Counting Planes

After spending weeks touring South Africa; from cities to safaris, long drives, cage-shark diving, nearly killing myself driving in a small village, avoiding rumored gunshots, running to hostels, watching baby leopards play in the sun, powerful elephants on a hunt for water, and just about every other magical life-empowering experience...I headed back to Chicago.

From the moment I walked in the door, it was obvious that the marriage was over. And when he threatened to move back to New York, and received my response, "I think that is for the best," he suddenly wasn't so confident or cocky. But within days, we had written down everything we owned and divided our belongings. I hired a lawyer and filed for divorce days before Christmas. Going home for the holidays wasn't easy, nor was the looks from my family with the constant comments "We're praying for you." I was half expecting the Pope to show up and shower me with holy water to rid me of my sin! Everything felt out of proportion, and under a microscope.

I somehow thought the divorce would be smooth, but I was so very wrong. Anger does things to people. And in the case of my husband, his anger resulted in him depleting our bank accounts of all funds and running off to Central America with a gay man. Now, I say gay man, not because it matters, but what did were the rumors of why he chose to travel with a gay mate, and all of my money...

I had no money, no way to pay our mortgage, car, and house bills. I couldn't reach him, and felt sick to my stomach with anger, disappointment and the fact that I was scared. Scared of what he would do next, and how I would recover from the financial blow. I borrowed the money for my mortgage from my mother. With $25 to spare, I began to start my life over.

Some say, when you divorce someone, you really begin to find out who they are. One terrible thing after another unfolded. I began to realize that I wasn't sure if I knew my husband, what he was capable of, the lies he told, the rumors that swirled, the money he had been stealing from me for a year...it became so enormous that my world was suddenly more of a movie script than the life I thought I had.

Any money I earned went to bills, and I lived in a constant state of fear. Fear of losing all I had worked so hard for. I was at the bottom, the end of a rapidly fraying rope. My days were spent at work, my nights were spent drinking a bottle of wine while laying on the floor, looking up through my skylight and counting the planes that passed by.

Wasn't it just months ago that I was gallivanting around New York? Chirping that I loved my life and all the amazing things I had done?

I had to wonder if all those good things finally caught up with me, and it was time for a very rough patch of life.


But, for now, all I could do was count the 15th plane that flew over in two hours...