Living Happily Ever After
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Memory Lapse

Date: August 3, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“It’s weird being here. It feels like I’m standing next to my real life.” (Henry Rollins)

Occasionally, living the unexpected life that I do, I have that sense.

Despite the fact I’m living a completely new and different  life, and I am very happy in it, every once in awhile I experience a “moment” like that. I’m just living my life, doing my thing, feeling normal and everything else that goes with choosing to embrace and live a new existence with which I’ve been blessed, and then…I have the sensation that it isn’t real, and for an instant, prepare myself to return “home” to Colorado and envision myself driving down my driveway and walking in the door only to realize, “Oh, wait. That isn’t my life anymore. I’m not visiting Utah, I work here, I live here now.” How can I have even one moment where I forget that? But every once in awhile, for just an instant, my subconscious apparently does.

Have you ever had one of those moments? When you look at your life, and it is SO DIFFERENT from the life you expected to live, that it’s sort of…weird? You almost wonder if it’s really yours,  yet it is, and aspects of it feel more real than maybe anything you have ever previously lived. (Anyone? Anyone? Or is it just me? Or is it post traumatic something-or-other reserved for innocent people whose former spouses committed crimes and perpetuated fraud behind their backs, who go through a lot of life changes in a brief period of time and come out the other side of it with a terrific, but very different, existence?)

The good news is that instead of being filled with relief at being able to “wake up” (like you do in dreams, especially bad ones) and go back to the old life and its plans and hopes and dreams, I find that I’m actually relieved to be living this one, despite its challenges.

So while I don’t know what psychologists or therapists would say about this, I’ve decided not to sweat it. I consider it part of the fallout of unexpectedly losing one life and inheriting another, and choose, instead, to count my blessings; the blessings of my real life. I believe every single life is FILLED with good things (some lives just require a harder look to see the good sometimes, depending on what phase of the unexpected life you’re living.)

And if you’re having a hard time recognizing all of the good in your life today, in my opinion, that’s ok. I think I remember living a day or two, or several, where the only good thing I saw as I tried to count my blessings was that I was still breathing!

Yet here I am, just two years later, finding so much to cherish and be grateful for. Life happens like that, if you just hang on long enough.

After all, “If you woke up breathing, congratulations!  You have another chance.” (Andrea Boydston)

What are YOU grateful for today?

“Open, Sesame!”

Date: March 29, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I turn on my computer. I wait patiently as it connects. I go online. My breath catches in my chest until I hear 3 little words, ‘You’ve got mail.’ I hear nothing, not a sound on the streets of New York. Just the beat of my own heart. I have mail…from you.” (“You’ve Got Mail”)

I had mail? I didn’t quite believe it, so, true to form, I denied it. (The Queen of Denial was back!)

“I DO NOT have mail.”

“Yes, you do,” said #5. “I am holding a letter from The First Presidency of The Church, addressed to you, in my hand.”

“Did you open it? What does it say?” I asked.

“No, I didn’t open it, it’s addressed to you!” he replied.

“Open it,” I requested.

“No,” he responded. “Because I haven’t been to my house, yet, to see if I have letter too.”

“Open it,” I requested. (Again.)

“No,” he answered. “What if it’s a letter telling you NOT to marry me?”

“OPEN IT,” I commanded.

So he did. There was a brief pause while he opened the envelope, removed the letter and silently read it. ”It’s the letter we’ve been waiting for,” he reported.

I didn’t know what to say. I still couldn’t believe it, so I denied it again and then asked him if he was teasing me. He finally put my oldest on the phone. ”Mom, it’s the letter. It’s to you from The First Presidency,” he said, and he began to read it to me over the phone.

I was at work. My children and #5 were gathered together at my home, reading my letter. They all sounded happy and excited. It was noisy in the background.

As for me? I’d waited so long, by the time I finally got my letter of authorization to marry in a temple, I’m not sure what I thought or felt in that moment. Relief. Excitement. Yet a sense of “this can’t be real” mingled with the other thoughts and emotions. I hung up the phone, my mind racing with thoughts of people I needed to call about my letter finally coming.

But instead, I hung up the phone and…unexpectedly…cried.

I wasn’t planning to do that.

“A woman can laugh and cry in three seconds and it’s not weird…” (Rob Schneider)

Wasn’t That A Movie?

Date: March 28, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Life is the movie you see through your own eyes. It makes little difference what’s happening out there. It’s how you take it that counts.” (Denis Waitley)

And then, just a few hours later (after government officials called) I got another phone call. It, too, was unexpected.

It had begun as a typical Friday, except that morning #5 stopped by before I went to work and announced the papers we’d been waiting for were coming that day.

I laughed and replied, “No, they’re not.”

He smiled and said, “You just keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. But they ARE coming today. I know it.”

He said it was just a feeling he had, but I had to give him credit: he’d said all along that our papers were arriving a specific week. It was that week. I also had to give him credit for being firm in his belief. He had checked with me every day, “Did you pick up your mail? Did you get any mail today?” (Mail collection is a challenge for me. By the time I work all day and commute home, I’m so excited to see my children most of the time I forget mail is even delivered during the day! I typically remember to pick up my mail only a few days each week.)

Like a watched pot that never seems to boil, my mailbox had been unusually empty every single day that week. I know, because very uncharacteristically for me, I had checked it every single day: Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday.

Later that day, that Friday, #5 called me at work. “What are you doing? Are you driving home?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t left yet. I’m still working,” I answered. I had a big project I was trying to finish before the weekend. I had stayed at the office later than usual. ”Why? What are you doing?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m just at the house,” he said. “I came by to check your mail.”

“And?” I asked.

“You’ve got mail!” he rejoiced.

Wasn’t that a movie?

“It sometimes feels like a strange movie, you know, it’s all so weird that sometimes I wonder if it is really happening.” (Eminem)

I know what he means.

Edward Eyes

Date: October 20, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I have looked into your eyes with my eyes. I have put my heart near your heart.” (Pope John XXIII)

I don’t know how it is for all divorced, single women, but I can tell you how I felt and what I thought.

I couldn’t believe it had happened to me. I was a in a bit of shock at the events that led to my divorce and the fact that I was divorced. My divorce hadn’t happened in what I imagined were the typical ways–we had never fallen out of love, become indifferent to one another, fought with each other or hated each other. It wasn’t a downward spiral leading to a break-up. The necessity for a divorce came in one day, out of the blue.

My feelings of self worth suffered. I walked around, sure that all eyes were on me, that everyone knew I was single, that everyone probably thought I’d done something wrong to end up that way and that people either pitied me or thought I was a loser.

I was filled with grief that a marriage had ended and an intact family unit had been destroyed.

I felt the marriage that ended had been my one marriage, my one chance at having a husband or being married, and that I was destined to be alone the rest of my life.

But at the same time, my divorce didn’t destroy my belief in the institution of marriage or in the purpose of families; I remained a fan of both. I remember sitting in church one day a month or two after my divorce became final and the Sunday School lesson was on marriage. I sat there, listening, as I always had when a woman sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, “I’m sorry. Is this hard for you?” No, I answered, and I meant it. It hadn’t dawned on me to sit there and feel bad for myself or mope about what I didn’t have.

However, as a single woman, there were certain things I noticed.

I noticed every wedding ring on every man’s finger. My husband had never worn a wedding ring, and although it had never bothered me or been an issue for us (due to my dad’s profession, he hadn’t worn one either, so I didn’t grow up with the expectation that married men should wear wedding rings) I began to appreciate them–after I was single.

I noticed young couples in love, particularly the way they looked at each other, specifically the way the young men looked at the young ladies. I couldn’t help but see it, probably because I’d been told my spouse hadn’t looked at me in years prior to our divorce. Somehow along the way, I decided I wanted that for myself someday.

Some people look for money. Some people choose a mate based solely on chemistry, intellect, physical appearance or personality. I decided, among other things, I was going to hold out for a man who looked at me with “the look.” I didn’t want a relationship where my husband spent year looking at the tip of my nose again.

Enter Bachelor #5.

He told me he’d marry me tomorrow if I were willing; I was slower than he was to come to that decision. I had a lot of observing and investigating to do before I committed myself. And one of the things I was checking out was “the look.” Did he look at me that way?

I wasn’t sure.

It was time to find out.

One night I sat nose to nose with Bachelor #5. I directed him to look at me. He laughed and told me he couldn’t, things were too blurry to see that close up! I explained he didn’t need to see me, I just needed to see the way he looked at me. He shook his head, teased me about trying to live a teenage fantasy in my 40s and holding out for something that doesn’t exist in real life, but he had the good grace to look me in the eyes anyway.

For a second or two, as I looked into his warm, brown eyes, I wasn’t sure what I saw. Then before I could decide, he opened his eyes as wide as he could, gazed intently into mine, raised his eyebrows (to the point he was looking a little like a zombie) and asked, “Can you see it? I’m looking at you with my best Edward eyes. Do you see my Edward eyes?”

I told you he gets me.

He’s not even a Twilight fan, but he somehow knew what I was thinking, what I was looking for, and at least jokingly, tried to be that for me.

Just one more reason I finally decided it was time. Why I said, “Yes.” And why we’re still…engaged.

“We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.” (Author Unknown)

It’s all part of the unexpected life.

Something Unexpectedly Familiar

Date: September 5, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I decided it was time for Bachelor #5 to meet my sister.

It was a quick first meeting. We went to her faculty art show at Snow College in Ephraim, Utah. Her husband, who had planned just to meet Bachelor #5 and let us go to the show without him while he stayed home to keep an eye on their children, actually liked him enough to join us at the show!

As we left the art show to return to our families, I asked Bachelor #5 what he thought of my sister. He said, “I liked her. But there is something so familiar about her. I know I’ve met her before, I’m just trying to figure out where.”

Something weird was going on. When my kids met Bachelor #5, the older ones emphasized how familiar he was, that they’d seen him before and just couldn’t remember where…and now he was telling me the same thing about my sister!

My sister liked him too. She said, “Well, he is certainly nice looking! You didn’t tell me how nice looking he is–you just told me he was old! And I REALLY like him. He seems very ‘real.’ A down-to-earth, nice, genuine man.”

Later she asked, “Don’t you think there is something familiar about him?”

“Familiar things happen, and mankind does not bother about them. It requires a very unusual mind to undertake the analysis of the obvious.” (Alfred North Whitehead)

Hmm…

The First Date (Continued)

Date: June 7, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I couldn’t believe it. I was in a car with a total stranger and it wasn’t weird at all! How could that be? How could I have been married 20 years and NOT feel weird my first night out? But I didn’t. At all. The man was friendly, talkative and very entertaining. I couldn’t believe how comfortable I felt. But at the same time, it was hard to let myself enjoy it. I kept thinking, “What is wrong with me? Why does this not feel weird?”

Then we got to the parking lot where the dance was being held. Suddenly I wondered, again, what I was doing. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The comfortable feeling while driving must simply have been a bit of beginner’s luck.

He opened my door, helped me out of the car, and we walked toward the dance entrance. Like a coach preparing his player for a competition, the man was briefing me about the dance, what to expect, and offering last minute advice and encouragement. As I was beginning to wonder what hyperventilating felt like (and trying to figure out if I was experiencing it) I think I heard him say, “Don’t worry, you’re going to be great in there!”

It was a long walk to the dance from the parking lot. Periodically he’d look over at me and check my status asking, “How are you doing? Still breathing? Still doing o.k.?” Unfortunately, I was. So we continued on. It was all so new, I decided to set small goals for myself. That night I had just one goal: to walk in the door, dance one dance, and then I could leave and count the night a success. Progress.

But then we walked into the dance and I could have died. Lets just say it was a very eclectic crowd. The people were NOT who I expected to see. (Keep in mind the last time I’d gone to a dance was the 1980s when I was single the first time.) It wasn’t the 1980s anymore!

I stopped in the doorway and stared. I was in shock. Everywhere I looked, there they were: white haired grandpas, bald men, wrinkled men, heavy men; OLD men! My date looked at me, winked and said, “Yes…there’s a lot of heartache in this room!”

I guess that’s what you’d call it. But I was a bit more self-centered than my date. Instead of acknowledging all of the heartache that had to have been in the room, my thoughts were about me: “WHAT am I doing here? I don’t belong here! This is NOT me!” But I guess I did belong there and it was my new life. Although I hadn’t chosen my circumstances or my new life, although I’d never planned to be single, I was.

I guess in some ways, sometimes it still surprises me. To this day, every singles dance (all four of them) those are still the same thoughts I have each time I walk in to the room: “What am I doing here? I don’t belong here! This is NOT me!”

And then thanks to my rebound friend, I remember and think, “There’s a LOT of heartache in this room!” I know I’ve had more than my fair share in the time since my former spouse revealed His Ponzi scheme, crimes and everything else. So I try to make the night not about me, but about the heartache of others. I say yes to every man who asks me to dance, and I try to be friendly, polite, kind and interested in helping them have a good time for that song. (And I’ve met some fun women friends, too.)

But that night at the dance, my first date, we laughed. We danced. We had a lot of fun. And before I knew it, his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller and handed me the phone. “I think it’s for you,” he said.

“Mom? Where are you? What are you doing?” my oldest son sternly asked. (Who knew I had a teenage son in charge of my curfew?) I explained it was only 11:47 p.m., I was an adult in my 40s, and I was fine–I’d be home around midnight or a little after. My son laughed, said he was just doing to me what I had always done to him but that it too late for me to do that; it wasn’t almost midnight, it was almost 1 a.m.! At the same time my son told me that, I heard my date gasp and say, “Oh no! I’ve been in California on business all week–I forgot to reset the time on my phone. It’s actually…”

Too late. First date in 20 years and I had already blown my curfew! I was busted…by my teenager! CLEARLY, it wasn’t the 1980s anymore.

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