By Sherese Renee Seevers
On Thursday, December 1st, 2011, my husband gave me an early Christmas present.
We were sitting across from each other having a difficult conversation about the status of our almost 5-year-old marriage – a mere 28 days before our anniversary. Voices weren’t raised, tears hadn’t fallen, but our four palms were sweaty as hell…
The gift wasn’t wrapped in a pretty brown Louis Vuitton box much like it had been in year’s past. He didn’t give me a budget and sign a permission slip for me to shop ‘til I dropped with the other happily married wives who were prancing across the shiny marble floors of Tyson’s Corner Galleria wearing their bedazzled Uggs boots.
It wasn’t even equivalent to the giftcard he slid across the table as we celebrated our 1st Christmas together as boyfriend and girlfriend. This token of his appreciation for my 1,796 day tenure as his wife came in the form of 1 sentence with 4 words and 13 letters. I can still hear it piercing through my heart. It was strikingly loud, yet unbearably quiet at the same time. It was simple and complex. It was fire engine red with rage, coupled with whatever color signifies an Arctic chill.
“I WANT A DIVORCE!”
Everything stopped. Time stood still.
I was numb. I was completely numb. Never at a loss for words, I found myself speechless. I had no rebuttal. I had no snide remarks. Sarcasm escaped me. My profanities passed away. My eyes were glossed over as I looked at him sitting on the couch in the house we had just purchased earlier that year; our 2-year-old daughter sleeping soundly in her room upstairs.
Somehow, I mustered up enough strength to get up, grab my purse and head towards the door, but not without asking him a simple question, “You want to divorce ME?”
Enraged, I exit stage left before I put on an epic performance similar to that of Angela Bassett’s in “Waiting To Exhale.”
As soon as I clicked the unlock button on the keys to my big, black Cadillac Escalade, the tears began to flow. They almost drowned me. I was hysterical, and yes, I was STILL numb. I knew that I couldn’t be alone in such a manic state, so I called my sister from another mister and told her that I was on my way to her house. She called backup, my other sister-friend, and they were both waiting with an unlimited supply of tissues and “Fuck Hims”. We sat at her kitchen table. I talked. They listened. Quite honestly, I think they were pretty numb too.