It was Sunday, and we had to return to work tomorrow. When we arrived back at the apartment, I poured myself a glass of white wine and retrieved a beer for Graham out of the refrigerator. We talked for a while that evening about how he was feeling. Overwhelmed was the general theme. He stated that he was going to be spending as much time as possible with him, and that might mean that his time for me may suffer somewhat with what time his father had left.

                Graham’s father had decided not to go through the recommended chemotherapy and radiation. He knew the outlook and the price associated with foregoing the treatment, but he did not want to self-inflict any pain or suffering. Graham and I understood. Many evenings for the next seven months, I would eat alone. Part of me wanted to be with Graham and his family – being new to the family- but part of me decided that his time with his father should be his. I joined him on occasion, but it was rare. It was hard to endure the pain that his father was experiencing and I had a hard time with the harsh reality of the situation.

                Graham typically came home in a sour mood. For that I forgave him, but after some time of this mood being commonplace, I advised him to do his best to leave it at the door. Our marriage suffered greatly during those months. He too was growing callous to the situation and it was boiling over into time that was supposed to be spent with me. We didn’t walk in the evenings, I ate alone and most nights I went to bed alone.

                

Graham’s father went to work when he could. Between the little bit of work that he tried to do each day, there was many meetings with his estate planning attorney. He had done well over the years and his family was going to be well taken care of. Appropriate planning prior to getting sick was in place. Graham was going to inherit the house and the business. His mother would have a large sum of money from the insurance policies, and the necessary arrangements for his final wishes were taken care of. I thought of him often as it must be troubling to know that the end of this life is so near.

                

One morning, I had packed a note along with Graham’s lunch:

Graham,

I can’t begin to wrap my arms around the pain and emotional toll that this illness that your father is experiencing is taking on you. For the life of me, I don’t know what I would do if I were in your shoes. But in the same breath, I need you to be present. We have hardly spent any quality time together since I returned from Los Angeles. Perhaps I should not even have gone, but in retrospect, I feel I needed to go so that you could come to terms with this reality on your own that weekend while I was away. Nevertheless, you have become a ghost in the midst of my presence. While I have been praying for you, I am asking you to return to some resemblance of the man I married. We can walk down this road together, but you will have to let me in.

 Stephanie

                

Even as I wrote that letter, my hand was shaking. I was saying that I needed more of him and perhaps he did not have it to give. I continued to pray daily.

       

 Meanwhile, things were going well at my father’s engineering firm. My mother had been sending Graham cards as she saw them that she hoped would be uplifting. Nothing seemed to be able to clear the fog as he continued in his morose attitude and dealings. I began to resent him for the way he was going about dealing with the situation and I knew that afterward would begin the stages of grieving.

                Graham’s father died on the Sunday morning which was Father’s day. The services were held on Tuesday and Graham had decided to close the business for the next ten days. I encouraged him to take the vacation time and additionally encouraged him to get away for a few days. He took my advice, but it didn’t seem to help. He had gone to spend some time with Paul, his best man in our wedding. Paul was now living in Minnesota, so Graham was able to get completely out of Roanoke for that time. He recounted that they spent many evenings at the bar. I was thrilled to say the least.

                I was determined not to let the grieving process linger for the rest of the year, as it seemed that he had begun down a destructive road that he may not make it back from. I urged him to consult a doctor. Reluctantly, he agreed. He was given a one-month supply of anti-depressants at which time they would reassess his mood in thirty days.

                Graham continued to flounder, but his mother was recovering well. Probate was not an issue as the insurance policies paid out a sum of $2.7 million dollars to his mother which was set up to funnel through a trust at the rate of $90,000 for thirty years. Graham’s mother was sixty-six years old at the time of her husband’s death and the money would surely carry her through the rest of her days. Graham had inherited the business and would surely be able to provide for us on his salary alone as he and his father had built a large clientele. Life would surely turn around, wouldn’t it?

                Graham was no more interested in the things that I as a woman needed to feel secure. The money was no consolation for a relationship that was spiraling at an alarming rate. He continued on the anti-depressants through the end of the year. The holiday season was just as bland, but perhaps with the turning of a new year might also allow Graham to turn a new leaf.

                On New Year’s Eve, I made reservations at Frankie Rowland’s. This is where Graham had proposed and I thought it might be a place where he would have a good memory to revert back to en route to moving on. I was wrong again. I began to wonder if our relationship would ever take a turn for the better.

                

When tax season arrived, Graham engrossed himself in his work. He was working seventeen-hour days. At least I could say that he was spending his time on something that might provide for some light at the end of the tunnel. As he churned through the day and night, he only grew tired and weary. Again, I thought that maybe after tax season was over, things might change. My mother continued to send cards and letters in an attempt to provide a backbone of faith and possibly renewal. During this time, Graham continued to attend church with us on Sunday mornings, but even that was not effective. He had grown cold to anything that might bring him back from the doldrums of his father’s passing.

               

                Having grown tired of the morose days with Graham, I spent as much time with my mother and father as possible. I was going over to dinner at their house a few nights a week and taking the time each Saturday to go and visit my mother, do laundry and take long walks on the farm. Thirty was staring me straight in the face as it was only a couple of years away.

                The next two years were seemingly unimportant to Graham with respect to our relationship. In February, I turned thirty. Graham had forgotten my birthday which I didn’t think was possible. There was no candlelight dinner, no presents, and no time spent together. My birthday came and passed. For women, thirty seems to be a big deal. Looking back, I see it not as a milestone to turn away from, but something to cherish; especially since it wasn’t forty. I was young and vibrant. My relationship was anything but.

                One afternoon, Graham came home from work. He had stated that he wanted to talk with me about something that was unpleasant. Without the hesitation that I was expecting before the big news, he simply stated that he thought he was gay. Gay? How could this be? In a moment’s notice, I began to cry and rushed out the door. I had forgotten my car keys and had to go back in the house. Graham was still standing in the foyer as if there was something more to talk about. I immediately turned around and headed for the car. I wanted to get away from him and this place in a New York minute. The car did not start when I first turned the key. Rats! On the second try, it started and I was crying in the car the entire way to my mother’s house. Sobbing so hard, I could hardly breathe, I drove at an unbelievable pace from Roanoke to Fincastle.

                

Upon reaching my mother’s front door, tears still streamed from my face and I could feel that my eyes were swelling to the point of closing. I tried to get out the words when my mother asked what was wrong, but I couldn’t. I went directly to my room and continued to sob in a furious manner with thoughts of disbelief. Our relationship was over, and I knew that. Graham would surely be packing as we spoke and would move in with his mother. At any rate, if he had not moved out by the time I would return home on Sunday, he would certainly be ushered out that day. How had this happened? I thought that having sex only six times in six years of marriage was nothing short of marriage suicide, but how and why did I deserve this?

               

  When I returned home the following day, he was gone. I surmised that he had moved back in with his mother, but I didn’t care. It was finished.

               

               

               

My 30’s

                I had wasted no time with this decision as I had my decision to leave Vanderbilt. On Friday, I had been given the most wonderful news of my short marriage. On Monday, I filed for divorce.

                I needed to clear my head, and for some reason that next thought turned toward my inward promise to visit Rona. She had graduated from medical school and was doing her residency in family medicine at a clinic in Knoxville. Perhaps she could provide me with some company and comfort.             I decided not to phone ahead, but instead to jump in the car and take a drive. If she could find time in her busy schedule to get together with me, I would give her the time.

                The drive to Knoxville was uneventful, but the whole time I thought about what I would say. How could I explain that I had spent six years with a man in a marriage only to find out that he “thought” he was gay? I thought for a moment for other reasons that I could tell Rona about what had gone wrong, but the truth would have to suffice.

                I arrived in Knoxville on Tuesday afternoon. I knew she would be working, so I simply went to my hotel and checked in. I would not bother to call her till evening. I was feeling hunger pains coming on, so I decided to visit a local restaurant for a bite to eat. A cold salad and a nice warm cup of tea might do the trick. It was a local diner. There were not many people in the diner that afternoon, so I was able to just listen to my own thoughts as I enjoyed my food. I hadn’t had a cup of Rooibos tea in a while and while it was tempting, I opted for Earl Grey. The salad was spinach with some walnuts, cherry tomato, a trio of cheeses, and some raspberry vinaigrette dressing. Simple elegance.  Not wanting to focus on just my thoughts, I watched people walk by through the window. I wondered where they were going and for what purpose. Off to a meeting? Meeting someone for lunch? Was anybody but me going to the courthouse like I had done yesterday?

                I finished my salad and sipped on my tea slowly. I was offered another cup and graciously accepted. The bill was more than reasonable and I felt the waitress needed a good tip. I left her a twenty. It was a short walk back to my hotel and a nap seemed like the best idea for the rest of the afternoon. I set my alarm for 5:30 P.M. Surely I would be able to get Rona on the phone shortly after.

                I called Rona shortly before six. In a very proper voice she answered. I explained that I was in town for a few days and asked if she would have time to see me. She was to my surprise excited to hear my voice on the other end of the line and said she would absolutely make time to see me. We set a date for drinks at 8:00 P.M. that evening.

                Keeping with the theme of simple elegance, I donned a little black dress for the occasion. She had picked an upscale bar in downtown. There was no reason not to look my best as I would soon be “on the market” again. I was not going to let my thirties pass me by without finding true love. I took a cab to the bar in downtown. It was classy; cherry wood walls with picture boxes, and a bar that resembled the shape of a surfboard. It reminded me of a place back home called 419 West.

               

  The atmosphere was calm yet classy. I was happy when I walked in as I had dressed appropriately for the occasion. Most of the men were dressed in suits, having just left work it seemed and eager for a scotch or bourbon. I ordered a dry martini and waited for Rona. She walked in the door about ten minutes after eight. She too had dressed for the occasion in a red dress that was form fitting and complimented completely her southern smile and red hair. She kissed me as if we were in France, once on each cheek and gave me a hug. Jokingly, she said that she hoped I would not go running for Roanoke after the short embrace.

               

  I had come to Knoxville as a place of respite and to tell her the news. It was not long before I got it off my chest so that she and I could enjoy the rest of the evening. She was completely surprised to which I stated that I was more surprised than she. When I told her the news, her eyes were as wide as her Georgia smile in disbelief. After all, we had both known Graham, she not as much, but never in a million years did either of us think that this would be the cause and utter demise of my divorce.  When I had finished with my sob story, I stated that I was not going to cry or mull over the situation. I had simply filed for divorce yesterday and had come to Knoxville to get far away from Roanoke on Tuesday.

                

At her request, I accepted an invitation to stay at her place for the rest of the week. It was a two-bedroom studio not far from downtown and she agreed that I needed a few days to clear my head. She would show me the best of Knoxville in the evenings. I decided I would stay until Saturday and that would allow me to get up early Saturday morning and still make it out to my Mom’s by early afternoon.

               

  I slept in on Wednesday morning which is something I hadn’t done in a while. When I awoke, Rona had already gone for the day, but left me a short note on the counter. She was going to work Wednesday and Thursday and request to have Friday off so that we could have the day to ourselves. She also noted that there was tea in the cupboard that I might be interested in. Wanting comfort that morning, I found a box of Chamomile, one of my favorites. As I watched the kettle begin to steam on the burner, I wondered if I at some point was going to scream myself about my own situation. How could it be? I was in my early thirties and I would soon be divorced for the first time.

               

  Since her apartment was close to shopping and restaurants, I decided I would walk to a place close by to have breakfast. But first, I was in need of a hot shower. I could feel the booze start to roll out of my pores that morning as I stood there in the shower for what seemed like a solid hour. With each beating water droplet, I hoped that I could feel somewhat of a cleansing about my situation, which never came. I was going to have to endure the pain of the harsh reality that I had set in motion.

                

After dressing in my trademark black and white, I walked for a bit until I found a restaurant. There was a little place called Toast on Market. It was quaint and simple. There was seating for maybe eighteen people at the most. Keeping with the morning theme, I ordered another Chamomile tea and Eggs Benedict. I was going to start the day off in a proper fashion. I watched as the people came in and out, and tried not to think about divorce. Instead, I tried to let my thoughts wonder toward what Rona and I would do with our evenings.

                

After breakfast, a short walk seemed appropriate. There was a nice park nearby where people were enjoying their morning run and walking their dogs. I found myself a seat on a park bench. That morning, I began to pray:

Lord,

I haven’t spoken to you about the situation that I am going through to this point. So here I am. I am thirty-one, and I have set in motion the proceedings toward getting a divorce. This is not something I thought I would ever do, so I will need your help. I’m not even sure if I am justified in your eyes for what I am about to do, but I don’t feel as though Graham and I were meant for each other. And if we were, he has made a game-changing move that cannot allow me to be in his life any longer. I hope and pray that you understand the awkward position that he has put me in. I pray that you will bless me in this time of struggle and strife, and carry me to new places far beyond my imagination.

Stephanie