FEED My MIND: Adventure. Learn. Live. Write.
When separated from your life partner, your secrets no longer have protections. And the stories he kept for your friends are no longer in the vault.
When the day arrives and you say with conviction or in a whispered release or blurted out in halting sob-ridden gasps, “I cannot do this anymore,” your mind will look down on your body, from a place of duty and strength and see simple honesty wash over the scene.
The librarian will assess your stack with curiosity but then, just as quickly, handle herself properly, look you in the eye and processes your life-examining selections. Contemplating Divorce by Susan Pease Gadoua
Those friends, gobsmacked when you confess the end has arrived, experience fear as your confession reminds them how fragile their happiness may be. You strangely find yourself comforting them.
You don’t want to be a part of this new club. But you are.
There’s something very permanent about purchasing and moving one, beautiful, long, leather couch into the new place which formerly held just the necessities: the blow-up mattress and several framed photographs of your beautiful children.
And the day your friend sends over just two teacups with saucers from her favorite set of china is the day she bears witness to the most basic needs of your changed routine.
She grieves in the knowing- someone else will have her life. And she celebrates in the moment- this life will still have her.