“Waiting for the Host to Start the Meeting.” I found myself staring at a Zoom window emblazoned with “Domestic Relations Daley Center.” On the other side of this virtual meeting room sat a judge I had never met, two lawyers I had only encountered online, and my soon-to-be ex-husband, once my partner for a decade but now a complete stranger.
As I waited in the remote waiting area of the Illinois Circuit Court of Cook County, I couldn’t help but reflect on the stark contrast and unexpected parallels between my wedding day in a chapel in Greensboro, North Carolina, and this moment of dissolution taking place on a Chicago computer screen. Each event was significant and laden with emotion, yet they came wrapped in such different layers of formality.
On my wedding day, with my father beside me, I felt a rush of excitement, anticipation, and joy as we stood in the church vestibule. Almost two hundred family and friends had gathered to support us, stealing glances at my stunning Monique L’Huillier gown. My husband-to-be, beaming with pride, looked at me with those sparkling blue-green eyes while I awaited the beautiful ceremony and the life ahead.
Could the 30-year-old me have imagined that the splendor of that day would lead to a tumultuous ten-year journey, three daughters, and ultimately, a divorce finalized over a mere thirty-minute Zoom call? I clutched the rosary that had adorned my wildflower bouquet at my wedding, a cherished memento I had brought from Lebanon. As I nervously wrapped it around my hands, I was about to face a judge, our lawyers, and a man whose role in my life was about to change forever.
Most people don’t often think about their divorce day, but if your mind wanders, you might picture a grand courtroom with a judge presiding with authority. I was grateful to trade that scene for the cozy comfort of my own bedroom. My parents, ever supportive and nonjudgmental despite the upheaval my choices had caused, were just next door, watching my two-year-old daughter. They had stood by me during my wedding and were now there to comfort me during the end of my marriage.
The judge, while no priest, commanded respect and authority, reminding me of the Monsignor who married us. Despite being a stranger, she held the power to end our marital bond, knowing nothing of the years of “he said, she said” that led us to this point.
As the formalities began, my soon-to-be ex-husband, the plaintiff, answered a series of questions with a resolute “I do”:
- “Do you acknowledge that irreconcilable differences have led to the irretrievable breakdown of your marriage?”
“I do.” - “Do you agree that attempts at reconciliation would not be in the best interest of your family?”
“I do.”
I had recently invested in a brand-new monitor to transition from a stay-at-home mom to a working single parent. The oversized screen reflected my empty room, and I silently cursed that no one was there to witness the absurdity of these “I do’s.” Was “I do” truly being recycled for this occasion? Thankfully, I was relieved of answering more than one “I do,” though it still felt harsh and almost punitive.
Then my lawyer’s face filled the screen, once just a small box among many participants. The neat arrangement of boxes reminded me of the orderly formation of attendants at my wedding. She asked whether I was satisfied with my husband’s testimony and if I understood the terms of our settlement.
After more formalities, my lawyer triumphantly declared that I could resume using my maiden name. The judge offered a weak smile and wished me luck before the meeting ended, one by one, the little boxes disappeared from my screen, leaving only a dark square.
After exchanging rings at my wedding, I marveled at how I felt no different as I became someone’s wife. Now, as I transitioned to being someone’s ex-wife, I felt unchanged, perhaps a bit more jaded but still me. I took pride in the saying, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Laughter from the next room pulled me from my thoughts. My parents had finished watching “Sophia.” I took a deep breath, smiling at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, clutching my old rosary, surrounded by new technology, and with a borrowed sign from my daughter. Perhaps this next chapter would bring more fortune. After all, I had something old, something new, something borrowed, something… Zoomed?
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In summary, my experience of ending a marriage during a Zoom call was both surreal and poignant. It highlighted the contrasts between my wedding day and the dissolution of our union, yet underscored the continuity of my identity despite the significant changes.