Why We Celebrate

Illusions, Delusions ...

I'm thinking about holidays and traditions. You know how I love those and you know that I have spent the last year and a half redefining them. I'm thinking about how quickly things change.

One of the hardest things for me going through this divorce has been figuring out traditions and holidays. I still am a little perplexed that I'm not going to my friends' lake cottage over Memorial Day to help open it for the season. And come Labor Day, I'll be equally confused that I'm not breaking my back to carry the furniture to the boat house.

At Halloween, I'm supposed to be coordinating (or at least helping) with the costume golf outing and the dinner/entertainment to follow.

Thanksgiving was at my house for about 18 years or so. And, what do all those people who used to pop by my house on Christmas Eve do now? When our mutual friends get together for New Years, do they celebrate the anniversary that is no more?

Part of the reason we are adaptable is we all love illusions and shun the delusions. The illusion lets us play the role of keeping it all together, putting up a good front. And yes, we delude ourselves.

That teenage girl we know is pregnant but thank God my child isn't having sex.
My son seems a little depressed but suicide doesn't run in our family.
My child isn't a bully.
I don't know anyone who does drugs.

And when we're lucky, smart and all the gooey things in between, we celebrate:

My son just got into the accelerated master's program.
Someone's daughter gets to choose between three schools and great scholarships.
A godchild just got the internship of his dreams.
An anniversary of a marriage that has navigated disaster.
A best friend's child is headed for the Peace Corps.

And that's why we celebrate. Maybe it's a minuscule child hitting his first ball at T-ball, maybe it's taking your mom and grandma to lunch on Mother's Day and realizing a whole bunch of your friends don't have moms or grandmas to celebrate with.

Maybe it's just acknowledging that tomorrow is on the horizon with miracles, disasters and whatever else may come. We celebrate. We love. We delude ourselves and we illuminate our lives. As we should.

"We Always ..."

It's slowly closing in on one year since my marriage ended. While I am still legally married, the beginning of the emotional end started in the Fall of '08.

Since then, we had another anniversary; we did not spend it together. We've both celebrated birthdays and his was a milestone one. We didn't see each other for either. Separately, we acknowledged the one-year anniversary of the deaths of his parents, my original oldies. Not to mention kids' birthdays, friends' anniversaries and the holidays.

Not that this is any harder for me than it would be anyone else but I love routine. I cherish tradition. And I love the idea of knowing our favorite menus, our regular vacation buddies and our holiday traditions.

We are not enemies and I don't think we're going to be. We're friendly but not friends. "Acquaintances" feels wrong -- it implies knowing someone but not well. We know each other scarily well.

So what are we? We are no longer a we.

Giving it Back

When my husband and I married, it was important to him that I take his name. I was a little hesitant. I really did not want to go through the hassle of changing my name. Again. I also have maintained an odd affection for my given name.

But, I am a pretty traditional person and I appreciate the symbolism and simplicity of sharing a name with a husband. A marriage -- a couple, a shared home, a shared last name.

I have used his last name for more than 16 years -- most of my professional life. More people know me by that name than my original name although thankfully, I've always held onto my maiden name as my middle name. I hope I have used his name well but I know now it was not meant to be permanent. It was given as a gift and I no longer want it. I'm thinking of it more as a loan and now it's time to give it back.

Once the nice judge says it is permissible, I will begin the lengthy (and somewhat cleansing) process of changing my name. Again. This time it doesn't feel like a chore. It feels like returning home.

And to all of you who have never quite given up calling me "Sheri Lynn" or referring to me as "Riley," I want you to know that all three names are music to my ears.