This month (specifically, the week of Thanksgiving) marks the 2 year anniversary of the death of my marriage. While I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I've had a few random blue-ish moments over the last few weeks, it's also safe to say that if 2 years ago someone had showed me a screenshot of my life and emotional health now, I would've kissed the ground they walked on. Divorce SUCKS, and not so long ago I questioned if I would make it through with my sanity intact.
Hello from the flip side. The last 2 years have been a journey through the pits of hell and despair. Through the darkest nights I've ever experienced. Through storms so wild I didn't think I'd survive. Yet here I am; a little bit older, a whole lot wiser. Drinking a cuppa joe, listening to the hum of the washing machine, and smelling the ham and bean soup that is simmering on the stove. Oh, and there's a pumpkin pie baking in the oven. It's actually pretty important, because, well...this post is all about the pie.
My husband loved pumpkin pie. MY pumpkin pie. My Secret Recipe (**cough cough Libby's canned pumpkin label cough cough**) turns out perfect every time. I used to use regular sized pie pans instead of deep dish because then there was just enough filling left over to bake alongside the pie. He loved how it tasted without the crust, topped with cool whip. The night before Thanksgiving, we would cuddle up and watch a movie, savoring our "sneak peek" of delicious pumpkin pie.
I woke up one day and those idealistic moments were gone. Shattered. The memories were obliterated for a long time too, because in the wake of divorce, only the ugly is spotlighted. The good memories sink beneath the murk, and it's only by the grace of God that they are ever recovered.
After he left, I quit baking pies. I quit cooking pretty much altogether, if I'm going to be honest about it. He loved my cooking, and without him there to appreciate it, slaving in the kitchen held no appeal. I'm ashamed to say that my kids ate more processed, pre-made **ewwwwwwww** than their little bodies ever deserved to experience. I regret that; but I don't beat myself up over it. Survival mode is tough on everyone; but thankfully, it doesn't last forever.
I had a super hard time letting go of that boy. I went through all the normal processes: the fear; the pain; the anger; the hopelessness. But finally, blissfully, I found acceptance. I found that it is possible to move on. I found that it is possible to be happy again. At first I spent a lot of time and energy trying to create my old life, just minus him. And I found that even though that isn't possible (or healthy), that it is entirely possible to create a brand new life that is equally happy and fulfilling.
So, back to the pie. (Which smells amazing, in case you are wondering.) I've been craving one of these babies for, oh, lets say 2 years now. No joke. My kids don't like it, and I don't have anyone in my life directly that does enjoy it; so I haven't made it. I'm a little weird like that. I love when I can make something for someone else, and enjoy it with them. So I guess in a sense, I've deprived myself because I don't want to enjoy it by myself.
This morning I took my preschooler to the store for hot chocolate. We saw our first snowflakes and HAD to celebrate, of course. While I was there, I saw a woman buying stuff to make a pie. I immediately felt this rush of envy/yearning/sadness/whatev. Seriously. I felt jealous of a woman over a damn pie! It took me a minute, but then it hit me. Yeah, Allie, you genius, you! YOU can make a pie too! It's OK for you to move on and bake a pie for Y.O.U! And it doesn't even have to be on Thanksgiving.
This inner dialogue might not make sense to you. The epiphany here might not be blaring to you, like it is to me. But see, of all the lessons I've learned in the last 2 years, learning to do things by myself has been the hardest. I've felt so lost, so alone. Taking care of my kids is easy. Starting a career after being a stay at home mom for 7 years was easy. (Ok. It was damn hard. But the decision was easy.) Sticking with college even when I want to explode from the stress is easy. But doing things S.O.L.O. is tough for me. The point is, that anything that involves other people is easy for me. But when it comes to me--just me--I start floundering, because I have absolutely no idea how to do it.
The pie really is just a pie. But today I took a step forward in learning how to do something special for myself. I took a step away from the memories....because even though they are good, and I don't want to forget them, I also can't live in the past. I have to move forward. And today, I'm thinking this moving forward process is going to taste pretty darn good!
