Spring's upon us, meaning the hetero wedding season is in full swing. Not the weddings themselves--goodness, it's not June yet--but the planning is certainly churning all across the land. I was married to a guy for a while, back in a former life that seems more like three or four lifetimes away. We were young and I was apparently a little clueless about who I really was. Not much harm came of it, no permanent injuries, anyway, and I got a magnificent son out of the deal, so on balance it was well worth the 14 years or so of life invested therein.
The ex is getting hitched in June, officially joined in a state-sanctioned union to a nice woman. I'm sure they'll be very happy together, and I'm hoping their signatures on the marriage license will somehow translate to my own karmic tab being stamped Paid In Full by the end of the reception.
I'm dreading it. Not out of any simmering jealousy, of course, nor doubt that getting out of that marriage was anything less than a necessity or foregone conclusion. Maybe it's because, despite the fact that I will attend with my partner of five-plus years, that we will depart for said wedding from a house we bought together and whose mortgage papers have both our names and sets of initials all over them, well, the ex is the one getting the party, the joint filing on the 1040EZ next year, the thousand or so federally recognized rights, and the general societal recognition and approbation.
I wonder if it should bother me this much. I wonder if my discomfort is really about the fundamental inequality the whole Wedding Weekend represents, or maybe some inner fear that the ex and his new wife (and her son) will be able to offer the kid a home and family life that is altogether more seamlessly integrated, comfortable, and appealing than what I've been able to offer him. I wish I didn't feel like I've failed him.