That dreaded question ...

In my world, my separation was eons ago. It's practically another lifetime - certainly a different life. Long enough that some friends forget I ever was married, though it's not a fact I try to hide. Instead, I choose to crack jokes and assume that my status as a single, now unmarried lady is common knowledge.

But, apparently, it's not. Saturday marks my four year anniversary with Toronto (don't worry, our love grows stronger every year) and in my time here, I've been an engaged lady, a married lady, a complete mess, a separated and divorced lady, and now am embracing life as a single gal. Maybe it's not so surprising that not everyone kept up.

So, last week, while out with friends, I ran into a former colleague. We hadn't seen each other since the last Ontario election campaign - when I was frantically planning my wedding.

We, of course, ask each other how things are, exchange updates and he proudly shows off his wedding ring. I congratulate him, sincerely, and then the dreaded pause.

So, I hold up my bare hand, somewhat proudly, and in the middle of the crowded bar, say "I'm not anymore."

Stunned silence, first, of course. I should really learn to break the news gently. I've got very few secrets, and I've had loads of time to get used to it. For others, I guess it can still be shocking.

To this gent's credit, he only paused for a beat. Then asked, "What happened!?!"

Oh, that dreaded question. I understand it. Everyone wants a pat, simple answer. They want reassurance that it isn't going to happen to them. They want to hear that we weren't in love. That something horrible and sudden happened. That there was a clear sign, and explanation, for what happened.

Of course, it's not anyone's business. And not a story for a crowded bar, even if it was. So I laugh, say, "Oh, that's far too long of a story."And move on.

Or at least I do so briefly. But I continue to dwell on that question. What the hell did happen?

I too wish there had been signs that things weren't going to work out. That we couldn't overcome all. That we were going to grow apart. Grow miserable. Transform from two madly in love, in sync people into a couple who grudgingly clung to each other out of fear of change, comfort in familiarity. The type of people who couldn't imagine life without each other, only to realize that we were really just spending each day ignoring, avoiding and torturing each other.

But there were no early warning signs. At least none that I can recall. And this time last year, I was going over every moment of our relationship with a fine-toothed comb, looking for any indication that I'd turned a blind eye to those flashing warning signs. I couldn't find any. It worked right up until it didn't.


I think some degree of optimism, blind bliss if you will, is necessary for being in love and being in a relationship. If you don't have faith, how can it ever work? Being in love is terrifying. But if there were assurances, it wouldn't be so exhilarating. So, I guess you just have to let yourself fall, and hope for the best. Fight to make it work. All the while knowing that sometimes it will, and sometimes it won't.