I’ve been hating the desk in my dining room for months now. We moved it down there after R moved out and tenants occupied the third floor of our house, where I previously had a little office. It’s a big, clunky piece of furniture whose main virtue is that it holds a lot of stuff. But I never use it anymore. I’ve spent months plotting to get rid of it and to replace it with something sleeker and more dining room-like and finally, this past weekend, I made it happen. Prior to ditching the desk, though, I had to empty its seven drawers, an experience that turned out to be something of an emotional landmine. A few of the random, meaningful, meaningless things I came upon:
- The hospital bracelet I wore when I gave birth to my older daughter in 1996. (How this ended up mixed in with mini post-its and boxes of staples, now all coated with that fine silt of pencil lead that collects in plastic desk drawer organizers, I couldn’t tell you.)
- A naked photo of R holding an open book over his private parts in a hotel room, circa 1990
- A mini-cassette recorder from the pre-digital age
- Three unused platform-shoe-shaped invitations to my daughter’s 7th birthday party, circa 2003
- Paper money from Vietnam from when we went there to adopt our younger daughter, circa 2001
- Several birthday, Christmas and Valentine’s Day cards from R to me, and some from me to him; all of them artfully written twists on the same general theme—ie You are the greatest person in the universe, I am the luckiest person in the world, I am crazy about you, I love you madly and can’t imagine a life without you, etc, etc, etc. (All circa prior to 2007, obviously.)
It’s clear what I should do with the hospital bracelet (stick in box with other baby memorabilia) and the invitations (toss into recycling), and the mini-cassette recorder (save because no other way to play mini cassette tapes of girls saying ridiculously cute things at age 2). But what about the R-related (but not necessarily R-rated) stuff?
These random desk-drawer findings are just the tip of that iceberg. There’s a box in my closet that contains assorted pieces of my past, from my junior high school diary to another stack of love letters from R. (I threw this particular pile of them at him during the ghastly, wrenching pre-separation months and also offered some suggestions for where he might want to shove them.) And then there’s an entire freestanding wardrobe filled with photo albums chronicling our 18 years together.
It’s been a couple of years since R left now and I have some distance. I have transferred my romantic feelings to another person. I can come across the odd Valentine’s Day card from R without it sending me reeling. But still. Still. I shared almost half of my life with this person and it’s hard to know where to put it all, literally and figuratively.
Reading these gushy missives is an out-of-body experience. I know all of that happened and that this was the most significant and lengthiest relationship of my life, but it all seems so, so distant already. It’s still hard to process how those passionate written exchanges, once focused on our mutual adoration, could have devolved in to the quick, terse, business-like email affairs that they are today. Looking at letters and photos from my married days brings up something different than the sweet nostalgia I feel when I read something saved from a college or high school boyfriend. Those relationships were meant to be finite. The scenes from a marriage, on the other hand, still sting and feel like reminders of failure–as if they don’t really count because it didn’t last.
So where do I store this stuff emotionally, how do I make a place for it in the modular add-on system of past experiences growing inside my aging brain? Do I want my kids to come across those letters one day so they can see that in fact their parents loved each other once? (Does one keep naked pictures of one’s ex? What’s the protocol there?) Or should I get rid of all of it, sending it off with the ship that has sailed?
While I was unloading stuff from the desk drawers to the dining table, a little gift card fell open. It was signed ”I love you, R,” and it landed right on top of a folder labeled “Separation Agreement.” Really. You can’t make this stuff up, and I didn’t.
Share, Share: What have you done with the memories of your marriage?
@JF – I think my own mother sold hers, but my dad saved his. I have it. He has since remarried, but I have it. I thought about using it, but realized in my mind that there might be some bad feelings tied to it. However, I have contemplated having it melted and turned into another piece that I might wear, though that is still out for debate. As far as your rings, I would hold on to them and see what your boys think when they are old enough to make that choice.
I don’t know what I can offer you other than my own personal insight. I am a child of divorce. My folks divorced when I was two – and now, almost 4 decades later, I still don’t know why my parents divorced. (both are being tight lipped and placate me with pleasantries of “we just grew apart”) I have my own suspicions, but I am sure that both don’t want to disparage the other. However, what I had concerns with was when I approached my own marriage I had baggage to say the least…still my husband, having heard the many stories that I *could* remember, was loving and kind and loved me through it – even the totally irrational stuff!
My thought as I was reading your post was, 1) hold on to the pix (ok, maybe not the naked one) of when you were married. Hold on to the notes and cards. Place them in a special box for when your girls are older. I believe they need to see this, to formulate their own “ideal” in their mind of what your relationship was with their dad. But mostly to know that yes, mommy and daddy loved one another at *one time*. Then they can decide after going through it, if they choose to keep it or not. 2) I would also encourage you and your ex to be vocal about the good times you shared. The girls will figure out the rest (or possibly remember some on their own) and lastly, help them to know you are both human. My guess is that there was fault on both sides, if you are honest. Be open about that. This not only lets them know you all are human, but that mistakes can be made and sometimes relationships fail not only due to major things happening, but sometimes by lots of little things adding up (death by a thousand paper cuts as my dh says) Don’t get me wrong, you don’t need to sit them down and have a completely forced, open, lengthy conversation – but my guess is that each of them will approach you in their own time, looking for that conversation. Be prepared early on. Communicate with your ex as to what you are going to share…and not share…other than that there may be lots of questions, many tears, and perhaps a few therapy sessions too! I am here to say that although I still don’t have the answers I am looking for, and yes, I am periodically haunted by the questions left unanswered (no, I can’t really tell you (or my parents) WHY I want to know, or even what it might change in my own life/marriage by knowing the answers, I do know that it might help to keep the doubts at bay. (was what caused mom and dad to divorce something that I am going to face in my own marriage? Will I make the same mistakes? Could it be easily avoided?) The older I get, the more resigned I have become that I will never know, and I am trying to be ok with that. It really has become a choice most days to let it go. I will know in time…maybe just not on MY terms.
I hope this helps seeing it from your daughters’ perspective. They may or may not have the same feelings that I do, but at least if you are prepared for it, you have the information at the ready (or even plan to write them a note to place with these things explaining why you kept it, lest something should happen to either you or your ex prior to them receiving this collection.) At the very least, I hope that you might be able to see that the wounds of divorce go just as deeply if not more so sometimes, than those who were married…therefore questions abound.
Good luck!
Still wondering about this one myself. Part of me thinks that I should pack up the photos and letters in a box. Is that something my boys would want someday, a valid and real record of the fact that their parents did, in fact, once love each other? I’m still at a loss as to what do with the notebooks we wrote in — to each other — as we made one last attempt at saving our marriage in the final months. My original plan was to put them in the box too (I have both notebooks, both mine and his), as proof…Of what? That we tried? Is that really something my boys need to see? Do they ever really need THAT much honesty about our relationshp? Lately, my gut says I should do the right thing and return ex’s notebook to him.
What did you do with your wedding ring?