This year Easter falls on March 31st. For the past 12 years, this date has held a very important place in my heart because it marks the day of my own personal resurrection or revival — it is the day on which my ex husband was forced (by a court order) to vacate the house and my life.
I still vividly remember watching him drive off with the last load of his stuff (things that he’d waited until that very day to start packing), and when he rounded the corner at the end of the block, I did a literal happy dance in my driveway and threw up my hands in exultation and the purest sense of joy and relief that I’d felt for years and years and years.
It still took 13 more months before I was officially divorced from him, and he still manages to cause me the occasional problem all these years later, but he hasn’t set foot in my house since then, and he never will.
On March 31, 2012, my life began anew; I was reborn in a sense — resurrected from the “dead” way in which I was living my life because I wasn’t living it; I was simply existing and getting by from day to day. That night, I slept the best sleep that I’d had in eons because he wasn’t there anymore and he couldn’t come back.
Within days, people running into me in the grocery store, co-workers at school, and friends and family were telling me how great I looked. It’s amazing how quickly a transformation can happen when you get rid of the thing that is ruining your life.
I write poems to express and deal with things that are bothering me, and here is one I wrote four years prior to that momentous day:
Easter 2008 Easter -- a time of rebirth, Renewal, reawakening. For me, a renewal of the loathing, Both of self and of him, I feel Trapped in this thing we Call marriage, this thing that Is warped, cruel and devoid Of all it should have -- all I expected it to have once upon a time, When I was young and stupid. My hatred reawakened by A careless remark, a selfish Bit of whining, that quickly Escalated into an argument And then a fight -- a fight where Only I am left crying as he sleeps In his self-centered, egocentric, Condescending manner. I want so badly to feel the rebirth Of love, love for a man, the kind Of love of which I have forgotten The texture, the tone, and the Tenderness. I stay for the kids -- A worn out cliché, my cross to bear. Yet, I hope for my own rebirth one day Into a world where I may know love again.
I don’t mean to be sacrilegious by comparing my “rebirth” to the Resurrection that many people will be celebrating this Easter, but rather I see the metaphorical and symbolic connection of Easter falling this year on a date that is significant to my life.
I am not a religious person, but I am a very spiritual one, and I have strong beliefs that run deep in me. Springtime is a time of renewal and rebirth, and March 31st falls at the start of spring every year — another reminder of how I left my dead self and dead marriage behind and started over.
It’s hard to believe that a full 12 years have passed since that momentous day. I barely recognize the person I was back then and would do almost anything if I could go back further in time and make him leave years sooner — if nothing else, if I could go back to the me who wrote that poem in 2008 and tell her that her life was going to start anew in 4 years around Easter and that she would one day know love again.
One of the first things I asked for in the divorce was the reinstatement of my birth name. I call my last name my birth name, not my maiden name, for a few reasons. First, “maiden” is an antiquated term that is strongly connected to a woman’s sexual experience and/or marital status, and it really needs to stop being used in my opinion. Second, when I was born, I was given the last name of Marshall, so it quite literally is my birth name. Since I do feel that I was reborn after my divorce, taking that name back shows that “birth” for me. Frankly, I didn’t want to change my last name when I got married, but I was bullied into doing it, and I was too young and stupid to stick to my guns like I should have back then — for the 22 years of my marriage, I never felt like a “(insert married name here)” so it was a no-brainer for me to request my real name, my birth name, be reinstated.
This is a cliche but it’s a cliche because of how true it is: Life is too short.
Life is too short to stay in unhappy relationships. Life is too short to live it in a way that doesn’t fulfill you and make you content — I don’t need to be “happy” all the time, but I do need to live my life on my terms. Since March 31, 2012, I’ve been doing just that.
Last week I wrote about regret and the deep regret I live with each day for marrying him and for staying with him as long as I did. That’s my cross to bear. Many days I put it down, and other days I carry it with me everywhere I go.
I also mentioned that something sad had happened recently.
A 14 year old boy (and student at the school where my son teaches) was tragically killed in a horrible accident — he was run over by a tractor driven by his best friend. This dropped a pall over my son’s life and everyone in that community, and it dropped one over me because I knew that boy, I know his parents, and I know what it’s like to lose a student.
His death is another reminder that life is too damn short. Don’t spend 22 years of your precious life in a bad marriage or doing anything that doesn’t fulfill you.
This is my 100th post of “Tomes and Topics.” If you’ve been with me since the start, thank you. If you aren’t yet a paying subscriber, I hope you’ll consider upgrading today. Remember I’m sharing the next novel (a suspense thriller) as I write it with my paying subscribers beyond the paywall below that you see if you are a free subscriber. I’d love to have you join me on my journey to write novel number seven. The part I’m sharing today goes well with what I’ve shared above.
Until next time. Happy Easter.
Tammy Marshall
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