Unconditional Love With A Side of Divorce

“I want a divorce”, my husband boldly said as we sat across one another at our oversized dinner table. Moments before, I had just come from the kitchen with two piping hot dinner plates. The luscious, savory aromas whirling through my nose, leaving my mouth watering in anticipation for the first bite. I spent the last two hours creating a masterpiece; homemade chicken parmesan with a side of spaghetti marinara. I loved to cook, and chicken parmesan was not only my favorite, it was my specialty. A flawlessly breaded chicken breast cooked to perfection, giving you the crisp, flavorful exterior and inside, a moist, tender, delectable breast. Next, it’s coated with a generous dollop of my Grandma’s secret marinara sauce gracefully spread across the top with a sprinkle of mozzarella cheese, melted to a slight bubble. Don’t forget a pinch of freshly chopped parsley for subtle dash of color. Cooking wasn’t a chore for me, nor a necessity. It was a form of art. A harmonious balance of flavor, patience and creativity carefully plated to provide both visual and flavorful satisfaction. Like a gorgeous symphony delivering perceptible sustenance to the soul. I looked up from my plate and met his gaze. His voice was shaky, but his words were filled with compassion and intent. “I’m so sorry,” he continued, “over the last year I can just feel we have been growing further and further apart.” His eyes, sparkling from the tears forming, were a deep, warm molasses brown with the slightest flecks of green, like a freshly baked zucchini nut loaf on a chilly fall day. Nevertheless, they still made me feel safe. They felt like home to me. He wiped a single tear away, “We are not just simply on a different page from each other, I feel we’re reading entirely different books.” It hurt for me to admit it, but he wasn’t wrong. Even I felt the disconnect between us, only I had perfected the task of pouring my feelings into a large pot of beef broth, tossing in some sliced mushrooms, diced potatoes and cubed beef, letting it simmer until the feelings of desolation slowly dissolved into a hearty soup. Little did I know our nine year relationship, like the bouillon in my broth, had been dissolving along with it.

When it comes to ignoring my feelings, I was the Executive Chef in the restaurant of emotional disconnectedness, pushing them down until I reached a point of utter numbness. This was a trait my father taught me well. Emotions were a sign of weakness. Men don’t cry and emotions were nothing more than a design flaw by our Creator. Toxic masculinity at its finest. Those ruinous traits were planted deep in my subconscious as child, like the seed of an invasive wildflower that took root and blossomed well into my adult years. It sprouted into a constant loop of self-destruction, often causing similar relationship issues with family, friends and lovers. Each time a conflict would germinate and the river of feelings would begin to run, my fathers emotional influence would echo through the caverns of my mind and another dam would be constructed. “Don’t show it,” it would say, “Don’t show them how weak you are."

Time and time again I would watch my life crumble to pieces, leaving a pasty plate of remnants of what was once a chocolate chip cookie. Too much flour was always the culprit in a crumbly cookie. I could never find that perfect balance of ingredients to keep my life from disintegrating. I’d always find myself in solitary, reassembling the pieces, only to add more flour to the mix. It wasn’t until my mid-thirties that I began decoding the recipe that was me. Peeling back each layer of my protective exterior to reveal and discover the innocent, child-like soul beneath, longing for love and acceptance. Much like a pineapple; such a delicious, juicy reward beneath, if only you took the time to get through its rugged, hardy rind. I had devoted the last few years to finding that juicy center, but self-work and self-discovery is a never-ending affair. Difficulty aside, I had made substantial progress in my marriage. I had always felt lost in an impenetrable fog and finally I was starting to believe I could see light trickling through. Together, my husband and I weathered such great storms and in turn, grown into such incredible men. Tender, communicative, transparent. I was so immensely proud of him. I was proud of myself too, but had this nagging sense that perhaps I had wandered too far into the dense forest of my own mind and neglected the delightful garden in my own backyard. Was I to blame for the diversion of our paths, or was the separation simply part of our spiritual growth. A lesson hiding just beneath the surface of sorrow and regret.

“Are you going to say anything?” My husband calmly voiced, pulling me back into the present. I glanced down at my dinner plate, hoping to find the words in the tangled mess of al dente spaghetti. I looked up at him and managed to push out the words “I love you.” Though much less suffocating, I could still feel my father hold over me as I held back the tears. I cleared my throat, “I love you, honey, but I also understand. I’ve been feeling the separation between us lately and I haven’t quite known how to address it. But it’s okay. It is. I’m not angry with you.” I saw a look of relief in his eyes as the tension between us lifted. He responded, “I love you too. So much. But I feel there is something missing. Something pulling me elsewhere. It’s like something telling me it’s time to go.” I nodded a nod of understanding, as I could feel it too. As strong as the affection was that we shared for each other, there was an even stronger sense that our relationship had run its course and that we had learned all we could from one-another. He was right, it was time to let go. I felt a sense of peace and forgiveness wash over me as the tears began streaming down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried. It felt healing. It felt freeing. We both sat in comfortable silence for some time. We embraced the love for each other as well as the despair of the impending loss. “I’ll be okay. It will all be okay,” I said to him. He placed is soft hand on mine before responding. “I know it will.” 

I found myself alone, yet again, only this time in the beautiful home we had created together, mostly empty now as the closing date on the sale grew near. It had been months since we discussed our separation and the sense of realness was overpowering. I slowly drifted down the hallway, noticing the faint color differences from where our photos used to hang, a somber reminder of the life we shared. I made my way to the living room where the last bits of furniture and other odds and ends remained, carefully exploring each one last time before sinking into our creamy brown leather sofa. It was the color of a refreshing iced vanilla latte on a hot summer day. I thought back to the excitement I felt on the day we picked it out. We had it since we first moved in together. I never thought I’d consider a couch to be part of our family, but it was. I sat in silence looking at the few things left and reminisced on all the joyful times we had together. I was taken back two years ago. It was October and we had just rescued two adorable puppies from the shelter. As we brought them in, they seemed to sense that this was their final home. My heart felt full. We all cuddled up on this very same sofa and shared our first nap together as a family. I closed my eyes and could still feel his head on my chest as the memories of our life flashed in my mind. I remember feeling so complete then. I found peace in the thought that he would find that feeling again, and so would I. I had given him the space to pursue his hearts desires and follow his heart all while I tried to transcended my egotistical feelings of rejection, desertion and unworthiness. I reminded myself that nothing lasts forever. Forever is nothing more than an illusion to mask the fear of intimacy and abandonment. People are meant to grow and to change and to become the best version of themselves. I continued to assure myself, although I could feel my heart splitting in two. Sometimes your journey is meant to lead you somewhere greater, if you’re willing to trust it. A small part of my soul held out hope that the universe would bring us back together, but I’ll forever be eternally grateful for the love I experienced. I will forever have love for him even if he was no longer part of my life and I knew he felt the same. That is real, unconditional love and what is the purpose of life if not to truly embrace it in all its glory, the good and the bad. “Time heals all wounds”, I whispered to myself as I pulled a blanket up to my chin, cuddling a pillow to ease the pain while I dozed off into a dream.

As I whisk together a handful of ingredients, add a can of crushed tomatoes and a splash of chopped basil, I place it in a pot on the stove to simmer. It’s been 3 years since we separated and the heartache has finally subsided, almost entirely. I used the proceeds from the house sale to pursue a life-long dream of mine; to open my own restaurant. It’s a quaint little building amongst the charming, local businesses in the downtown district. With just a handful of tables, a few employees and a cute, intimate patio with string lighting for ambiance, its enough to perfectly curb my desire for creating edible art without taking away my love for it. I peek out over the counter and see a familiar guest seated at a booth alone, reading a book titled The Velvet Rage. A strange coincidence to me, as I had just finished the same book two weeks prior. I feel a slight smile cross my face followed by the click and clatter from the kitchen register as another order prints. I tear the receipt, and read the order for one and began to craft the special dish for my patron. I remove the sauce pot from the stove while finishing the entree in the oven. The scrumptious aromas of tomatoes, oregano and garlic are billowing from the kitchen. I begin to delicately place each item on a plate and can’t help but notice how familiar it felt. Feelings of contentment, joy, unconditional love. I pick up the plate and head out of the kitchen to hand-deliver this entree to my loyal guest. He’s been coming in regularly since the day we first opened and I always enjoy conversing with him. As I approach the table, the gentleman looks up from his book, his eyes a familiar molasses brown. Like a zucchini nut loaf on a fall day. Comforting and warm. A smile flashes across his face as I lean in and plant a friendly kiss on his cheek. “So good to see you again!” I say to my ex-husband. “Likewise”, he responded, “it’s always a treat coming here.” He looked happy. Genuinely happy, like he found what he had been looking for. My heart swelled with such an authentic love as I basked in this full circle moment. We were both thriving in our own lives apart, yet still had immense love and respect for one another. Once again, I feel complete. I feel whole. Even now, as friends, I feel that unconditional love. As I said before, what is the purpose of life if not to embrace it in all its glory? I place my hand on his shoulder and attempt a silly French accent, “Bon Apetit, Mi amor,” I say as I place the dish in front of him before headed back to the kitchen. His eyes lit up at the sight. Homemade chicken parmesan with a side of spaghetti marinara. A classic masterpiece. My speciality. My love.