“Waiting for the Host to Start the Meeting.”
I found myself staring at a Zoom window displaying “Domestic Relations Center” across the top. On the other side of this virtual gateway sat a judge I had never met, two attorneys I had only interacted with online, and the man who, until recently, had been my husband for a decade, now feeling like a total stranger.
As I sat in the online waiting room of the Illinois Circuit Court, I couldn’t help but reflect on the poignant contrast, yet surprising similarities, between the day my marriage began in a quaint chapel in Greensboro, North Carolina, and the day it concluded on a computer screen in Chicago, Illinois. Both were significant moments in my life, rich with emotion, yet they were presented with starkly different levels of ceremony.
On my wedding day, with my beloved father by my side, my heart raced with excitement for the beautiful ceremony and the life that lay ahead. Almost two hundred family and friends had gathered to support us, stealing glances at me in my stunning Monique L’Huillier gown, which was elegantly modest in the front and daringly low in the back. My groom, with his characteristic smile and vibrant blue-green eyes, watched me from across the aisle.
I often wonder if the 30-year-old version of myself would have believed it if someone had told her that the grandeur of that day would lead to a decade of ups and downs, three daughters, and ultimately, a divorce finalized in a mere half-hour Zoom call. I clutched the rosary that had adorned my wildflower bouquet on my wedding day, a cherished item I had purchased in Lebanon and had blessed by a local priest. Nervously wrapping the beads around my palms, I prepared to face a judge, our lawyers, and the man whose legal connection to me would dissolve within the hour.
Most people don’t think about the day their marriage ends, but if you’re prone to dark thoughts, you might envision a solemn courtroom with a judge presiding from above. I was grateful to skip the formalities of a courtroom in favor of the comfort of my own bedroom. My supportive parents were just next door, watching “Sophia” with my toddler, standing by me as they had when I made the decision to marry. They comforted me during this difficult time, just as they had celebrated with me on my wedding day.
The judge’s presence reminded me of the priest who married us; although she wasn’t physically there, she commanded respect and radiated authority. Throughout the divorce proceedings, my attorneys reminded me that only the judge had the power to issue orders concerning my husband and me. This stranger, unaware of the ten years of “he said, she said” that led to this moment, held the power to release us from our marital obligations. Our priest, a Monsignor—an honorary title in the Catholic Church—had been less than impressed and far too serious for my taste. Having met him only once, he married us blind to the reality that we were fundamentally incompatible.
The judge, our lawyers, and the court reporter rattled off formalities I barely understood. I was asked to raise my right hand and swear an oath. My gaze fell on a cheap plaque from the Dollar Store reading “This Girl Can” in neon pink. I had bought it for my eight-year-old daughter to inspire strength and resilience, but I found myself needing that reminder more than she did. I had swiped it from her desk for our Zoom mediation sessions, placing it under my monitor as a source of motivation.
My soon-to-be ex-husband, now the plaintiff, had to respond to a series of questions with “I do”:
- “Do you agree that there are irreconcilable differences leading 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 are impracticable?”
“I do.”
Recently, I had treated myself to a new second monitor, realizing that my 2010 MacBook Air was not up to the task of transitioning from a stay-at-home mom to a single work-from-home mom. The large screen reflected an empty room behind me as I silently lamented that no one was there to witness the absurdity of these “I do’s.” Was I really supposed to recycle “I do” for this occasion? Thankfully, as the respondent, I was only required to say “I do” once. The experience felt cruel, almost punitive.
Suddenly, my attorney’s face filled the screen. Before, she had merely been a small box among many participants, but now she demanded my attention. The neat lineup of little boxes reminded me of the perfect row of attendants at my wedding, both symmetrical and somber. She asked if I accepted my husband’s testimony and understood the terms of my settlement.
Had anyone ever objected at this point? Did anyone ever voice their disapproval during a wedding ceremony? In our case, perhaps someone should have. More formalities and legal discussions followed among our attorneys and the honorable judge. Apparently, the court was satisfied that the binding nature of this contract was well communicated and understood. My lawyer triumphantly stated that I was free to resume using my maiden name.
After a brief pause, the judge’s face appeared one last time. “Good luck,” she said with a weak smile. The professionals exchanged polite goodbyes, passing on their regards to colleagues in the family law arena. One by one, the little boxes disappeared from my screen, leaving only a black square.
“The meeting has been ended by the host.”
After exchanging rings on my wedding day, I marveled at how I had suddenly become someone’s wife, yet felt unchanged. Now, I was someone’s ex-wife, yet still felt the same. Maybe a bit more jaded, with pieces to mend and a heart to heal, but fundamentally, I was still just me. I found some comfort in the old saying, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Laughter and giggles from the next room pulled me from my thoughts. “Sophia” had ended. I took a deep breath and couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the situation. Here I was, old rosary in hand, with fresh, updated tech on my desk, and a borrowed sign from my daughter. Perhaps this next chapter would bring more luck. After all, I had something old, something new, something borrowed, and something… Zoomed?
For more insights into home insemination, check out this blog post. Additionally, if you’re interested in reliable information on artificial insemination, Make a Mom is an excellent resource for your needs. For further reading, MedlinePlus offers comprehensive information on pregnancy and home insemination.
Search Queries:
- home insemination kit
- self insemination
- home insemination syringe
- artificial insemination
- fertility options at home
In summary, my experience of ending my marriage over Zoom starkly contrasted with the joy of my wedding day, yet both moments were equally significant. With my parents’ support nearby and the tools I needed for a new chapter, I reflected on the journey ahead with a blend of humor and resilience.
Leave a Reply