I just filed divorce papers at the courthouse, in the same building where my ex and I filed our marriage license seven years ago. I remember walking into the building then. Going through the metal detector and being in a place with so many people in uniforms and guns made me nervous. But there was so much hope in that piece of paper.

Today was not like that. Driving downtown I thought I just can’t do this today and started to head for home. But the idea of prolonging the dread of it over the weekend made me turn around.

I found the building and parked then started filling out the form. It was a one page paper with both of our names, our addresses, our son’s name. My job with this piece of paper was just to say that I’d received his pieces of paper, which started the 60 day waiting period before we can file our decree with whatever agreements we reach about custody, property, etc.

So the piece of paper was no big deal, but filing it was. My pen was nearly out of ink so I kept having to go over letters to make sure they were legible. It didn’t occur to me that they’d have a pen I could use inside the building.

I thought of driving a block over to the library to make the necessary copies so I’d have the form, the court would, my ex would. I decided again that I just couldn’t do this today. Maybe my ex could file the form. Maybe I needed to have a girlfriend go with me. What would I do after I left the courthouse?

I started driving and made it to the other side of the block where I pulled into another parking place, paid the meter this time, and made myself walk across the street. Then I got to the entrance of the building. The words over the door were Courage Perseverance Sacrifice and I almost turned around again.

I wanted to call Mike and say, “Are you sure? Do we really have to do this?”

We both sacrificed so much. We persevered for 16 years. And I think it’s just now that we’re being courageous.

It is brave to realize that you made a mistake and go about trying to right the wrong. My ex and I should probably have always just been friends. We have a lot in common. But we don’t want the same life. We don’t keep the same hours, want to live the same lifestyle, share some very core values, or even envision old age similarly. But we worked so hard.

The thing that feels nearly impossible to make peace with is that we loved each other that deeply and worked that hard and aren’t living happily ever after–with each other.

So I walked into the building, put the quarters for the copier in a little plastic container to run through the metal detector, and couldn’t find a sign telling me where to go. I asked at the information desk and was pointed to the next door on the left. I sat on the bench in the hallway and cried, thought about leaving again.

I went in the room and couldn’t speak at the counter, but just handed my paper to the woman behind it. She asked if I needed to make a copy and gestured toward the machine I sat down at the table to use their pen to retrace my ex’s name. I cried some more, made my three copies and went back to the counter where I silently handed over the papers. I tried to hand the woman .75 cents for my three copies. She waved my money away. I managed to say thank you then walked out of the office crying again, cried down the hallway and out of the building.

A woman was standing on the sidewalk and I tried to avoid her through my tears. I couldn’t even see her face. She veered toward me and said, “You’re in my divorce support group.” I looked up. She’s actually in the south group but she saw me at the orientation session on the first night. She was about to go into court with her lawyer. She gave me a hug and said I was brave. “This is the right thing.”

I probably shouldn’t have driven after that but I just needed to get home. I called people and didn’t reach anyone. I left messages. I got home and the phone started ringing. Everyone asked if I was okay. I’m just sad, so very sad. It doesn’t matter that I actually believe this is the right thing too.

I spent my whole life imagining getting married when I grew up. I’ve been with Mike since I was 23 years old. It was difficult. We were not a good fit. But we loved each other and we tried. At each crossroads when we thought of leaving one another, we decided to stay together–until this one. The fact that we came to so many of those crossroads was certainly an indication that we had problems, big unfixable problems.

But we kept choosing each other. We filed our marriage license in that building I entered today. We invited all our friends to celebrate our love for each other. We passed our wedding rings around the church and had everyone bless them. They were engraved Come Rain or Come Shine. It didn’t work out that way. And it makes me so incredibly sad.

One of the friends who called me back said she felt like she’d been hit by a bus after she filed and her friend said, “You have. You were hit by the divorce bus.”

Yep, that’s exactly what it feels like.

Photo by Terry Jeanson.