Quiet. It is a new experience, here in this small little house. Quiet. No singing, no chatter, no laughter or complaints or “mom!” from across the hall. Just quiet.
These last three weeks are the longest we’ve ever been apart. Coming up on 11 years, and I’ve been present for almost every single day. And now, quiet.
Divorce is hard. It’s messy, draining, humbling, shameful, liberating, and upending all at once. We’ve done the hard work; striving for amicability. Dividing pennies, possessions, and plans. Laying out a road map for where we are hoping to get in the future, though we now have so much less clarity on how to get there.
Dismantling a life is difficult enough; but how do you share a being? Parse out the moments you cling to while calendaring your time together and apart? Watching the days spread into weeks, into months. Knowing you should be savoring the uniqueness of space, but unable to fill the empty shadow with anything but the memory of a shimmering sound.
It’s consistently baffling. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.