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“Waiting for the Host to Start the Meeting.”
I found myself staring at a Zoom window displaying “Domestic Relations Center” at the top. On the other side awaited a judge I had never met, two lawyers I had only interacted with online, and the man who had once been my husband for a decade, now feeling like a complete stranger.
As I sat in the remote waiting area of the Cook County Circuit Court in Illinois, I couldn’t help but reflect on the poignant contrast and unexpected parallels between my wedding day in a chapel in Greensboro, North Carolina, and this moment of closure on a Chicago-based screen. Both events marked significant transitions in my life, filled with emotion yet presented in vastly different ways.
On my wedding day, my father stood by my side, heart racing with excitement for the ceremony and the future that lay ahead. Nearly two hundred family members and friends gathered to support us, stealing glances as I wore my exquisite Monique L’Huillier gown. My husband-to-be, with his familiar grin and sparkling blue-green eyes, watched me from the aisle.
If someone had told the 30-year-old me that the joy of that day would lead to a tumultuous ten years filled with ups and downs, culminating in a divorce finalized over a half-hour Zoom call, I would have never believed it. Clutching the rosary that had adorned my wildflower bouquet, I nervously wrapped the beads around my sweaty palms, realizing that I was moments away from facing a judge, our lawyers, and a man whose role as my spouse would soon cease to exist.
Most people don’t think about the day their marriage ends, but in dark moments, I imagined a solemn courtroom, a judge ready to deliver a verdict. I was relieved to skip the formality of a courtroom for the comfort of my bedroom, where my loving parents were next door, watching “Sophia” with my two-year-old. They had supported me through my marriage and now offered me comfort as we navigated this painful transition together.
The judge, though absent in body, carried the same air of authority as the priest who had married us. My lawyers kept reminding me that only the judge had the power to finalize our divorce, a stranger unaware of the complexities that led us to this moment.
As the formality continued, I raised my right hand and was sworn in, my eyes drifting to a bright pink plaque that read “This Girl Can.” I had bought it for my daughter to inspire her strength, yet it served as a reminder for me during our mediation sessions.
My soon-to-be ex-husband, the plaintiff, answered a series of questions with “I do”:
- “Do you agree that there are irreconcilable differences that led to the irretrievable breakdown of your marriage?”
“I do.” - “Do you agree that future attempts at reconciliation would not be in the best interest of your family and impractical?”
“I do.”
I had recently invested in a new monitor, realizing that my outdated MacBook Air needed an upgrade for my transition from stay-at-home mom to single, work-from-home mom. The screen reflected my empty room, and I silently wished someone could witness the absurdity of these “I do’s.”
My lawyer’s face suddenly filled the screen, asking if I was satisfied with my husband’s testimony and understood the terms of our settlement. More legal jargon followed, confirming that the binding nature of this contract was adequately communicated. My lawyer announced I could reclaim my maiden name.
After a brief pause, the judge offered a weak smile and wished me luck before the meeting ended. One by one, the participants disappeared from my screen, leaving me alone in a dark square.
After exchanging rings at my wedding, I had felt like someone’s wife, yet now, as I faced the end of my marriage, I felt no different—just a bit more jaded, with a heart needing healing. Yet, I found solace in the saying, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Laughter from the next room pulled me from my thoughts. “Sophia” had ended. I took a breath and smiled inwardly at the irony. Here I was, with an old rosary in hand, new tech on my desk, and a borrowed sign from my daughter. Perhaps this next chapter would bring better fortune. After all, I had Something old, something new, something borrowed, something… Zoomed?
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Summary:
In a poignant reflection on love and loss, the author contrasts the grandeur of her wedding day with the stark reality of her divorce, conducted over a Zoom call. Surrounded by family and memories, she navigates the bittersweet emotions of ending a decade-long marriage, finding strength and resilience in the process. As she embraces this new chapter, she draws parallels between her past and present, ultimately finding humor and hope in the situation.