When Jason and I first split up, it naturally happened that I surrounded myself with people in similar life situations (read: I felt like an asshole hanging out with married couples, so I stuck with the newly single and freshly tattooed). And it was in this season of my life where I got invited to a lot of divorce parties. What’s a divorce party? It’s a party thrown to commemorate the official day of divorce.
To get divorced amicably, like Jason and I did (thank the zesty cheese Dorito gods) the separated couple agrees to a bunch of shit on paper, signs it, sends it to the courts where it sits on a stack of papers on the judge’s desk until he/she gets around to stamping it with his/her approval and then the divorce becomes official within 31 days of said stamp.
To get divorced in a not-so-friendly manner like Andrew and Wendy did, it can take years and years and years of Supreme Court battles, gobs and gobs of money, and a really, really sore bum. Just when everybody is hanging by a thread within seconds of complete and utter destruction, the judge stamps the bullshit and again, within 31 days of said stamp, divorce is granted.
Nevertheless, no matter how two people get there, some people choose to party it up upon arrival.
I remember showing up to Lora’s divorce party with a dozen eggs, a bottle of wine, and a Sharpie. We went outside and I got her to write down all the things that she needed to let go of. She wrote on the eggs things like, “fear” and “pain” and then she threw them at some…stuff. The divorce party was healing for her, and I was her maid of honour (I took pictures and held them as blackmail material as any good friend would do).
I’ve always struggled with the notion of a divorce party because I hate divorce; why would I want to celebrate it? But when Andrew and Wendy’s divorce became official on the 16th of this month, I had an epiphany and you know what? It felt a little bit like closure. Like an open casket at a funeral. And all of a sudden I craved crustless egg salad sandwiches and spinach dip.
A divorce party doesn’t have to be disrespectful. It shouldn’t be. People don’t show up to the memorial service of someone loathsome but rather they show up with a soft heart, one that is repentant and forgiving, one that sees no wrongs, or at least doesn’t see them as clearly as they see the good and kind things. And they show up with crustless egg salad sandwiches.
Okay, so…can we get drunk now?