A few months ago I drove past the thrift store near my house and my wedding dress was on the mannequin in the window.
I suppose this wasn’t a surprise. I had donated it some months previously. I held on to the dress for more than 15 years, porting it from place to place. I wasn’t ever going to wear it again and after I tried it on (having lost enough weight it fit again), I donated it along with some other odds and ends. There was no point in keeping it.
It was, well I suppose it was a bit odd, to drive past and see your wedding dress, the one that you wore to get married to a guy you aren’t married to anymore. It wasn’t upsetting or painful. It’s the sort of odd that english, with all it’s words, doesn’t quite capture. I thought about blogging about it, but honestly, what could I say? It was just odd.
All of that is connected to this – today is, or I guess is not, my 16th wedding anniversary. I’m still technically married to Owen, so I guess it’s still a wedding anniversary. Except, well, you know. It’s mostly not.
And today is a bit like the wedding dress. I’m not sad. Maybe you might think I should be, and I guess you could think that. I mean, I would understand why you might think I should be sad, but I’m not. I tried really hard to stay married to Owen and it just wasn’t going to work out. So not sad. Not wounded, not forlorn, mournful, lugubrious, gloomy, downhearted, woebegone.
But not joyful.
I am pensive.
It was a long time we were together. So I thought I would at least tell you. 16 years ago today, at the ripe old age of 22, I married the love of my life. I thought we would be together for ever.
Instead, through a window, I’m staring at the reflections of memories. What was, what I thought would be.
I thought I would tell you what I was staring at today.