For the first time in years, 23 July slipped by me. I knew there was something significant about the date when I wrote it in my field book, but I could not place it. As if it was a memory from a past life. In many ways, it was. From my current life, 25 July has become a date to remember, though I always forget it. On 25 July 2010, I met Sarah, and, though I did not know it, she would become an important part of my life, quickly.
Honestly, 25 July would have slipped by me as well, but Sarah emailed me. She wrote me a message about how she felt in the first few months of knowing me. We were both in rough patches of our lives, and probably still are. One of the paragraphs in her email was about coming back to Red Dog for the second hitch. Apparently, she, like me, was looking forward to the only bright spot in my life, and that was spending time with my new friend. She wrote about the airport, as we were on the same flight out of Vancouver. At the airport, I got there early, and was reading at the gate, she said hello to me when she arrived. She wrote in her email, "I sensed the density of your pain on that day."
I suppose a year after such things have happened it is no longer rude to let the whole world know some of the details of my life. Corinne and I moved out of the Painted Rose house in May. Kelly was kind enough to let us stay with her intermittently through the summer. Eventually, I went to Red Dog, on my R&R, I moved Corinne to Vancouver. Corinne decided to not move with me (she may object to this, saying that she "had" to delay her defense, but few things in life "have" to be done in a certain way). In doing that, she talked her sister into taking the trip that I proposed we take together, as part of our move. Thus, by her choosing, I drove the moving truck to BC alone, I missed her defense, I moved everything into her apartment alone, then I waited for her and her sister to arrive from their trip. Once they arrived, I spent a couple of days with Corinne and her sister before going back to Red Dog. When it was time for me to go to the airport, I took a taxi, and Corinne stayed in bed, not getting up to say good-bye. For those, and so many other reasons, I was in a lot of pain that day in the airport, feeling alone, lost and unloved.
Reading that line of Sarah's email brought those feelings back to me. I am so happy to have her as a dear friend. I was so happy to be reading that email, but great happiness comes with great pain, and in my experience, it is the pain that is lasting. It is the pain that fills my memories, and it is the pain that I am trying to let go of.
People have tried to relate to what I must be going through, others have just acknowledged that it must be awful, and some have asked what it has been like. I cannot describe in words what my divorce has felt like emotionally. It was shocking when Corinne asked for it. It was painful to acquiesce. With every step of the process of ending it, I have felt enormous pain. At the same time, removing her from my life eliminated the pain that living with her brought me. I am free to be more open and honest about who I am. I have people in my life who support me in not knowing what I want in life. I have the love and support of people who actually love and support me. All this should not be taken to mean that Corinne and I were never happy. She was often very good to be, and we had lover's rituals that I still cherish and long for, and probably always will. This is why it is complicated, but suffice it to say, I am better without her, than I ever was with her. My life has improved by getting a divorce, even though the process has had a painful resonance that vibrated every fiber of my being. Never has the pain of the divorce exceeded the pain I was feeling while sitting in the Vancouver Airport.
How do I let go of all of that? I cannot hope to imagine the direct path. I find that she is a significant part of my life that still comes up in conversations about me, despite wishing to cut out those years, and those memories. Cutting out is not how memory works, and is not how emotions abate. Instead, the wounds are healing slowly, and time is moving forward. This means that on 23 July I write the date, and recall some fleeting importance from a past life, and on 25 July I receive an email that is a celebration of the good in my life. I let go of old anniversaries, and new ones come along.
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