Thursday, January 29, 2015

February 4th


Today my divorce was made final by the state of Utah after many months, if not years, of my marriage already being over.

In a few more days, on February 4th, another finality will occur, as I leave this home for the last time, never again calling it "my home", except when speaking in past tense.

It "is" my home will become it "was" my home.

My home, that I watched being built over a period of 9 months and that was supposed to be the place where we could finally settle down and where our kids could finally memorize our address.

 My home, where I agonized for weeks over what cabinets I wanted and what counter tops I thought would look best with them.

Should I go for the wood flooring or the more durable laminate flooring that looks just as good and would allow me to get the quartz counter tops I wanted?

{The counter tops won.} 

My home where paint colors were chosen. Carpet was decided on. A bigger front porch was added as well as french doors off the dining room so we wouldn't have to go through the garage to let the dog into the backyard like the original floor plan called for.

My home, where I fought for two extra feet to be added on to the kitchen area so there would be space for a drop zone for coats and backpacks.

My home, will no longer exist as of February 4th.

A part of me feels like I should be grieving at the loss of this home that I spent so many months watching, as it was constructed.

Grieving at the loss of my life, as I knew it.

However...

A much bigger part of me recognizes that this home was all part of a facade.

A facade that I lived in for over 34 years and that was much bigger than 2,400 square feet.

A facade where I played the part of a housewife while at the same time doing my damnedest to hide my "terrible" secret, desperately trying to smile on the outside, while feeling as if I were drowning in an abyss on the inside.

 This bigger part of me also recognizes how much better my life has gotten since making the decision to tear down that facade, which included a doomed marriage and friendships that dissolved as a result of its demise. In truth, these things, much like the smile on my face all of those years that I was completely miserable, actually never really existed.

(Actually, the person that said "I do" over 15 years ago, who built a home based on distraction, and friendships based on a lie, never really existed either.)

As I type this, I am sitting at the kitchen table, looking at everything I still need to pack, and thinking about how funny it is that my worst fear for so many years was that the facade that I had carefully created would crumble all around me and that my life, as I knew it, would fall apart as a result.
Well, the facade finally did crumble all around me.

And my life, as I knew it, did fall apart.

But in a plot twist, I ended up being the one who held the sledgehammer that caused it.

And on February 4th, I will remove the last of the debris created by the destruction of  that facade when I walk out the door of this home and pick up my keys for my new one.

An honest one.