THE END

I got divorced last Friday, and I didn’t even know it.

A letter arrived two days ago, from the circuit clerk’s office.  I read the pages and pages I’d filled out two weeks before, and at the end of each section, I found a scrawled signature on the line where “JUDGE” had been blank.  A case number had been assigned, a date of hearing had occurred, and there is nothing left to do.

No court date to attend.

No ugly argument afterward.

No mediation required.

No conflict.

Two weeks ago, the respondent to my petition for dissolution of marriage had plenty to say about it, disagreed with all of the terms to which he had years-earlier agreed, generally railed against finality.

I railed for it.  I got it.

Somehow, I’d expected The End to feel like a battle hard-won; because most of the hard parts happened so many years ago, it feels almost too easy.

Not complaining.

BECAUSE

“Why” is a rude word.  Confrontational.  Never well-answered enough to settle the heart. Never really answered at all.

Why did she do that? Why do you do this? Why did that happen? Why did I say that? Why don’t I know?

I won’t ask the question any more.  I choose, for now, to take Why out for a long drive and set it loose on the edge of my mind.  Why can run free somewhere else.

Why eats too much and drinks too much and takes everything I have.

What do I have? I have Love, and Yes, and Take Your Time to Figure It Out, and You are D0ing Your Best,  gifts I give to myself and to the loves of my life.

That is enough.