1. Being quiet, calming my worry and taking in what is around me instead of hopscotching into the future at a fevered pace.

2. Children’s birthday parties

3. Reminders of real value; my heart catches in my throat as Sabine, standing next to me, suddenly takes a step toward a busy street. Kneeling down to hug her tight, laughing over our dinner of pancakes, I know what matters.

4. Letting my mind wander; I’ve had some really good ideas while daydreaming.

5. Wit

Go, go, go and be grateful!

You would think, since it was me who did all of the work to get the divorce finalized, that the reality of the situation would not have been lost on me. Filling out paperwork, writing checks to a lawyer, appearing in court—all good indicators your marriage is over—were all somehow done on autopilot.

My brain was doing the work while my heart sat in the corner with its eyes tightly shut. Divorce? What’s that? I can’t hear you.

I’ve had moments since the start of this mess that have left me breathless. Sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, still undressed, defeated, as O. tells me for the second time that he thinks our marriage is finished.

It’s like K. dying all over again, and all I can think to do is move my body, never stop moving my body. I walk around the block three, four, countless times as I talk to my mother, thousands of miles away, telling her that I’m getting a divorce. The word tastes so bad in my mouth I nearly choke, but the more I say it, the easier it comes. The cool night air on my face, sneaking in my collar and racing down to my belly feels good. Right. Outside is the only place to be at the moment—being inside feels too much like I’m suffocating. I might die.

I’ve once again reached a breathless moment. Since Sara, the reality of my divorce  has once again crept up from behind, hammering me over the head. Like a cartoon character, stars dance around my head and I’m dizzy with the effort of looking straight down my life’s road and seeing only one set of footprints.

I see an older couple holding hands while I’m walking to work. His leather-gloved hand cupped tenderly around her bare hand, insulating and comfortable. My mind races headlong toward what was once my life; his hand always reaching for mine, hugs that would thaw the misery of a day or encourage the happiness. I smile at them, but really, what I want to do is push them down and shout, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

The ache spreads from my heart to my feet, webbing outward so I’m continually entangled. I know it’s temporary, but I sometimes see only the depths, the looking and looking for anything familiar. And I’m not sure why I’m here again. Why, after all of these months upon months upon months, I once more feel raw and useless.

But there it is, and here I am.

1. Meeting with Sabine’s teachers for conferences; watching their faces open up with smiles as they talk about her; reassurance, for me, that she is doing okay, loving her life

2. Looking in my mom’s eyes, her hands cupping my face as she tells me my life is okay

3. Not giving in to the despair I feel

4. Finding simple solutions to some small but annoying problems

5. Lake Michigan stretching to the horizon; the setting sun taking a bath in its cold, blue water. Calm, calm, calm, breathe in, breathe out

Being grateful is great. Go and give it a try.

1. A weekend with my folks before they head south for the winter

2. An afternoon cup of fresh coffee; sometimes I just need a little pick me up after lunch

3. Acceptance of what is, of what was, of what is to come. A brief, hopefully sustainable, realization that no matter, I will rise up.

4. The ability to hold my tongue when I know the words are born more from spite, anger and regret than honesty and decency

5. My daughter’s freedom from girlish pressure. She’s rough and tumble, tender and tough with an absolute devotion to her own taste. I want her to live her entire life with as much confidence and self-knowledge and love as she now possesses, shattering stereotypes with every sure step she takes.

Your turn.

1. Sabine finding the full moon in the sky last night, then declaring so only I could hear her, “Mr. Moon really does love me.”

2. Preparing for the winter, getting myself mentally ready for a season that seems always to slip me into sadness

3. Small changes that make big impacts

4. Cheese and crackers

5. The unknown; I’m scared, sometimes, of my future. But, it’s also chock full of potential.

Go ahead, give a little.

1. Cleaning the refrigerator, tossing old items with abandon and scrubbing the inside until it shined

2. Organizing the cupboards

3. Going into Sabine’s room to return the blankets she’s thrown off in her sleep and, as I bend down to kiss her cheek, she reaches for me in her sleep, pulling me into a nice embrace before turning on her side

4. Painful realizations that will help me heal

5. Hanging my child’s art

I’ve shared with you, now come tell me what you’re grateful for.

I never wanted my daughter to feel the divorce. I told myself over and over and over again that I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes that I’d witnessed so many other couples make. The bitterness. The bile that’d spill out of their mouths when they spoke of the person they once had pledged their undying love to. I never expected these people to have happy divorces; I just didn’t think they needed to wash their children in the same unhappiness they bathed themselves with every single day.

I was going to be better; I was going to be an example, to myself, to my daughter.

But doing so, making it easy on my daughter and, by association, O., has only made moving on harder for me. He comes to my house and stays some weekends because he doesn’t have a place of his own. No, it’s no trouble, I’d say. I want my daughter to know her dad, I’d think, persuading myself that the boundaries we redrew with the thick, black lines of divorce papers wouldn’t be blurred, wouldn’t disintegrate as we trudged back and forth and back and forth and back and forth over them with no regard for distinction.

But I was wrong, and I’ve been so foolish. I remember telling C., my counselor, how I sometimes couldn’t fathom the divorce being final. There has always been a part of me that honestly believed we’d find our way back to one another.

**************

I can hear him talking in the other room. I’m in my bedroom with my eyes closed, taking a rest, willing away the tightness in my chest. I walk around the corner and ask him who he’s talking to, half expecting him to be singing to himself. He stares at me for a minute, a pause, a second, letting the question hang in the air.

Sarah, he says. And I turn around and go back to my room, silent. His footsteps follow, the hardwood floor moaning until he stops beside my bed. Can I get you anything? Do you want some tea? So benign, maybe contrived; he’s gauging how I’m feeling about his talking to Sarah, even if he’d never admit so when pressed. No, I’m fine, I say to my pillow.

**************

He doesn’t have to tell me that he’s interested in her romantically; I know. When I tell him that I can’t believe he’s talking to her while staying at my house, he questions me, as though my anger is somehow misguided. Not everyone thinks the way you do, Michelle, and that doesn’t make everyone else wrong, he responds to my calling he and Sarah thick for not having the faintest idea of how inappropriate their behavior is. I sometimes wonder if I’m the only one who would find this action so amazingly inconsiderate, but then I think of at least a dozen women who would be sympathetic to my annoyance and shrug off his attempt at turning it toward me.

What I am guilty of, what I will fully take responsibility for, is my own belief that somehow my life would put itself back together again, the misery rewound until the fracture lines in the once whole picture evaporated, invisible.

I’ve been so foolish

I’ve been so naive

I’ve been so focused on the impossibility

that I completely forgot to put one foot in front of the other, to wrap my hands around my leg and forcibly remove my foot from the muck, shaking off the thick ooze of pain.

I forgot to soothe myself

I forgot to find my own succor

I forgot that I count, too

1. A Halloween parade at Sabine’s school. Over dinner with my parents this weekend she suddenly remembered this event, looking up from her plate to tell us all: “I am really excited about my parade.”

2. Chicago Public Radio

3. Hearing people’s stories, in person and on the Internet. I love listening to people tell me interesting things about themselves, even when, in the case of the Internet, they might not be speaking directly to me.

4. The sight of Sabine on her new bike

5. Dreaming

Go on, share with me and others.

1. The sound of my daughter scampering across the floor to her grandparent’s bedroom, throwing open the door with a big giggle, my mom answering her with a “Hey, little girl,” my dad saying, “What’s up, Bean bag?” I can hear the smiles in their voices.

2. Caramel apples from Betty Janes, a little store in my hometown that makes candy from scratch

3. Toast made from fresh sourdough bread

4. Sleeping soundly; I didn’t wake up once last night

5. An e-mail from an old friend that made me smile

I’m grateful for a lot of stuff, now you go share what you’re grateful for.

1. Free wellness screenings at work

2. Some time off and away

3. Planning an abbreviated Thanksgiving menu; no big frills, but a nice meal all the same

4. The thought of Sabine and my mom making cookies together

5. One step at a time; one day at a time

Do you need to catch up? Go here and see what else I’m grateful for, then start your own list.