My six-word memoir: Divine decree ends what love started. I recalled the times you told me about your fervent prayers, your supplications with elongated prostrations. I came to know you were asking for guidance, torn between the vows you had made and the relentless pull to do what is right by God’s will. Your faith was as deep as your doubts, and in those prayers, I sensed your internal struggle, your plea for a divine sign. In the months following our final conversation, I lay on my side, enveloped in my grief, the rattling of the ceiling fan from an old motor and the sound of the blades cutting through the wind the only noise in the room. My eyes closed, my heart ached, not with the sharp pain of a fresh wound, but with the deep, lingering sorrow of a love that had slowly unraveled. You had always been a rock to me, a man of profound depth and shadows. When we first met, your intellect had an inviting maturity not many possess, a wisdom I took comfort in. I had mistaken your problem-solving abilities for consideration, your distance for independence. But as the years passed, those moments of problem-solving became rare and dismissive, your increasing frequency of invoking distance an insurmountable wall. You tried, I knew you did. I tried, you knew I did. There were moments when your love for me shone through the cracks of your uncertainty, when your touch was tender, your words a soothing balm. But those moments were fleeting, overshadowed by your restless spirit. You were always half-present, a part of you always tired, always searching for a peace that you could never find. When you finally told me I was a single woman, there was no emotion in your voice, only a quiet resignation, an attempt to remain neutral. “I deeply believe this is the right thing to do,” you had said, your eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored my own. “I don’t want to, it’s difficult, but it has to be done.” By the time I came to my senses, many tears had been shed, and continue to be shed. How could I hope for more when I found out you had blocked me off, the very thing you said you didn’t want me to do? The love we once shared had been real, but it wasn’t enough to bind us to a life where divinity has decreed otherwise. Your absence and inaccessibility are a constant, aching presence. I move through most of my life haunted by memories of a love that had always been on borrowed time. I know I will heal, that the pain will dull with the passing months. By God’s will, I seek refuge in Him. But for now, I allow myself to mourn the loss of not just a husband, but the dreams we had built together, dreams now abandoned in the silence of any communication channels we used to share. I process my heartache over this divorce from you, my husband, who, despite your love, decided to let go and leave in submission to God’s guidance.

Posted by dhann.chng at 2024-05-27 16:43:01 UTC