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“Waiting for the Host to Start the Meeting.”
I found myself staring at a Zoom screen displaying “Domestic Relations Court” across the top. On the other side of this digital divide were a judge I had never met, two lawyers I had only encountered online, and the man who had been my husband for a decade but now felt like a stranger.
As I sat in the remote waiting area of the Cook County Circuit Court in Illinois, the bittersweet contrast between my wedding day in a Greensboro, North Carolina chapel and this virtual divorce moment struck me. Both events were significant and emotional, but delivered in such dissimilar ways.
On my wedding day, my father stood by my side as I anticipated the beautiful ceremony ahead, surrounded by nearly two hundred family and friends who had supported us. My gown by Monique L’Huillier, with its elegant front and daring back, was a reflection of my excitement. My husband, with his charming grin and sparkling eyes, awaited me at the altar.
If someone had told the 30-year-old me that the joy of that day would lead to a decade of ups and downs, along with three daughters, only to conclude in a 30-minute Zoom call, I might not have believed it. Clutching the same rosary that adorned my wedding bouquet—a cherished item I had bought in Lebanon and blessed by a local priest—I wrapped the beads around my palms, feeling a mix of nostalgia and anxiety as I prepared to face the judge, our lawyers, and the man whose legal connection to me would end that hour.
Divorce isn’t something most of us envision, but if it crosses your mind, you might picture a solemn courtroom with a judge ready to deliver finality. I was relieved to bypass that formality for the familiarity of my own home. My parents, ever supportive and understanding, were next door, caring for my two-year-old while I navigated this emotionally charged moment. They had been there for my marriage and now stood by me once again as we faced this painful transition.
The judge’s commanding presence reminded me of the priest who married us, both figures exuding authority. Throughout the process, my lawyers emphasized that only the judge held the power to finalize the end of our union. This stranger had no knowledge of our decade-long history, yet she possessed the ability to release us from our vows.
As the proceedings unfolded, legal jargon filled the air. I was sworn in, staring at a bright pink plaque on my desk that read, “This Girl Can.” Originally meant to inspire my daughter, it now served as a reminder of my own strength.
My soon-to-be ex-husband, the petitioner, answered a series of questions with “I do”:
- “Do you acknowledge that there are irreconcilable differences resulting in the breakdown of your marriage?”
“I do.” - “Do you agree that further attempts at reconciliation would not benefit your family?”
“I do.”
I had recently upgraded my equipment for this new chapter of life—transitioning from a stay-at-home mom to a single, working mom. The large screen mirrored the emptiness of the room behind me as I silently lamented that no one was present to witness the absurdity of the situation. It felt cruel to recycle the phrase “I do” for this occasion, though thankfully, I was only required to say it once.
Suddenly, my lawyer’s face filled the screen again. She, too, had been reduced to a small box in a grid of faces until she was front and center, asking if I was satisfied with my husband’s statements and understood the settlement terms. I wondered if anyone had ever objected during such moments, like in a wedding ceremony. Perhaps someone should have in our case.
More legal formalities ensued, and my lawyer triumphantly announced that I could reclaim my maiden name. After a brief pause, the judge offered a weak smile and wished us good luck. As the professionals exchanged farewells, one by one, the little boxes disappeared from my screen, leaving only a black square.
“The meeting has ended by the host.”
After exchanging rings at my wedding, I had marveled at how I felt no different being someone’s wife. Now, as I became an ex-wife, I felt much the same—perhaps a touch more jaded with work to do on my heart and life, but still fundamentally me. The saying “The more things change, the more they stay the same” echoed in my mind.
The sounds of giggles from the next room interrupted my thoughts. “Sophia” had finished. Taking a deep breath, I couldn’t help but smile at the ironic humor of it all. There I was, clutching my old rosary, surrounded by new technology and a borrowed sign from my daughter—perhaps this next chapter would bring more luck. After all, I had something old, something new, something borrowed, and something… Zoomed?
This article was originally published on April 5, 2021.
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Summary
This reflective piece explores the contrast between a wedding day filled with joy and the somber reality of a divorce finalized through a Zoom call. The author navigates the emotional nuances of both moments while highlighting the support from family and the absurdity of the digital divorce proceedings. It emphasizes the strength found in familiar objects and the resilience needed to face new beginnings.