dear diary – unexpected 1st anniversary.
In the past years that I have blogged on Mrs. Why Knot, I have been fortunate to meet and network with amazing guest bloggers, brides to be and other social media queens. Most of the posts on Mrs. Why Knot have focused on the glitz, the glam, the epic highs of wedding planning and married life. (I mean who doesn’t love that stuff?!) Just this past week, I was contacted by a guest blogger whose past year of marriage was far from her dreamed-of fairy tale. She wanted to share her story as part of a healing process. Sharing her story can allow her to say goodbye to this past year and hello to a new year ahead full of new hopes and dreams. She asked that these posts remain anonymous.
This leads me to my disclaimer – this may be a deviation from the typical Mrs. Why Knot post but I am glad to have provided an outlet for this past bride to share her story, begin her healing process, and give her support needed to celebrate herself and a year full of happiness ahead. It’s not always rainbows and butterflies, and this guest blogger knows that first hand. Read on, but I will warn you – this will pull on your heartstrings.
*Following post submitted by anonymous*
As I walk on the bare hard ground, the various colored leaves crackling under my feet with each step I take, I think back to this time last year. The insane amount of beautiful, plump orange pumpkins of various shapes and sizes strategically placed throughout my parents’ property to create the most beautiful background for wedding pictures. The fallen leaves left blowing on the ground, untouched as I had requested to show the true essence of the season, an autumn day in suburbs. The chill in the air and the shorter days as we prepped the house and property for what was to be the biggest (and what was supposed to be the happiest) day of our lives. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect and beautiful on our November day. It’s as if the gods planned it – as if we deserved it after everything we went through to get to that day, and for everything we would be put through the months following. Thinking back on this time last year, as I walk outside my parents’ house and see visions of last year, the crisp air hitting my skin and freezing my tears, I feel nothing but pain, sorrow, defeat. You should be walking with me, beside me, next to me, my hand in yours. We should be reminiscing about last year and the wedding, how precise and immaculate everything was. This was supposed to be our time. Our season. Our future was to begin together, just the two of us together on a journey that was destined to be ours from up above. Except it wasn’t.
What would transpire after is still beyond my comprehension. Our world – a world we created together, the two of us – quickly collapsed and destructed around us, unapologetic of the casualties it would cause. And as we watched it, we knew there was nothing we could do no matter how he tried, how loud we yelled, how many tears we shed, no matter how many apologies we said, how many hugs we shared, how many tender moments we treasured.
A year ago I stood among family and friends in a church and in front of God and promised to honor and respect him – my husband, my best friend, my soul mate, my confidant, my rock. How lucky was I to have found him? He picked me to spend the rest of his life with. What an honor, a blessing, a gift! What a beautiful feeling to be wanted, needed, loved unconditionally, to have met your match. I stared dreamingly into the eyes of the love of my life at the altar of his church, heart fluttering, unable to catch my breath at the sight of him (was he really mine?), and took vows that I never intended to break. Vows that for me were written in stone, promises made to myself, my husband, and to God himself. I told myself no one and nothing would take you from me. You were mine, and I was yours. And that was it; the world would have to deal. We were supposed to be untouchable.
Our wedding day would be the beginning of our end. We would never go on a honeymoon, we would never spend a holiday together, we would never celebrate our first anniversary, we would never share the joy of announcing a pregnancy, we would never know the excitement and anxiety of starting our family, we would never meet our children that we’ve dreamt of and spoke of and who we already loved and had names picked out for, we would never grow old together. Our days were numbered, limited, ticking away as if someone had set an alarm. Our life as husband and wife completely unraveled and unrolled uncontrollably as each day went on. We were spinning around as time ran and we could only hang on for the ride, sometimes holding each other’s hands, sometimes riding alone. That ride that would abruptly come to an end without our consent and approval. It’s as if the clock ran out on us. It was time to go.
A year later as I walk among the leaves without you, my ring finger is bare, my heart is broken, my eyes and nose are swollen from the tears and tissues, there are no pumpkins in sight, there is no life event to prepare for. I feel empty, broken, overwhelmed with grief and anger and every emotion imaginable. I can’t breath. It’s amazing how the human body can feel everything at once, and yet nothing at once. I’m numb, but I’m hurting. It’s an unimaginable hurt that I never thought was possible to feel and that I would never wish on anyone. Inside I feel my heart crying red tears, it’s bruised and battered and swollen from constant injury. It’s been bandaged, but the wound is deep, it can’t take anymore, and I’m told it will take time to heal. But how much time will it need? Will my heart and I ever be able to trust and let someone in again? Will we ever love so immensely and passionately like we did with him? I have so many questions, but there are no answers.
You were supposed to be it. You were supposed to “the one”. And you’re gone, having been taken from me, and I having been taken from you. My life has been torn to pieces, shredded, and as I lie here among the destruction I don’t know where to start putting myself back together, or even how to or if I can. As I pick up each of the pieces and look at them, I remind myself that this is the end of the road. The end of our road, the end of our journey, our days together, the end of us making memories together and working towards our future. We tried so hard; we fought for our marriage, for each other, and exhausted every reasonable and tangible option. One piece I pick up tells of love, of nurturing, of loyalty. Another piece tells of lies, fights, betrayal. Its these pieces that make up our story. A story unfortunately not just written by us, but others as well. I want to say that our story was, and is, my favorite, but that wouldn’t be correct. There were too many unauthorized authors, too many edits and revisions and, eventually, ripped pages crumbled and thrown into the garbage. It wasn’t our story as there were too many dictations of others. It never was our story and I guess it was never meant to be. The book is now closed, the chapters written, the multiple writers gone, their mission complete.
My life, my heart, will never truly be whole again. There will always be evidence of a former self, evidence of a time that once existed, but no longer does, and no longer will. There will be scars, deep grooves that could never be filled by anyone else. Our time together has come to an end, our season over. I will never call you my husband again, and you will never refer to me as your wife going forward. I will never look down at my gorgeous one-of-a-kind engagement and wedding rings that we designed together and become so consumed and overwhelmed with love. We’ll never choose our wedding pictures for our album, or edit down our final wedding video. My custom and handmade silk bouquet, your autumn-inspired boutonniere, my champagne and ivory wedding gown, your wedding gifts and note to me, my wedding shoes, rosary that I prayed the day before, my blue garter from Italy, all the remnants of that almost-perfect November day… They’re all to be packed away as if none of it ever happened. I’ll never be able to share the memories of our vintage autumn wedding with anyone again. I’ll never be able to admire any of the moments once more. To have to move on and leave everything in the past does not sit well with me. It feels wrong, it’s wrong. All of this. So wrong. I feel robbed, cheated, resentful, infuriated… Devastated.
Half of myself is gone, missing. We were ripped apart at the seams. We’ve become a statistic, a number, percentage, another piece of information to be used for and against others. We will have to start over, once again putting ourselves out there, having to meet and get to know people, wondering if the ones we’re truly meant to be with are out there. Who are they? Where are they? What will they think when they hear our story? There will be a time to write a new one, but I don’t know if or when I’ll be ready to hold the pen to the paper. And I can’t help but wonder if there is no one else out there for me, for you. What if this was it? What if we were given one chance, one person, one opportunity, and we were robbed? Our marriage was supposed to beat the odds, we were determined to prove everyone wrong, and it was ultimately them who proved us wrong.
I love you. I miss you. I want you. I choose you. That was our thing – “I choose you”. It became our motto, our team slogan. “Team”. An operative word that didn’t exist in our marriage until it was too late. It was the last inning… Three strikes. We were out.