It's been nearly a year since Joy left, ending any chance of saving our marriage. In North Carolina, you've got to wait one year and a day after the official separation to file for divorce.
On Sunday, as we were coming back from vacation, Karen and I talked about how busy I was likely to be in November with court activity. It seemed obvious that I was going to have to take the initiative and file for divorce here, hoping somehow to get the papers to Joy in Florida.
Monday morning, though, I found an email from Joy in my in-box from the week I was on vacation. It seems that she has taken the initiative and started the proceedings via an online site. The email included a lot of probing finance-related questions that must be answered by both parties in an uncontested divorce.
So, I sent back the answers as quick as I could. I'm not fighting this split. I've fought all I care to for that relationship and now I'm past it. I'm very glad that she has taken the ball and run with it on this - saves me a load of work in November, to be quite honest, if all I have to do is sign papers for her.
It may just be a matter of days now before our marriage is really officially over.
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2 comments:
Yeah, divorce isn't pleasant. This is #2, and this time it's far worse than the last. This time I'm actually have to talk about the physical and emotional abuse I got on the other end. I am looking forward to going on. I tried for three years to get out, been packing for two, and finally, got the guts up to run one night and call my dad for help at 10:30 p.m. on a Saturday.
Finances? Who gives a damn. I am walking away leaving $850,000 in life insurance, $145,000 home, and over $250,000 (rough guess in retirement funds when he gets old enough to retire). What am I getting? Self respect, the chance to love, laugh, and see old friends without worrying about the ever questioning eyes.
Yeah, this marriage was rough. I've had 19 stalking phone calls in 24 hours, 35 stalking emails in less than a week, but realized it's only as interactive as I let it be, and it's fun to watch him spin his wheels. Two nights ago he offered me a new diamond ring if I "came home..."
He forgets. I am home. I am where I am loved. I have my friends. Jan is here, Tiger is here, Jack is here, Mom & Dad are here, Lizzie is safe here, and he doesn't get to hurt us ever again...and it's all just money.
In the end I lost my 401k I had worked to save, my earnings from my house (which had started that fund) and my Roth IRA when I married him. I learned very fast anything we had was his-everything was in his name but my '93 Toyota Camry wagon. He did me a favor. My divorce is going to be easy to separate. No joint debts that are huge, no credit cards, and such.
I looked one day and saw what he did to his two ex-wives. One ex accused us of hurting his son (which was funny, because she was the one who was at fault), and the social worker sent me the entire file from Floyd county where he lived before. After that I pulled the criminal trial and the entire background on my husband. It was after the first time he beat me.
I started looking for a door, and started holding my breath. I started trying to hide money-but got caught. I was too damn scared to tell Jan. All I had to do was call someone and leave.
Yeah, Wes, my life no reads like one of those stupid battered wife stories we used to cover and shake our heads about. The love for my husband died years ago, so when I turned the key and floored the gas peddle toward Florida, I didn't look back. Lizzie and I blasted the radio and looked at each other with huge relief.
Crying, and crying, but relief knowing he's not going to hurt either of us again. And this time if he does, he's got a burned out hippy reporter, a burned out biker, a pissed of father with arms like Pop-Eye, and a very pissed off wife who is now learning how to shoot a gun. Never again in my life will I allow someone to have my money
Wes, in the end it's money. In the end self respect ranks higher. I grew up in a cabin in Massachusetts, and my mom is nurse. My father was a snow plow truck driver in the winter, a bike mechanic and a fleet mechanic for Coca-cola. My Grandpa was a farmer on a private school, and my Grandma was the the cook there. Not one of us cared. We were broke, loved, broke and happy.
My grandmother told me "when you're dead they're not going to toss you $100 bills to make sure you can spend them. It's not Eygpt. You can't buy your way to Heaven."
Russ can keep all his damn money, and his parents can keep their millions (yep, really). I'll go out and make more as soon as I can find a job.
Tonight I get to hug my daughter, snuggle my fuzzy dog, and laugh with my folks. I saw my brother last night-I get to see him a lot. He almost died in 1996 from a bike wreck. He's broke. He's a bike mechanic. He does what he loves-and guess what-he's happy.
Who cares about the funds? Honestly, it's all just paper and coin we trade.
Bottom line is the ones we love, and the arms which hold us and we feel safe in. Reading that you're undoing or doing up seat buckles and restraint straps makes me think that wasn't for a doggie sitting in the back seat! Welcome the dark side of life...kids. And if you want to know what, they're great.
So, that's it. That's my story. I took Lizzie to the beach on Friday. We have a dream list for the first time in 9 years. Surfing is #1. NYC is #2, San Fransico is #3, and London is #4. I'm an English Lit major-I suppose I should see where I wrote about for all those damn papers!
And yep. I get to see the old coot I loved and still do. Sure he's married, and I'm not on his wild life list, but we still love each other. I have the best in life-and money can't buy it.
I have what my soon to be ex doesn't have.
My freedom.
You know, yesterday I was willing to say I didn't care about the money. Today I'm sitting here sweating that little detail in life. Funny how the bills do that to you when you've got a kid and no job (again-I did this once before! You'd think I'd learn!).
Screw it. I got a great question yesterday in my e-mail: "D"
"What do you want on your divorce?"
I wondered if I should have answered: "your head on a silver platter and gonads on the side with the life insurance in tact."
Yep. Bitchy day for me.
He can still keep the diamond ring and his parents money. I'm still going to laugh my ass off and party.
By the way, I went to the ultra conservative library here in the great meca of Dade City and someone let Jan Glidewell do one of the "READ" posters. I had just seen him at another spot (in person for a moment) and then bam! A poster...who let that happen?
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