Updated: April 5, 2021
Originally Published: April 5, 2021
“Waiting for the Host to Start the Meeting.”
I found myself staring at a Zoom window that read “Domestic Relations Center.” On the other side of this digital portal was a judge I had never met, two lawyers I had only interacted with online, and the man who had been my husband for a decade—now feeling like a complete stranger.
As I waited in the virtual waiting room of the Cook County Circuit Court in Illinois, I couldn’t help but reflect on the poignant contrast and surprising parallels between my wedding day in a chapel in Greensboro, North Carolina, and this moment marking the end of my marriage through a Chicago-based computer screen. Both significant events were filled with emotion, yet presented with drastically different levels of ceremony.
On my wedding day, my father stood proudly beside me as I anticipated the joyous celebration of our union. Nearly two hundred family and friends gathered, sharing in the excitement, while I felt the weight of my beautiful Monique L’Huillier gown. My husband, wearing his signature grin and sparkling blue-green eyes, awaited me at the altar.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the 30-year-old version of myself would have believed that the grandeur of that day would lead to a tumultuous ten years filled with ups and downs and three daughters, culminating in a divorce finalized over a half-hour Zoom call. Clutching the same rosary that adorned my wildflower bouquet, I felt a surge of nostalgia. Bought in Lebanon and blessed by a local priest, it was a tangible connection to my past, as I nervously wrapped the beads around my palms.
Divorce is not something most people envision, but if you ever find yourself contemplating it, you might picture an imposing courtroom with a judge presiding over the proceedings. I was grateful to trade the traditional formality for the comfort of my own home. My parents, always supportive and loving, were next door, watching my two-year-old while providing the same comfort they had offered on my wedding day.
The judge’s presence reminded me of the priest who married us. Although she wasn’t physically present, her authority was undeniable. Throughout the process, my lawyers emphasized that only the judge had the power to dictate our fates. A stranger to our history, she held the power to dissolve our marriage, just as the Monsignor had married us, oblivious to our incompatibility.
As the judge and lawyers navigated through legal jargon, I barely understood the proceedings. I noticed a cheap plaque on my desk that read, “This Girl Can”—a reminder I had purchased for my daughter to inspire her. Ironically, it became a source of encouragement for me as I faced this difficult moment.
My soon-to-be ex-husband, now the plaintiff, responded to a series of questions with “I do.” Each affirmation felt like a dagger:
- “Do you agree that irreconcilable differences have caused your marriage to break down?”
“I do.” - “Do you agree that attempts at reconciliation would not be in the best interest of your family?”
“I do.”
I had recently treated myself to an upgraded monitor, realizing my old MacBook Air was inadequate for my transition from stay-at-home mom to single working mom. As I stared at the empty room reflected on the screen, I felt the absurdity of this situation. Thankfully, I was only required to utter “I do” once, but it still felt harsh.
Suddenly, my lawyer’s face filled the screen as she shifted from a small box in the Zoom grid. She asked if I accepted my husband’s testimony and understood the terms of my settlement. I wondered if anyone had ever objected during such a moment—perhaps someone should have in our case.
After a flurry of legal exchanges, the judge concluded with a simple, “Good luck,” before the professionals exchanged goodbyes. One by one, the boxes disappeared from my screen, leaving me in darkness.
“The meeting has been ended by the host.”
After exchanging rings on my wedding day, I marveled at how I suddenly became someone’s wife. Now, I found myself as someone’s ex-wife, yet I felt remarkably unchanged. Perhaps a bit more cynical, with pieces to mend and a heart to heal, but still, fundamentally me. I found solace in the old adage that “the more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Laughter from the next room broke my reverie—my parents and child had finished watching a show. I took a deep breath and smiled at the absurdity of my situation. With my rosary in hand, new tech at my desk, and a sign borrowed from my daughter, I felt a flicker of hope. 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:
In this reflective piece, Ava Collins recounts the stark contrasts between her wedding day and her divorce, both of which are significant yet profoundly different experiences. As she navigates the emotional landscape of ending her marriage via Zoom, she draws parallels between the solemnity of the occasion and the joy of her wedding day, ultimately finding strength and hope for the future despite the challenges ahead.