4 years old

One week from today, Pete and I would have been married for 4 years. Not that he'll remember, of course. Right there in the middle of Christmas, New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day. Did I really have to make it that hard for myself?

Our honeymoon was my first plane trip; my first (and only) time traveling beyond North America. I obsessed about where to stay and how much to budget, and in the end, Pete was thrilled with the small establishment I'd chosen--not an all-inclusive resort, but a group of villas, which made it possible to see and choose your actual room online.

Summer in the middle of a dreaded Ontario winter? I was enamoured with the concept, and by the end of the week, wondering aloud of we could make this trip a yearly tradition. Hurricane season ended in November, and traveling then meant a substantial discount in room rate and flight cost. The main receptionist, who was originally from Quebec and traveled home each year for the Canadian summer, said that the town's location (on a bay) helped protect it from the worst of hurricane season, and that in her 10 years there, the only damage had been one day of winds strong enough to blow sand up from the beach that had to be swept away later. Pete loved my idea.

But then we went back to winter. And of course, that year winter essentially started right around the time we got back, flinging me into depression and leading Pete to feel helpless at solving my problems. And the snowball to our relationship's end rolled from there.

But at first, I had only an inkling. I read books, asked constantly if he was okay, and attended counseling, hoping to work through my own problems quickly enough to tackle ours. He pretended nothing was wrong. But by the next January, my questions about a repeat trip were shot down. His plans involved buying a house that spring, not renewing the joy of our honeymoon. If only... Perhaps if we'd gone, he would have felt close enough to me--and been far away enough from his usual distractions--to be honest; in time to tell me that something was wrong. Funny, too, that although he claimed we had to save our money for the house, not spend it on a vacation, he walked into the bank one day alone and came out with the mortgage amount he was pre-approved for, no money down. And though I pleaded, he refused to make even a $5,000 down payment. Why? When he could get whatever he wanted without it--even without me?

The next year, our 2nd honeymoon was shot down again, in favor of renovations. Soon after, he was "taking time apart" in the basement. By our third anniversary, I'd been walking on eggshells far too long to even ask. He announced the divorce 6 weeks later.

Pete may not remember the date we married, and I don't expect him to. As for me, I'm the girl who thinks too much. I'll remember.

My salvation? A little boy who just happened to be born on my wedding day--my best friend's son; the only person who calls me "Aunt Jen"; the child who made me laugh for the first time after my husband left me. Was he born one month early for such a time as this?

Because she's the best of best friends, and because Jonathon's birthday festivities are being postponed until the following weekend, Mary has given me an out; a reprieve from spending my 4th anniversary alone and desperate in the worst of bad weather. Instead of spending that dreaded day alone, I'll be staying with my friend and my favorite boy.

Of course, I'll never forget how I spent the 14th of January 2007, but I'm choosing to reframe that date. What was once my anniversary is now simply Jonathon's birthday. I haven't been married for 4 years, but my favorite "nephew" is turning 4.

What once has two meanings now has one. And I have my favorite people in the world to help me survive what I've lost--and what he has surely forgotten.