We all have days in our lives that we never forget. Milestone moments, for example, like the day we get our license, graduate high school, have a baby or buy our first home. For me, the day I left my marriage is one of those days.

Not a random Friday

I remember the date, the song playing as I drove away, and even what my neighbor was wearing as he mowed his lawn, waving to me as if it were just a regular Friday. To him, it probably was. For me, it was the day I was physically leaving my (soon to be ex) husband, and our matrimonial home, after 8 years of marriage and 20 years together. I was sad, scared, and starting over.  

I had been packing up for weeks. Our life together being compartmentalized, some things staying and some things going. The biggest pieces, the kids, were going with me. On this day, the only thing left to do was wait for the movers and say goodbye.

The TV stand

I remember looking around the empty living room and feeling lonely. I hated the idea of my husband coming home to an empty room, as I had taken the furniture. So, I went down to the basement to bring up the glass TV stand to set up for the new TV I knew he’d get. It had 3 glass shelves and was heavier than what felt like my whole body, but I was adamant about setting it up for him. And I had to do it alone. I didn’t want help. Not from the movers, or from my father. It was heavy, but it was on me to set this stand up.

It took 4 trips to the basement, but I managed to set the stand up, in the corner of the room. I was sweating and aching all over. How I didn’t hurt myself is beyond me, but I needed that stand to be there as if it would somehow fill the void of the kids and I being gone.

Saying Goodbye

I took a moment to myself to say goodbye to each room in the house, a reel of memories flashing before my eyes as I left each room. No music, just silence. Our bedroom was the last room, and I couldn’t help but have one last cry in the ensuite bathroom that had seen so many of my tears before.

While in the bedroom, I left my husband a note, along with a picture of us from when we were younger and his wedding band. It was a goodbye, of sorts.

Helping me move by holding me up

Although we had hired movers, my parents came to help with the move as well. However, their assistance was more emotional than physical. For as long as I live, I will never forget the moment the movers arrived to transport me and all my belongings from my old life to my new one.

I had just left the bedroom and was wiping my face from tears when I heard the moving truck pull up. My oldest son (age 7 at the time) appeared, out of nowhere, and said ‘Mommy! The movers are here!’. His excitement proved that he really didn’t quite understand what was happening.

I stopped in my tracks, leaned against the hallway wall and lost my breath. My legs decided they could no longer carry my weight, so they started failing me. And I let out a sob so loud, it didn’t sound human.

My Dad, who also seemed to come out of nowhere, literally held me up, body and bones. He was my legs for me that day. I could hear his voice reassuring me that things would be ok, but the words weren’t resonating. He was my rock at that moment, because physically and mentally, I couldn’t move. I was empty. I felt like the tv stand.

That moment with my father was very symbolic. He was doing what a parent does, protecting me, helping me and carrying me through a very hard time.

My son saw the whole thing and asked if I was ok. That’s what snapped me out of my fog and brought me back into my own body. I knew I had to be strong for him, like my dad was for me. As hard as it was, and this was only the beginning, I had to stand on my own two feet, so my sons could stand on theirs.

Moving forward

We left that afternoon, set out on a 3-hour drive, back to a place I called ‘home’. A place where family and friends were waiting. Pink sang to me as I pulled out of the driveway with my mother in the passenger seat and the kids in the back. I gripped the steering wheel so tight, adamant not to loosen my grip, out of fear that I’d lose control.

I had the wheel. It was my turn to drive.

Looking back

I wish I could say the road from that day 6 years ago to today wasn’t a rocky one. For me, divorce was very much a grieving process, and you must go through each step to get to the next.  My counsellor explained how I was essentially grieving a living person, a future that was lost.

But I did it. And I can’t help but hear Pink’s words from that dreadful moving day, which now seem rather fitting now, years later, when she says, “I AM HERE”, adding ‘I’ve already seen the bottom, so there’s nothing to fear’.