From the beginning, Part 2- Divorce sucks!

"I don't have any more 'try' left in me. I just don't love you anymore. I'm sorry. I think... I want a divorce."

It was July 13, 2007. I don't think I have ever felt so broken and desolate. They say you don't know what you've got until it's gone, and I never knew the truth of that statement until the day I found myself staring divorce right in the face. I was pitiful enough to actually get down on my knees and beg. I pleaded with him to give me another chance. "Just one more chance, I promise this time it will be different!" But he was broken down, too, and felt he had no more chances to give. How many times had I told him I would change? There were many, and I always did so well... for a while. I was so good to him, I treated him respectfully, but somehow I always managed to fall back into my old ways, and he just couldn't believe me anymore. He knew it wouldn't last.

So I packed a bag and went to my parents' house and told them I was going to be divorced at 22. In the shadow of their happy, stable, loving, 36.5 years of marriage, I felt like a complete and utter failure. Hadn't they taught me by their great example what a marriage should be? How to love and cherish? How to honor and respect? All I could think about was how embarrassed I would be when the word started to get out. I didn't want to face the smirks, the knowing glances, the "I told you so"s. Everybody said we were too young...

Where had we gone so very, very wrong? I didn't figure out the answer to this question right away. In fact, I don't think I really got it until a couple years later. There were a lot of different factors that led to our separation, a lot of stupid things done, and a lot of selfishness on both of our parts, but looking back, none of them were THE reason. They were all products of the reason, which, as discussed in Part 1, was the precedent we had set in our friendship and early dating relationship. He would do anything to get my attention, and I took full advantage of it. Age and immaturity also played a factor, I'm sure.

In the days following, I think I went through the entire grief cycle about 500 times, frequently getting stuck on denial, anger, and depression. Just when I thought I'd come to accept it, I'd cycle back around to bargaining and try to convince Colby that we could work it out. There had been, of course, the initial shock upon realizing that my husband was really leaving, but it was nothing in comparison to the shock I was about to experience.

On July 29, a little over 2 weeks after Colby and I separated, I was sitting at the river by myself, thinking, crying, praying to whatever or whoever was out there to listen. The very last thing I remember saying was, "Please, just send me an angel or something... someone to get me through this." I looked around, my eyes still blurry with tears, half expecting a handsome stranger to walk out of the trees behind me, when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't gotten my period. I'd been expecting it a couple days earlier, so I got in my car, headed to The Dollar Tree to pick up a couple of pregnancy tests, and headed home.

I was so dizzy with shock when I saw TWO pink lines in the result window that I literally almost fell over on my head. I called Colby to tell him. Neither of us were expecting it. I remember thinking, "This is the proof that we're not supposed to get divorced. This is the glue that will hold us together. We'll work this out." But Colby could hardly believe that I was really pregnant, and he definitely still didn't believe that there was any chance for us. He felt broken and beyond any hope of repair.

My journey to single motherhood had officially started. I'd been granted the angel I'd so desperately needed.

Next time in Part 3: Pregnant and single (apparently I'm too long-winded to have even thought I could combine that with the divorce part)!