Not quite two weeks ago, on February 14^th, on a whim, I decided to spend a moment with each of my years. I wanted to remember, to acknowledge, and to try to feel their weight. I did not anticipate the way how I spent my years would hold me accountable. It may seem as if I’m randomly including things in these posts, but it doesn’t feel that way to me. Certain things must be included.

1982: Kathleen turns one on a Monday. My parents come for dinner and cake. I don’t want to ruin the birthday, but I’ve told T that the day after he must find somewhere else to stay. On Tuesday morning, I remind him. He says, you’re not serious? I say I am. That night I call my parents. In an unanticipated turn of events, they encourage me to get a divorce. I had not thought of divorce. But once the word is loose, it seems obvious. On Friday I go to a movie with a friend. Back at home, I let the babysitter go. And it’s only then, as I climb the steps to the empty bedroom in the house where T will never come home again, that the thick sadness rolls in, filling the room, leaving no air to breathe. At school I open my books and stare into space. I don’t do very well but it doesn’t matter; my first year rank is all that does. I interview with probably fifteen Atlanta law firms for a summer job. I don’t remember considering any place else. I am wined and dined. On two occasions, I drink too much and after I get back to my hotel room, I throw up—these will be the only two times in my life I throw up because of alcohol. I get offers from all the firms except for two—and not those two. I choose a large firm, the best one in Atlanta. I adore working. I start dating. I get three speeding tickets and have at least one fender bender—not my fault but still. On a humid day in July, I return to Athens for court. The divorce is final. At the end of the summer I receive a permanent job offer. When school starts back, I don’t study. Each night at six, I rock Kathleen to sleep, thinking of all the brothers and sisters she will never have.

35 days to 60

~

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver