The One Thing I'm Afraid of This Christmas

Six years ago today I was barely going through the motions on a day I would never forget. A day I never thought would come. The day when two were torn apart and only I remained. I pondered for weeks what I would wear to my divorce. Black seemed appropriate. The death of my marriage required somber attire. Black sweater. Black patent belt. Black boots with heals clicking across the linoleum floor in the courtroom as I testified (against my will) that my marriage was "irretrievably broken." Tears rolling down and falling into my lap, collecting on my skirt and nearly preventing me from seeing the strange man who used to be my husband sitting calmly across the room. In a mere twenty minutes in