And to all things...

Monday morning I went to the Family Justice Center. I sat in the lobby and read a book until a woman came and called my name. It took about 7 minutes, all told. I sat down in a chair, a little dazed to be in a courtroom and trying to remember how I was supposed to act. I said yes a lot and no once or twice, and that was it. My divorce was granted.

I had expected to feel something. Relief, at reaching the end of this road. The lifting of a burden. Instead, I felt... strange. Disconnected. Perhaps I was expecting a hearing more in line with what I'm used to seeing on tv. Maybe it was my complete confusion as to where to go, what to say and do, and the rush of the hearing itself. The courthouse was running late, and was trying to speed things along as quickly as they could. Or maybe I've already come to terms with the end of my marriage, and this was a formality. It's hard to pinpoint, but as the day went on I was able to shake off the confusion.

It's a strange thing. My marriage ended yesterday, though it will not be recognized as legal until I receive a copy of my papers in the mail and mail a set to my ex. (My ex - it may take me a while to wrap my head around this new title.) Today would have been my 10th wedding anniversary. I never once celebrated my anniversary while I was married, so I don't feel that today holds any significance, other than to mark the passage of time. That sentence alone may describe better than anything else why my marriage is over.