It’s a nice day for a white wedding. It’s a nice day to start again.
The famed lyrics of Billy Idol say it all. As I was moving into my tiny apartment this week, feeling sorry for myself, my ex-husband was moving into – as my son calls it – “his fancy house” with his new fancy new finance! I have been expecting this day for some time, and pride myself on my ability to handle all
of this with grace and dignity and laughter. I knew when he proposed to her; I would congratulate them and be happy for them, and have no unwanted
emotions. But then, when he told me, suddenly I was 22 years old again when everyone was getting married and I wasn’t. I used to practice writing my name with whatever suitor’s last name would go next to it. Sometimes just his last name with Mrs. in front of it. I’d sketch my dream wedding dress, flip through bridal magazines, and write the names of the people who would come celebrate with me. I daydreamed about my engagement ring and how I would show it to everyone and they would be jealous. I could see myself living together in OUR house with the white picket fence. One day it all came true, and then it all blew up. But yet, here I am in my forties as a single mom living alone on the verge of owning 6 cats (just kidding, hate cats), still dreaming about a stupid god-damned wedding dress, a diamond ring, and playing house. At least I haven’t written my first name with some guys’ last name in the past year…Ok, I am lying. I have. What the hell? I know better! It must be some cave woman hunter-gatherer response. Or the result of taking home economics in sixth grade when the boys took woodshop. Or playing Barbies when the boys played with dirt and picked things. One of my mantras is to not only own your feelings and your actions, but to own up to them. So! I truly do wish them all the happiness in their new lives together, but yes – It hurts, I’m human, and I’m ok with that.