Believe me, I'd like to stop writing about dating and single life too. You're probably thinking, why doesn't she just shut it, and move on. And I truly have moved on, and I'm happy. Really happy. Most of the time, in fact nearly ALL the time, I'm pretty much spouting sunshine and rainbows and chin-licking puppy dogs, butterflies and bluebirds. The works.

But I have the occasional downer day.

I mourn the loss of my marriage. I miss my ex. I miss my married life. Divorce is sad. And wrenching and hard.

I miss going to Home Depot/Menards/Builders Square with my spouse. He could build and remodel anything, expertly, and did. During the 25 years we were married we made lumberyard trips for a house remodel, three built-from-the-ground-up cabins, lake cabin renovations, and a lake home built-from-the-ground-up. Those were just the spare time weekend jobs, of places that were ours. That's a lot of trips to get stuff. I always liked those lumberyard-y hardware places. They smell nice and are full of all kinds of intriguing stuff. We had a good life together, my ex and I, both of us being the kind of people who can't wait to get up and start the day in the morning. Thrilled about life.

The other day I had an awesome day at the office, per usual really; I got a big project finished and off my slate and some interesting new ones stacked up and ready, and it was about 70 degrees outside; a crazy wonderful weather day. At the end of the day I walked out to my car, and across the parking lot I saw a vehicle loading up some windows or something from one of the bays in the building next door. And it hit me, took my breath away, brought to mind all those times my ex and I loaded up our truck with construction stuff, remodeling materials; all that fun stuff we used to do. I cried all the way home. Uncontrollably, hysterically, in the safe confines of my car.

I miss a million things we used to do together in the 26 or so years we spent with each other. I don't know how to deal with that vast hunk of space/time, 26 years that's disappeared from my life. I walk around it, bewildered and numb, this enormous hole, no apparent way to fill it. I will have to use the rest of my life to make the other side of this donut so substantial, so wide, and filled with life and living and love that eventually the hole in the middle becomes small by comparison. It will never be inconsequential, it was my life, but I have to believe it will be okay eventually.

I mourn the loss of a lot of things from those days.

But, more than that, I now look forward to the grace and peace and experience and excitement of each new day. Platitudinal? Perhaps, but true nonetheless. I'm excited to start the day when I wake up in the morning. I'm happy when I go to bed. I like my life a lot, it's interesting and full, and a whole lot of fun. I'm thrilled, for so many things. Again. And I'm thankful for that.