“Waiting for the Host to Start the Meeting.”
I found myself staring at a Zoom window displaying the words “Domestic Relations Court.” On the other side of this virtual divide sat a judge I had never encountered, two lawyers I had only met online, and the man who had been my husband for a decade—now feeling like a stranger.
As I sat in the remote waiting room of the Cook County Circuit Court in Illinois, I couldn’t help but reflect on the bittersweet contrast yet unexpected parallels between the day my marriage began in a quaint chapel in Greensboro, North Carolina, and the day it ended via a Chicago-based computer screen. Both moments were significant and laden with emotion, yet presented to me in starkly different fashions.
On my wedding day, my loving father stood beside me, my heart racing with excitement for the ceremony, the celebration, and the life ahead. Nearly two hundred family and friends gathered to witness the union, stealing glances at my Monique L’Huillier gown, elegantly high in front and daringly low in back. My soon-to-be husband, with his signature grin and sparkling blue-green eyes, looked at me from the other end of the aisle.
Had someone told the 30-year-old me that the grandeur of that day would lead to ten years filled with ups and downs, three daughters, and ultimately a dissolution of our union through a brief Zoom call, I would have been incredulous. I held the very rosary that adorned my wildflower bouquet at our wedding, a treasured piece I had purchased in Lebanon and had blessed by a priest. Nervously clutching the beads, I was transported to a virtual setting where a judge, our lawyers, and my soon-to-be ex-husband awaited to finalize our separation.
Most don’t envision the day their marriage ends, but if your thoughts drift to dark places, you might picture an echoing courtroom with a judge ready to pass judgment. I welcomed the informality and comfort of my bedroom over the traditional courtroom atmosphere. My parents—steadfast and loving—were just next door, watching a movie with my two-year-old. They had supported my marriage, and now, they were there to console me through my divorce.
The judge’s presence reminded me of the priest who married us. Though she was not physically present like he was, she commanded respect and authority. My lawyers frequently reminded me that only the judge held the power to issue mandates. A stranger to us, unaware of the years of conflict that led us to this moment, she held the authority to release us from our obligations to one another.
The judge, along with our lawyers and the court reporter, engaged in formalities that felt foreign to me. I was sworn in, staring at a cheap plaque that read “This Girl Can” in neon pink—a gift for my daughter to inspire resilience. Ironically, I found myself needing that reminder more than she did as we navigated the digital mediation process.
My soon-to-be ex-husband, now the plaintiff, responded to a series of questions with “I do”:
“Do you agree that there are irreconcilable differences leading to the breakdown of your marriage?”
“I do.”
“Do you agree that attempts at reconciliation are impractical for your family?”
“I do.”
I had recently invested in a new second monitor to help transition from a stay-at-home mom to a single, work-from-home mom. The large screen reflected an empty room behind me, highlighting the absurdity of the moment. Was “I do” really being repurposed for this occasion? Fortunately, I only had to utter it once, but it still felt harsh.
Suddenly, my lawyer’s face filled the screen. Until now, she had been a small box among many, reminiscent of the perfect row of attendants at my wedding, both symmetrical and somber. She asked if I was satisfied with my husband’s testimony and understood the settlement terms. Did anyone ever object at this point? It felt like someone should have during the ceremony.
More formalities ensued, and it became apparent that the court was satisfied with the binding nature of our agreement. My lawyer triumphantly stated that I could reclaim my maiden name.
After a brief pause, the judge offered a weak smile, saying, “Good luck.” The professionals exchanged pleasantries, and one by one, the little boxes disappeared from my screen, leaving a black square behind.
“The meeting has been ended by the host.”
After exchanging rings at my wedding, I marveled at becoming someone’s wife, yet feeling unchanged. Now, as someone’s ex-wife, I felt no different—perhaps a bit more weathered, with pieces to mend and a heart to heal, but still fundamentally me. I found some solace in the saying, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Laughter from the next room pulled me from my thoughts. I took a deep breath and couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. Here I was, clutching my old rosary, surrounded by shiny new tech, with a sign borrowed from my daughter. Perhaps this next chapter would bring better fortune. After all, I had something old, something new, something borrowed, and something… Zoomed?
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Summary:
This reflective piece explores the emotional journey of a woman navigating the end of her marriage via a Zoom divorce. The contrast between her wedding day and the virtual dissolution of her union highlights the unexpected similarities and poignant moments that accompany both events. Surrounded by family and familiar reminders, she contemplates the changes and constants in her life as she moves forward.