grew and found the strength of my being in the glorious devotion he had for me...I let myself feel the gut wrenching grief of him giving me the wings that had me fly to horizons unbeknownst to me and beyond this thing called us....yes, this is the end....

Reviewing reasons...

It's been a 2 years since I've been here. If not for responding to comments on an article I wrote on a dear friend's blog, this would not have come up....
I contemplate if there is a point in keeping this. I don't remember what drove me in 2011 to post something out there in there web world. Maybe it was to serve as a personal journal, something to ground me, a cathartic process of being present to the threads of my being unraveling itself.

Then again, for someone predisposed to being neurotically private, this is a counter-intuitive thing to continue. Hmm, maybe it was a subconscious insane desire to efface the personality, anything to call 'my own'. In the 'nakedness' I fully, one day, get that nothing is mine or that all of what's out there is me.

On that note, I press on....