Those who know me know that one of my many passions is writing. While I’ve made most of my older blogs private now, that desire to write still exists within me.
Today, I received a picture message from my daughter, and I had to drive by and confirm the image for myself. I sat in the parking lot stunned, snapping pictures with my unreliable camera phone – I was clearly unprepared to document such a noteworthy sight.
As I snapped the pictures, I thought about the things I would say about them, how I could show you a little piece of what has been going on in my life with a few words and a couple of pictures, like I used to do so often.
I saw so much symbolism in a heaping pile of rubish, miniscule pieces of a building that once stood firm and unshaken equally comparable to a ten year marriage that collapsed with one final blow.
I thought about allowing myself to feel those things and write those things, and thought about how good it might make me feel to let it all out.
And then I realized I didn’t care. I really have no deep seated emotion about the building, the symbolism, or the timeline. I’m numb to the things a normal person would feel, but maybe because it was something so long overdue, for both the building and the marriage… It just isn’t there anymore…. I know it should be, I feel guilt ridden that it isn’t.
Here’s a photo of the church we were married in, knocked down the very week that our divorce process begins.