I Thought I Made a Good Wife, But Maybe I Was Just Complacent
On departures and the discovery of a dog’s ashes and old wildflower seeds in my underwear drawer.
The hummingbirds recently flew away. I excitedly watched as the last baby flapped her fragile wings and began to miraculously hover in the air above me. Mama had built a tidy nest, right above my patio door. Hidden behind the curtain, I could peek out through the glass to watch as the eggs began to hatch into tiny, fragile beings and then grow into fascinating creatures that buzzed and hummed life into my garden.
Departures always make me wistful, a bit sad for what will never be exactly the same again. Transitions can be hard, especially at first. My divorce was like that, five years ago. After twenty-seven years of trying to nurture a marriage, it concluded in a barely remarkable final act, a coup de grace laughably worthy of a poorly written romance novel — a mistress, anger, hurt, and betrayal.
How cliche, right? Another gray divorce!
In those early days, I was swallowed deep inside a dark place where I could not get a foothold. Every sincere belief I held was essentially gone. The safe space constructed and held together with ideals such as ‘forever, life-long, dedication, sacrifice, duty, and…
