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.
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.