I am going to England. The trip is a gift of amazing generosity from my beloved soul-sista Gayle and her husband.
They have two amazing little boys. The firstborn, a delicious, brilliant blond moppet, is Ziggy. Officially a David in a long, long line of Davids (in proper British style), Ziggy makes me almost forget the cartoon Ziggy when I am around him—but not quite.
Because there is a quiet wisdom to this kid. I like Ziggy a whole lot. I like his younger brother Sam too, but Sam’s less likely to yell “knickers” when I ask him to, and more likely to stare at me like, “Who the devil is Aunt Jenny?”
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When my parents divorced after 26 loooong years of marriage, they made the necessary phone calls to me and my brother. I was at graduate school in Westchester County, NY—living in a crap apartment, alone. I remember getting The Call from my dad, and listening politely as he went through his version of the events.
I just listened. I may have eaten some chips.
After a while, my father noticed I was not reacting as he’d expected me to react. He said something along the lines of, “Are you okay? You don’t sound very surprised.”
This part, I really remember.
I said, “I feel like a little cartoon Ziggy. I want to run to the top of a little cartoon Ziggy mountain, throw my arms out wide, stick my Ziggy nose way up in the air, and yell, I WAS RIIIIIIIIIIGHTT!”
He was quick to get off the phone. I’d offended him. Or confused him.
I didn’t want to be right. That wasn’t it.
Later, I told my mother the same thing, as she seemed frustrated by my lack of emotion, except maybe relief that they’d finally be apart. I tried to explain I was having visions of Ziggy on a mountaintop, finally validated for what he’d witnessed all along.
She got off the phone pretty quickly, too. I am sure I was zero help, to either of my parents, that first month they split. I feel bad about that.
I’d always felt like the Cassandra of the family—guys, something is very wrong here, it doesn’t have to be this way.
They did the best they could, don’t get me wrong. We all did.
But it was crazy-making for me. It was an intolerable situation for them, as I saw it. I wanted them to be happy.
So I spent years and years of thinking, Wait, am I crazy? Is this really what marriage is supposed to look like?
So when I met D, I was stunned to find that my Ziggy self wanted to run to the top of that same cartoon mountaintop and yell, THIS IS WHAT I WANT! THIS IS RIIIIIIIIIGHT!
My gut served me well for a long time, until it didn’t. It still feels wrong, very wrong. My inner Ziggy is back on the mountaintop, yelling, NO NO NO NO! LISTEN! JUST LISTEN TO ME PLEASE.
So tomorrow I will get on a plane to London and I will ask many questions of the world at large, in a humble Ziggy way. I want to ask people how they knew they were in love, how they knew it was over, and if one’s heart ever truly heals from the biggest loss.
I fear my heart will never be the same again. That is my greatest fear, that it is broken beyond repair, that I will never use it at full capacity again. And I don’t know whom to tell, what to tell, which mountain to climb. And yet, I do move on. I go through the motions. I have moments of delight that surprise me.
But I am not the same. That open-hearted girl is out of reach. And I continue to mourn her, and wonder who will take her place.
{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
and this (in my own jaded bitter divorced guy head) is exactly why marriage is such a mess these days. children are raised to find someone to marry, not to love for a life time. what should a marriage look like? i have no idea, i’m fine with love and if the need to legally indemnify myself comes up again, i’ll try to figure that out… maybe
I got married to my first husband because I truly loved him. Our marriage didn’t work out, for a number of reasons, and we split after 20 years together. Two of our three kids are still dealing with the repercussions, 20 years later. I intended to love my husband forever, but life got in the way. Enough of my story, though. You will find someone else, but the fact that finding a second love takes longer makes sense, don’t you think? In an ideal world, no one would get divorced, but this is far from an ideal world. The heart never completely heals. I have friends who were able to remain friends with their ex, but that didn’t work for me. Remaining friends is so much better for the kids. All that being said, I hope you have a marvelous time in England!
This is the kind of post where I read it and immediately want to give reassurance! and advice! and help! And yet I’ve got none, because WHO KNOWS? My friends/relatives think it’s weird when I describe my marriage as good “so far,” because I guess they think that 12 years into it I ought to be confident or settled about it, but I STILL feel like WHO KNOWS? Who knows what’s right, who knows what’s good, who knows what will happen, who knows if what happens will be better or worse than what’s now?
I can’t answer most of your concerns or questions (mine ended due to death not divorce)…but what I do know is that the second time around (for me anyway) is more precious than the first. I think it’s because I now take nothing for granted. I’ve learned the lesson. I know how lucky I am to have had a second chance to find love again. I work harder at it than I did the first time around. I cherish the smaller moments more because I realize that it’s those small moments that I missed the most when they were no longer present. In many ways, this second marriage is so much better and stronger than my first. And if given the opportunity to choose between the two…I wouldn’t budge from where I am now.
So please Jenn, don’t fear that your heart will never be the same…instead have courage that your heart will open when it’s ready and the love will be even stronger than before.
Wishing you a wonderful time and safe trip back home to us.
What a fabulous gift! Embrace it. Try to let go of everything and just drink it all in. I hope it’s wonderful!
Have a great time in England!
Can you feel the universe beginning to tilt in your direction again? I mean, it’s not Iceland…it’s BETTER!
Oh Jenn,
I lived and went to school in England for a while way back when! The U.K. is brilliant. My favorite spot is North Wales. But I’ve been all over, several times and I love, love, love it. And London has so many wonderful distractions. I hope you’ll leave your melancholy valentine heart here, and have a fantastic time.
Cheers!
Jen, the passion and introspection you offer inspire the like here.
Age 13, love blossomed and thrived and suffered and then dissipated; we moved on. Lately we, our first lovers, reconnected; we are 68, born on the same day. We spent a friendly day, then weekend together but found ourselves both the same and otherwise. I knew I was in love because life was more intense, more demanding and rewarding. A recent dream of him and me going through the motions as normal shows me that passionate love gives way to acceptance and norm.
Now I love children, animals, blue skies, ocean and creeks, the wind and fresh air. The passion does not diminish with age.
You don’t know me, I’ve been reading you for 6 or so months, maybe a little longer, and left the odd comment over time, cried for you and with you and enjoyed your writing. I live in Manchester, in Northwest England. Is there anything I can do to help with your trip, offer some hospitality, guidance on where you might like to visit or anything? I have a spare bed in a modest bungalow not far from the city centre, I lived in London for 18 years and know my way round the country pretty well – what are you looking to do, see, experience?
Feel free to email if I can do anything for you.
Hoping not to be coming across as too much of a rabid stalker
Becca
I’m going to be honest. In many ways, I don’t understand this post. It reads almost as if it is code, something I do on my own blog, so only a few dear readers can truly get the point. That said, I loved it, and felt the emotion in the words. Enjoy your trip.
Unlike Becca, I am a rabid stalker, and am currently feeling a little hurt that Gayle seems to have misplaced my own invitation to Ing-guh-LAND. I’ll check the post on Tuesday and see if it has arrived by then.
**fingers crossed!**
Interesting for me that when I hear “Ziggy” I don’t think of the cartoon, but of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. but then I’m a huge Bowie fan, despite being a decade too young for that. I think the Bowie character sounds more apropos for your little Ziggy.
Hope you have a great trip and find some of the renewal that you seem to need.
My parents never did get divorced (I’m not sure that was a good thing) but I know I eat chips during ALL the good and bad news I receive in my life. They never fail to comfort me.
My parents never did get divorced (I’m not sure that was a good thing) but I know I eat chips during ALL the good and bad news I receive in my life. They never fail to comfort me.
You’ve just lost faith in yourself and you’ll get that back. It’s an alarming feeling. I’m divorced and I remember thinking that all my assumptions about how my life was supposed to go, all my faith in myself went poof. You DO get it back.
I’ve had my heart broken in that way that makes you feel like your soul is sick – maybe dying – and you’re just trying to not die with it. What I learned is that it’s kind of like a broken bone in many ways. It does heal, although it takes time. A lot of time. Hearts also heal to be stronger than they were before they were broken. Sometimes though, even after it’s healed and strong, it will ache sort of like a previously broken bone does before a storm. Hope your broken heart heals to be as strong as you need for life’s challenges, because so many of them are really, really amazing.
I want to echo what nono said. My second time around is so good. I was not sure how I would be able to love again or marry after my divorce. But I stopped worrying about it and threw myslef into my second love with everything wide open. And it has been hard blending our lives and families. But I knew he was as willing as I was to do whatever it takes. And never for a moment do I forget to be grateful. We understand how rare and special this is. We fight for it and hold it and bask in it. I wonder how I ever lived without it and never knew what I was missing.