Saturday my wife and I met with the divorce mediator. My wife wants to move the divorce forward, so she can get on her with her life. This is fair. We've been living apart under an informal agreement since September. Seeing as we have no kids, and really don't own anything of value, there's not much to argue about. But, still we need to make it official and move forward, and all that.

I got to the mediator's office a little early, so I walked around the block. I haven't seen my wife since before Christmas, when I helped her set up her tiny, Manhattan apartment-sized Christmas tree. As I completed my walk, and headed towards the mediator's building, I saw the red, down coat of my wife up the street. I tried to catch up, but she was inside the door a moment before I got there.

My wife and I said a quick hello to each other, and the mediator introduced himself. He gave us each a clipboard with two forms to fill out. We sat down in the little waiting area, with pens in hands, and started filling in the blanks. I felt sick, a dull ache filling my body. I had filled in my name and address at the top when I looked up at my wife and saw her looking up at me, her face wet with tears.

"I can't believe we are here." she said.

I got up from my seat, and tried to be some comfort.

"I know..." I told her. And I did. I felt the same way. I made a joke, to ease the pain, and she smiled, still hurting, but grateful for the distraction. We finished up our forms, and headed into the mediator's office.

We went over the preliminaries, state law, how divorce works, and what we would have to do and say to get a quick divorce. We started going through the division of our assets, which is a short list, really, and there was no disagreement about anything between us.

"Are there any items of sentimental value, things like photographs or your wedding album or any wedding gifts, that should be discussed?" asked the mediator.

I paused, thinking about it. During New Year's, I had gone down to the storage room to look for some things, and opened a box containing tons of photos. Just a glance into the box was enough to cause my heart to ache, and the tears to start. I closed up the box in a hurry, and kept on with my task, trying to think about anything but the past.

My wife interuptted these thoughts. "Why would you want the wedding album? You're the one who wants the divorce."

I fell apart right there. I can't even think about that day without intense agony. All those people gathered that day to celebrate and affirm the love between my wife and I. All that happiness and joy, envisioning a future for the two of us that was never going to happen. I have betrayed all those people, most of all, my wife. That day, June 15th, 1996, was a moment of sweet innocence and bliss. I want to treasure it, but at the same time I cannot bear the pain of being confronted with it.

"Do you want to take a moment?" the mediator asked. My wife, regretting the somewhat harsh tone of her question now, now tries to comfort me. There is no comfort to be had, though. And the $300 an hour clock of the mediator is running, and between my wife and I, we have just enough for two hours today. There isn't time for tears.

"No, no... I'm fine." I said. I turned to my wife, "I don't want a copy of the album now, but I'm happy to store it for us. If you ever take it, just promise you won't destroy it ever. Some day I will want it."

"Oh, honey, of course not." she said.

I composed myself, and we continued with the details, without any disagreement at all. We wrapped up in two hours, identifying some minor financial details that needed to be followed up on for a last hour of work to be done later. Then we can get a draft of our seperation agreement, and we can file that, and a divorce at the same time. With any luck, the process will cost less than $2,500.

My wife and I went out for lunch afterwards. She talked about her current boyfriend, and I talked about Conny. We even talked about sex, and how things were both different for us now. I would have found the nature of the conversation remarkable if it wasn't so easy to have. I know I just want her to be happy, and I know she feels the same way about me.

Still, it can hurt like I am tearing off my own arm.
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