On Saturday, September 14th, my husband of 30 years told me he wanted a divorce.
The story is long, as is the marriage, and you have to buy me margaritas to hear it. I’m not interested in rehashing or deconstructing a 30-year marriage here (that’s what therapy is for). I’m not interested in bashing my husband – he’s really a good guy with a lot of issues of his own. In 30 years it would make sense that both of us have made mistakes; that there have been wonderful times mixed in with the icky ones; and that there are a lot of mixed emotions in ending the relationship.
We’re not ending the relationship – we’re just redefining it, I suppose. We have two adult daughters (one married, one living at home until she goes off to graduate school this summer), so custody isn’t an issue (although we do have two wonderful dogs who will stay with the house).
He’s trying to be decent about it (as decent as a guy can be when he’s just dropped a bomb on you). He moved to temporary digs but he’s still around to help with our 50-year old house that needs lots of repair. He came by yesterday to bring me cash so I didn’t have to go to the bank.
He just doesn’t love me anymore and doesn’t want to be married to me anymore.
And that’s where I plan to begin.