Hello you!
The email read ‘The final order has been granted. You are now legally divorced’.
It arrived on a new moon no less, the time to release and start afresh. It couldn’t have been more serendipitous. Even though it had been over three years since we separated I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know what to do. What are you supposed to do when your divorce becomes official?
It’s not unheard of for people to celebrate their divorces now. Apparently there are cards you can send, cakes that can be made and balloons you can buy. Should I go on a date? Get drunk for the first time in ten years? Cry? Host a divorce party? I felt nothing. I felt numb. I know this sensation well. I also know the feelings will catch up with me and the sooner they do the better because one way or another they have to come out to be processed.
When I arrived in Paris memories of us were everywhere. It’s always been my favourite city and so we used to visit a lot. It wasn’t uncommon to turn a corner and see a place that triggered memories. Tears would shortly follow. I’d never been abroad alone before, sometimes with friends but mostly with him. I was excited by my new found independence but also daunted and afraid. It felt like part of me was missing.
Where do the memories go? I wondered. What happens to them? Will they feel this loud and clear within me forever? How can we ever move on if this is the case.
On a date when I was being scootered around the arc de triomphe I saw the hotel where we’d spent his birthday one year in the corner of my eye. My past and potential future were colliding. I realised the memories don’t leave us. We’re made up of memories and they can’t be undone. What does happen is the volume gets turned down as new ones are made. They fade. The colours are less vivid, the shapes less clear and they don’t sting like they once did.
I felt I owed us more than the distraction options that first popped up in my head. A proper goodbye was in order. I could see the appeal of a divorce party, to process emotions with those you love, but I wanted to process mine alone. So I decided to go out to dinner. I went to our cafe, the one where if I told him to meet me at our place in Paris he’d know exactly where I meant. I went alone, to have dinner with my marriage one last time in a place where I could feel it, be with it; where there were memories of it still being alive. A last supper. The final farewell.
I didn’t tell anyone I was doing this. I didn’t need or want anyone’s opinions or comments. I wanted a quiet, meaningful and respectful end to what once was mine.
The empty chair stared back at me. Normally I don’t care about eating alone but tonight I felt under a spotlight. Every sense was heightened because I could feel his presence or lack there of as I knew I would and needed to. It was almost as if I expected him to walk through the door at any moment. I ordered the vegan burger as I always do, with a side of fries and a diet coke. I thought of us sat there on my 30th birthday where I’d eaten exactly the same.
An old couple walked in and sat down next to me. They were American. It was as if I could see what we would never be. I wanted to talk to them to distract myself from what I was feeling. I didn’t. I wanted to scroll through social media to distract myself. I didn’t. I knew I had to sit with the uncomfortable feelings that were starting to stir inside. The odd tear rolled down my cheek as I sat eating alone. Nothing to draw too much attention to myself so I let it.
I thought of our wedding day, the vows we’d made and how little thought I’d given to walking down the aisle as if it was the most natural thing in the world. So young and naive. I fast forward to how strange it had been to feel the touch of another man and fall in love with someone new when for so many years I’d been convinced I never would. Revisiting all the firsts without him I also felt the agony of detwining yourself from another in every sense. This was the last vine, and now it was cut.
By the end of my dinner I was surprised how reluctant I was to leave. When I first sat down I wanted this to be over as soon as possible but now I’d acclimatised. Once it was over I knew that was it. There was closure in what I was doing, almost like a ritual. That’s what we do when something we love dies, we lay it to rest with respect.
The feelings I needed to feel that I pushed down when the email came through were those of grief. I felt anger, I felt pain, disbelief, disappointment, betrayal, relief and also freedom. It was a cocktail. Too many feelings to understand in one go but the longer I sat at the table the more they ran through me.
After I paid the bill I stepped outside and looked out onto the Seine. I listened to our wedding song, Iris by Goo Goo dolls, and I said thank you. Thank you to him and thank you to my marriage. Thank you for all the good, the bad an in particular everything it taught me. I thanked myself for making what was the most difficult decision of my life and congratulated myself on it being the right one, despite the pain.
Then the floodgates opened. The dam burst. There’s something very powerful about the Seine, especially at night. The lights of Paris bathe it and its movement is mesmerising. It’s not that you can see your reflection but it has a way of showing you what you need to see if you pay attention. The tears came and they came hard. I let them. Staring down into the water I felt everything that had been stuck in the deepest parts of my body rise up through my heart, throat and out of my eyes. My body slumped and I emptied.
Intuitively I knew when it was time to go. I took a long look at the cafe and breathed in the moment as much as I could. I felt the ground beneath my boots, the cold on my cheeks, the smell of the food and then I walked away and vowed never to eat there again. What’s done is done. It’s time for what’s next now.
As I changed the music playing into my ears I noticed I felt cleansed. I’d walked into the pain, felt it, sat with it and then it had left me all on its own. I was free of it. The pain hurt to feel but it didn’t harm me as I’d instinctively feared. Pushing it down would’ve been far worse over time. I’m glad I listened to my intuition in this case. My body knew what needed to be done and trusting that was the right thing to do.
On the walk home I decided I did know how it had felt to receive that email. It felt how I imagine a slow agonising death must feel. There’s pain but there’s also release and relief. You can let go. You can move on.
I wondered how he felt when he got the same email. Did his read different to mine? Had he celebrated? Had he felt? I’ll never know and I’ve made my peace that that’s the way it should be.
Lots of love
Jessica xxx
Wow, what a beautiful letter describing a beautiful goodbye. I’ve not been through divorce, but I have some very painful memories of trauma from 2023 that I am struggling with. They seem to have a firm grip on me and I’ve been wanting to erase them, to wipe them from my mind altogether. I was really struck by your line about not being able to get rid of memories but instead being able to turn the volume down on them. Your letter has inspired me to think, what can I do (like your goodbye ritual) to help me process and move on? I was also struck by a previous letter you wrote in which you described being ready to allow yourself to be loved again; that really chimed with how I’m feeling in 2024. I hope it’s going to be year of healing for me. Sorry for the ramble - just wanted to say thank you for sharing, it really struck a chord with me, and has given me much food for thought! Wishing you all the best 🥰
Lovely letter Jessica. I'm approaching 3 years since my 10 relationship ended. I totally resonate with everything you say. And also, I'm gearing up to spend a month in Spain on my own - something I always wanted to do so your letters from Paris are so motivating! And I also just decided on Malaga - where I'd originally wanted to go but was a bit scared due to the memories of visits with him - so thank you for your perspective on that too Xx