As I sat there for three hours, I remembered reading this:
"The Coffin lies before me, rude and glossy and solemn. It’s smaller than I thought it would be. It should be much large for what it holds—years of memories. And my heart. Our dreams, unmet. And my life as it was, before. Who is going to carry it? Can it be lifted? Can it be borne? I keep staring at the coffin. Blink—it’s still there. Close my eyes, breathe, then peek again. Still there. It isn’t going away. It holds my marriage. My marriage is dead. Start the funeral."My friends instinctively understand that the demise of any marriage is tragic, just like the death of a loved one. They don't want to know, “What happened?” or impolitely ask like they would about the death of a cancer patient, “What kind of cancer?” I wish it could have been saved. I wish more could have been done, and wonder if in years to come new medical advances will save more cancer patients and new research on marriage and families will correct the divorce rate. Until then, mostly there is just awkwardness.
"I have wished for a funeral for my marriage. Some outward display to ceremoniously acknowledge what I have lost, what I am mourning, and the changes it has forced into my life."I want to be full of courage, and smile, and be at peace. Its not like anyone died. I just hurt like it.
