Filed

"While something may come to an ending on the surface of time, 
its presence, meaning, and effect continue to be held and integrated into the eternal."

~ John O'Donohue

I filed for divorce a couple of weeks ago. I'm trying to do it without a lawyer. I completed the various legal documents with the help of a couple of classes with the county Law Facilitator and the 2014 edition of How To Do Your Own Divorce in California. When I finished, and finally screwed up my nerve, I went to the courthouse and handed the paperwork to a clerk who had an affect as flat as a freshly ironed shirt. I guess when divorce crosses your desk dozens of times a day you are no longer fazed by the enormity of it. You stop wondering what the "irreconcilable differences" were. You no longer fret about the children involved or consider who will get the wedding china. You stop thinking about the casualties. Instead, you make sure there are three copies of the petition and that the pages are two hole punched at the top. You line up the various stamps you will imprint in the appropriate boxes on the documents before you, and proceed with the dry, legal business of divorce.

My parents have each been divorced twice and married three times. My sister and my step sister have both been down this road. Divorce is not a novelty in my family. Still, handing over those weighty documents to the legal clerk was surreal. I had been so sure I would be the daughter whose marriage would last. But here I was, taking my place in line to begin a process my sisters and parents knew too well. The man I had married 18 years ago -- the same man who showed me a better way to peel garlic and taught me to appreciate the full range of Miles Davis' career, the man I had two beautiful children with -- was now reduced to a "respondent" on a legal summons. This was huge. I wasn't sure how I would feel when this day was over.

As it turned out, a comedy of errors ensued when I handed the forms to the clerk. I had checked one wrong box. I would not be able to file until it was corrected. I felt defeated and more than a little superstitious all of a sudden. Was fate was stepping in to block my way? The friend I had wisely brought along for moral support saw where I was going with this, grabbed my hand, and quickly lead me across the street to the library. After a frustrating search for an available computer, we finally found one that would let us access the internet for 15 minutes. We quickly located the form on line and started inputting the information from my original, taking care to check all the correct boxes. With minutes to spare, we sent the completed document to the library printing station.

At the printing station we waited for an available computer, conscious of the minutes ticking by. I had to pick up my son from school. Finally it was my turn. I logged on and pulled up my printing job. It would cost 80 cents to print. I didn't have any cash, but this is the digital age, right? Who carries cash? I whipped out my bank card and looked for the slot to insert it in the machine. ... No slot. Apparently library patrons do carry cash. I needed 80 cents in actual U.S. currency. My friend and I rummaged through pockets and purses, but found only pennies and lint. Again, I was tempted to look upon this as an omen, a force beyond my control trying to put a stop to this tom foolery. But my friend intervened again. A quick run to the ATM, a stop in a store to break a $20 bill, a sprint back to the library, and we were back in business. I printed out the form, tracked down a two hole punch, and stapled the appropriate pages together. I signed all three sets and we headed back to the courthouse.

We were lucky. There was no line and I was soon standing in front of the dead pan clerk again. I handed over my forms and held my breath as she checked through them. Without a word, she lined up her rubber stamps and began stamping various places on the forms. The last stamp was the biggest. It said "Filed" along with the date. It made a satisfying thump as she stamped each of the three copies: FILED, FILED, FILED. Without fanfare or words of encouragement (I don't even think she said, have a nice day), she handed me my copies and it was done. I had filed for divorce.

Remember how I said I wasn't sure what I would feel when this day was over? Well, what I felt was what writer and mindfulness meditation leader, Jon Kabat-Zinn, calls the full catastrophe. Sadness, loss, and guilt mingled with relief, hope, and joy; the whole ball of wax that makes up a life. What I felt deep in my bones at that moment was that, no matter how dry and precise those legal documents were, life is anything but dry and precise. It's sticky and tangled and messy, particularly at the intersection of endings and beginnings where grief and hope hold hands. And this is as it should be. We just need to remember to show up for it, to be willing to hold hands with both grief and joy simultaneously. We need only to follow poet Mary Oliver's instructions for living: "Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it."