Ten years ago today my life ended.
Which is to say that the Ex announced, rather out of the blue, that our 25 year journey together was over, and I was no longer required on the voyage. And that was it. Five years before and 20 years married – literally everything I had known in my whole adult life, and everything I had planned for the rest of it – came to an end, and I had no say in the matter. If you have been there then you know the devastation involved and I really didn’t see any way forward.
But of course there was. After a while. And with a lot of help and love and support from an awful lot of people. The Mater, Pater and Auntie M were, of course, wonderful, and Boys 1, 2 and 3 (of 3) were the focus for all my new plans as they started to emerge.
There were a few old friends who stuck around and are still here, and lots of new friends who help to make life the fun it now is.
There was a man called Jim who sat and listened to me churn over my fears week after week until, one day, I confessed that I had impulse-bought a pack of condoms. We had a good laugh about that and he told me I had started to answer my own questions.
And there was a tall, posh bird who wandered into my life with a huge smile and an intriguing belly button. She told me not to be sad anymore and that I was important. I believed her.
There is no real point to this post except to mark the anniversary of a significant event in my life. The worst event, truly, but I am a firm believer in the fact that we are shaped by everything that happens to us. I am sad about the divorce, but I refuse to be bitter about it because most of the previous years were very good. And because I don’t need to colour my life with someone else’s choices. And because without that sad time, I would never have found this new life which is also very good indeed.