I’m in a hotel at the Philly Airport. Tomorrow I will be flying Southwest Airlines to San Diego. My entire life is packed in seven cartons, already in transit.
Earlier in the week, I arrived back in New Jersey from Connecticut to pack up my belongings. It had been a week since my wife Sophy and I had seen each other. Our last conversation had gone badly. I was not looking forward to this.
We hugged, we cried, we talked. We experienced the emotional gamut from A to Z, including “A is for anger” and “L is for love.” The bottom line is we love each other, but we cannot live together. At least not right now, the way things are. So “Z is for zone,” as in time zone. If there is an outside chance of making this work, then we need to have at least two empty time zones between us.
Any arrangement involving closer proximity will only prove destructive. Our respective psyches are far too tender, our hurts too deep, our sensibilities too fragile. We both need time – and distance – to heal, to clear our heads, to figure out what we really want from each other in this relationship.
Yes, there will always be a relationship. The marriage, though, we will be ending, by mutual consent. If we ever do decide to get back together, it will be a fresh start. Or we may decide it is best to go our separate ways. Separate but still close. Still in love.
No matter what happens, Sophy will always be in my heart. Certainly she has been the love of my life. It may sound crazy, but not even marriage could destroy my love for her. Our love survived our marriage. Maybe there is hope.
Published On: December 06, 2006
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