Distance

My >ex-wife found a new studio apartment through a friend of hers at work. Although the rent is the same, it's in an elevator building, with a lot more space and much better located for her commute. Since space is prime in Manhattan, and no one is more driven than my ex, she took it.

I was there last night, helping her with her computer. Even though she moved this past weekend, she was already is very settled in. Between her ceaseless need for order and the size of the apartment, I suppose there really was no option other than to get unpacked in a hurry. The place definitely has a better "feel" than the last apartment.

Getting that last apartment was an ordeal in and of itself. Finding an "affordable" (and that's "affordable" Manhattan style) place for her to live involved a lot of pounding the pavement, and in the end, the place we got wasn't exactly what anybody would aspire to. Never mind that it was the "divorce" apartment, which means it was fragrant with emotional baggage. So besides her having more physical space in her new place, she also has more space away from our shared history.

This is a good thing, for obvious reasons. Each time one of these little steps happens, we both feel the ache of grief. But we don't talk about the pain, because what's the point really? Any marriage or long term relationship takes on a life of its own, and when it ends, it's like a person died. You miss what you lost, but you know it's gone, and nothing can bring it back. You cherish the fond memories, and let everything else go. That's the idea, anyway. The execution is a bit harder.

The process of healing and recovery is painful. Usually the very things I need to do which are good for me don't feel good at all. It's hard for me to accept that there are situations that I can't help, and that I have to step back from them. I so deeply want to get in there, roll up my sleeves, and fix things, make everything all better. But, I can't do that now. Only time can do that.
posted 1:42 PM | link |