11 years married, 1 month divorced

A few days ago marked eleven years since Sadi and I got married in the Mesa temple. It also marked exactly one month since the day we told our kids we were getting divorced. While our divorce isn’t legally finalized yet, it became emotionally real that day.

The kids were the last ones to know. We talked it over endlessly with each other, with friends, with family - I even talked it over with the internet, on this same blog. I am grateful for that. When we first decided to get divorced, I wanted to tell the kids right away because I hate keeping things secret from people I care about. But I am grateful for every minute I had to metabolize the decision before bringing it to my children. I am grateful that I was able to give them the clearest possible picture of why I would be moving out.

They knew right away that something big was coming when we invited them over to the dinner table for a serious family talk. We began to talk about our best-friend kind of love, and how important it is to be with someone who loves you in a romantic way. Kate covered the lower half of her face and said, “Don’t say it, don’t say it.”

I honestly thought the whole thing would go over Sam’s head. He’s five, and I didn’t think he had a concept of divorce. But even before we said the word he blurted out, “Are you going to leave us?” 

We told him that we weren’t. He started to cry. Sadi held him on her lap and I stroked his arm as we continued to talk. Toward the end he asked us if we could stop being divorced when the coronavirus stopped being dangerous. We said we couldn’t, but we promised to love him and keep him safe. We told the big kids that this was a big moment, and it was ok to have big feelings about it like the ones Sam was having. Kate asked us if we would be taking off our wedding rings. When we said yes, a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Henry listened closely as we talked about all the ways we would still be together, and how I would still be a frequent, regular part of their lives. About how we were still a family, and we still loved each other. He had immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario, which for him was that I would be completely gone. With each statement that made it clear that wasn’t going to be the case, he let out a deep breath and blinked back tears. “Ok,” he said over and over. “Ok.”

We hugged them, and promised them that we would take care of them. We moved to the couch for a while and talked about how I grew up with divorced parents and I was ok. We talked about how our family would look different from other families, but that what really makes a family is love.

Then we went to the beach. We wanted to show them that we were still together, even if it was in a different way.

The beach was a balm on all our hearts. It was a quiet, sweet day, and our kids played together in the sand and in the surf, and we watched them and silently loved them.

When we got in the car to go home, Kate asked us, “What’s the reason for the divorce again?”

The reason is simple, and we gave her the simple answer. “Mom and dad can’t love each other in a romantic way, and we both want to find someone who we can love in that way.”

Maybe when they’re older I’ll be able to explain some of the nuances to that answer, nuances that I’m still trying to tease out for myself. I think most people assume that Sadi is the driver of our decision to get divorced. But while we’re both at peace with it, I’m the one who asked for it.

All I can say for sure about why I asked for the divorce is that it felt right to me, and staying married felt wrong. That feeling came in November of last year, and has been constant since then. All along I’ve struggled to articulate why it does feel right. It’s hard to express. I didn’t feel trapped in my marriage with Sadi. And I could see that there was a part of her that would be fulfilled by staying with me. It was the part of her that had watched her grandparents stand by each other decade after decade until the very end. 

I wanted to honor that part of her, but I’m not as strong as she is. Sadi was ready to bear an enormous weight for the rest of her life, and I believe she had the capacity to follow through. But I didn’t have the capacity to watch. Sadi believed in marriage so strongly that she was willing to sacrifice more than I could really comprehend. And simply watching her prepare to make that sacrifice was just too much for me.

That doesn’t capture the whole story. Sadi and I both went to the temple and found peace with divorce. We both prayed. We went back and forth on being the one most ready to end it now as opposed to later. But I do think it captures some of it.

A little less than a week after telling the kids, I moved out. Chad had been my housemate in college, and he and his wife Sarah have a place up in Altadena with a couple of spare rooms. It is a quiet, peaceful place. Chad and Sarah are quiet, peaceful people, and it has been a blessing to be around them.

That first week of living somewhere apart from my children was the darkest week of my life so far. I saw them every day, but then I would drive back to Altadena and feel the loss in a way that felt like a great stone weight crushing me into the ground.  I would lay by myself in bed at the end of the night and weep and struggle to breathe.

I kept breathing. And eventually I slept. And I woke up each morning, and did my work from home, and then drove back to be with my kids, to eat dinner with them and to tuck them in and to sing them lullabies. The weekend came and I took custody of the kids. We’ve arranged it so that they always stay in the same house, so me taking custody just means I come over and sleep on the air mattress downstairs. 

That first Friday night, Sadi went out to talk with a friend. The kids and I were sitting at the dinner table and I had my hands folded in front of me while they ate pizza.

Sam said, “Dad, can I see both of your hands?”

I spread them out. 

“Are you not wearing your ring because you and mom aren’t married anymore but we’re still a family?” he asked, the words coming out in a single breath.

“Yes,” I said.

“But we’re still a family?”

“Yep.”

Things got a little better. I saw my kids every day over the next three weeks, until it was time for their annual summer trip - first to a place by the beach, and then to Arizona.

Seeing the kids every day was probably good for them, but it was lifesaving for me. 

Every time I showed up and they were still there, I felt that weight lighten a little. When we spent a weekend binge-watching Avatar together, I felt like I could breathe.

Sadi and I weren’t going to see each other on our anniversary, but she forgot a few things that she needed for the Arizona trip, so I drove down that night and met her at a Wendy’s halfway between here and the beach. We got Frostys and talked for a couple of minutes, then I hugged her and drove home.

She looked good. The hair at her temples has some early gray in it, and the silver against the brown makes her look both wise and beautiful. 

She doesn’t belong to me anymore, but she belongs to herself. She looked at home in her own skin. She looked like she could breathe.

I guess that makes two of us.