It just doesn't rain on June 20th

Today I made the annual pilgrimage to my parents yard. It was 17 years ago today (June 20 1998) when I walked down the isle a blushing bride of 20. We had been together 4 years by that time. I rained that morning about 8 am and I ran to my mothers arms sobbing. “Don't worry.” she said soothing my already frayed nerves. “It's only going to rain enough to freshen everything up and make brides cry!” That it did! About 5 minutes later the rain stopped, it had taken all the humility out of the air, perked everything up and the lake was completely calm and looked tropical. It was a beautiful day, a perfect day for a wedding. Every year since my divorce I go down there or at least to the lake and remember and I cry.

I can't tell you if the following June 20^th's while I was married were nice days. My anniversary never really stuck out. We never went on another trip, not even over night to the city. Actually we never had another vacation again. Ever. Nothing really remarkable happened on that day again. But I can tell you every year since I have gotten divorced it hasn't rained. Not once. Not even enough to freshen everything up and make brides cry. I checked two almanacs and not one drop of rain fell on June 20 since 2007 in the city where I live, where I got married so many years ago. It feels like a life time, but on June 20^th I can still hear the violins playing, hear the people talking and it's a fond but painful memory.

Ever since my divorce it is always the same ritual. June 20^th rolls around I and show up unannounced at my parents house. I usually make myself a coffee in the mug that says “aged to perfection” and marvel how it hasn't really worn in all those years since I drank coffee out of on my wedding day. I walk out to the lake, stand in the very spot that I swore my vows on and stare out over the lake. Then without fail I cry. It may seem odd that years after my divorce I still cry, but it's true.

There are several reasons I cry. I weep for the lost dreams and hopes of a young bride, for the potential and life that I was so richly blessed with. I weep for my daughter who had to grow up in a broken home. I weep out of relief because although I left, he divorced me, something I don't know if I would have ever had the strength to do. I weep for him that alcohol has stolen any chance that he had to be a family. I weep for him, alone after all these years, bitter and consumed by anger. I weep because alcohol killed the man I once knew and loved. Sure I loved him. I know it sounds odd coming from a lesbian. Really the word husband feels foreign on my lips. I loved him, I don't think I could have ever loved him the way I was supposed to, but I did love him and I swore an oath to him. I cry because he doesn't realize that if he could have only admitted he had a problem and gotten help his life would be completely different. I cry is because his life could be so different if he quit drinking today.

When you stand before your family, friends and (if you believe) your God and swear and oath that you will love, honour, and cherish them until death do you part it is a serious commitment. People just don't take it as seriously as they should. The fact that I am a lesbian didn't even factor in me leaving my husband. It really wasn't a consideration. It fell into the category of better or worse part of the deal. The reason I left him was because no matter what oath I swore then couldn't top the oath I swore as a Mother to keep my child safe, loved and healthy as best as I could. I didn't want my child to grow up in an abusive, violent, alcoholic home. I didn't want her to think that it was normal and I sure didn't want her to marry a man that treated her the way her father treated me. I had no other choice.

In terms of myself it really was a lateral move. I was horribly lonely when I was married and the only thing that has changed is that now instead of laying in bed next to someone who wasn't there for me I go to bed alone. I traded the insults and belittling for silence, begging for help and receiving none to doing it alone still. Nothing much changes. Except... I wish it would rain.