A divorced friend squeezed my hand the other night and told me next Friday will be tough.
That’s when final settlement on the house occurs. It’s also when I transplant all our stuff to the new rental. But my friend wasn’t talking about the physical brutality of moving, she was referring to the emotional impact.
I brushed off her concerns, told her I’d be too busy to worry.
But signing over the deeds to the house yesterday sent my resolve a bit wobbly.
I went to the solicitor, added my signature under Husband’s, then stared at his handwriting for a moment. It was a nice signature, flourished a week earlier so we wouldn’t have to be in the same room together. I presume that’s the way it works when you’re separated. The legal eagles think it best to keep you apart to save angst.
I walked out of the solicitor’s office thinking I was fine with it all. I called a friend to check they were still coming over for dinner. We chatted for a few minutes, said goodbye, then I sat behind the wheel of the car and wept.
The weeping may have been fuelled by PMT. So my tip, if you are newly separated and considering selling the family home, is to start making notes on the calendar now so you don’t schedule settlement for when you have PMT. Because you may have trouble packing through your veil of self-pitying tears.
I’ve done other questionable things while emotionally charged this week, such as announcing to a stranger in a bar that I was there because I’d broken up with my partner of 23 years. He looked a bit freaked out.
I’ve also angrily cursed Husband pretty regularly, in between marvelling that I still don’t quite believe this has happened. There remains a dream-like quality to it, despite almost six months having passed.
He was the one I counted on. My person. My partner in life.
Mind you, certain home truths have brought me down to earth with a thump. Like when I sent him an anxious message asking if he thought the quote from the removalist seemed a bit high and he didn’t reply.
That’s because one of the reasons he left was he didn’t want to deal with my problems anymore. He was sick of my problems.
I’m on my own now. It’s time to wake up and learn how to live with – and love – that.
And I’ve realised my friend is right – next Friday WILL be tough.
Song of the day: Florence and The Machine “Dog days are over”