I’ve been married eleven years, but it doesn’t look like I’ll celebrate a twelfth. My wife and I have separated.
The state of Washington requires 90 days of legal separation before a couple can file for divorce. As I signed the papers I asked her if she’d keep an open mind and an open heart throughout this time, pray about our future and take inventory again 90 days from now.
“No,” she said. ”I don’t want to give you any false hope,” she said. ”We’re getting divorced,” she said.
So there you have it. We’re getting divorced.
On the bright side, I’m still sober. I’m doing all the right things (or so they tell me), managing my emotions in a healthy manner. I’m seeing a therapist, going to at least one AA meeting a day (I’ve been to as many as three in a day at times over the past few weeks), calling and spending time with friends and those who love me, and just generally doing all the things to manage my grief, anger, and horror in a healthy way. I’ll be fine. Eventually.
I’ve made a conscious effort to not immerse myself too deep into my tabletop sports games, because – as an addict – I am at risk of using this diversion as an unhealthy manner of avoidance.
But I am allowing myself one game a night in my 1982 Angels replay, and that has been a fun and welcome diversion. The Angels are 19-6 after 25 games, their potent lineup averaging over 7 runs per game. Will they keep up this pace? Unlikely. But in the meantime, it feels good to beat up on the American League right now, and the dice are rolling my way.
At least something is.