Apples & Rocking Chairs

I came home from work Thursday and found in my mailbox an invitation to a wedding reception from a friend. My friend is getting married in Oahu, Hawaii and is having an informal reception back "home". Instead of feeling happy, I felt sad for myself. Sad because my name wasn't on the invitation announcing my soon to be joyous union with another. Sad because it is not I who will be sending out thank you notes for all the gifts received in honor of the delightful occasion. Sad because it will not be myself and another figuring out what to do with hundreds of leftover white napkins with foil letters on them. Sad because it will not be me returning a Noritake Chandon Platinum soup tourine because we were accidentally given two of them. Because it is not ME.

Some of you know that I have already walked down the blissful aisle covered in rose petals only to find myself dredging through a swamp of tears and hurt three years later. Five years later than that I find myself drowning in the same swamp wondering what happened and where it all went wrong. No answers and no closure.

I sold my wedding band last year to a stranger for $45.00. As I examined the gold, platinum and diamond circle of eternal love before placing it in the stranger's hand, I thought the exchange of memory for cash would signify something and that something that never came. My wedding dress hangs in my closet, in a home I share with another man. I can't let it go. Not yet. Not today.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever dig out of the hole my ex-husband buried me in. A hole that stings, pinches and suffocates me from time to time.

*Note* The title of this post has nothing to do with the contents.