It feels like a funeral around here lately. What my children and I are grieving isn’t a person; it’s a thing, an invisible and infinitely precious thing: our nuclear family. Reborn will be a new family, of course, like a phoenix rising from its ashes. But until the rising, there's moments of crying and sadness tinting every day blue.

I wish I had some physical thing to represent what has passed. A body gives great comfort to the grieving, as people can touch its hands and kiss its brow. But when a marriage dies, and the family it sustained is changed, there is nothing tangible to let go of.

We have memories…little chemically imprinted synapses in our brains. It’s not much; not even as thick as air. Powerful, these brain flickers are though, and when something reminds me of a ritual our family used to perform, I gasp in pain. Gone are the day trips to Cannon Beach and short hikes around the fish hatchery. No more trekking around Mississippi Ave or singing along to Built to Spill songs in the car. The thousand little things our family did together are now abandoned for what we’ll do separately.

The death of the marriage feels like a separate ending from the nuclear family. What went on between my ex and me when no one else was around is better stopped than continued. I’ve believed for many years that bad marriages kill women. I hadn’t realized how poor mine had become until it ended.

Feeling a need to get my body checked-out, as my heart aches and bruises, I saw my physicians recently for routine check-ups. I was pleased to find my blood pressure is better than it’s ever been. Last time I saw my internist, he told me I’d be on bp meds by forty. Now, it’s nearly perfect, with my diastolic number at 70. My labs looked great too, with everything within normal parameters.

After an exam, my gynecologist gave me a lovely, little pep talk about life being a journey with many bends in the road and new discoveries. He encouraged me to enjoy the day, as the rain clouds cleared and sun presented. I noticed he no longer wore a wedding ring, so I assume he knew of what he spoke.

When I look, touch, and listen to what remains in my life, I have everything I’ve ever wanted, save for a loving marriage. But that’s okay. When the grieving ends, and I’ve mastered peace in my mind and heart, I doubt I’ll spend any time pining for what I don’t have.

My ex has given me the greatest gifts in two wonderful kids; and he's blessed me with a big favor by leaving. He and I will work out some sort of friendship and co-parenting relationship, as we still have the rest of our lives together as father and mother, if not as husband and wife.

We are now free to discover what Spock called “Your first, best destiny.” With loss and grieving comes freedom and opportunity. We are re-inventing ourselves in the space left over. It'll be fascinating to see what we make.