Divorced Before 30

I love a good road trip as much as the next person, and once I hit a good rhythm of miles and music, I can drive and drive and drive. But, as a woman who can’t relate to people who “forget” to eat for long stretches of time, I eventually must stop to refuel myself. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that fast food is mandatory on interstate journeys.

In my “real” life, I only buy meat of the free-range, antibiotic-free variety. You know, chickens who dine on organic salad greens and sunbathe amongst wildflowers. Cows with excellent manners. But, put me behind the wheel and send me through Wisconsin or Iowa, and I’m liable to eat a burger that lacks ethics entirely. Even better if it’s called a “Butterburger” and I can wash it down with a custard shake. Because hell, if you’re going to eat fast food, you’d better do it right.

So, I generally love road trips. But. It was Thursday, September 21, 2006, and Mom, Dad, Tucker, and I were about to leave for Illinois to clean out the rental house where John and I had lived. The house that haunted my upstairs most nights. The plan was to drive on Thursday, pack on Friday, sell stuff on Saturday, and load a U-Haul trailer on Sunday. My folks and Tucker would haul the trailer back to Minnesota, and I would stay in Illinois for a week to get divorced and take care of some business.

This road trip seemed more punitive than pleasurable, and the only positive spin I could put on it was getting my stuff back. I had left in such a hurry that I forgot entire categories of apparel. Pants! I would have pants again! And shoes! See—I can be a very positive person when I put my mind to it. Anyway. Just as we were loading up to leave, we got a rather momentous phone call. My sister-in-law, Hilary, who was 32 weeks pregnant, was in the hospital, and little “Judo” was raring to go.

So, instead of embarking on the least fun road trip ever, we drove to a suburban hospital in the hopes of meeting my new nephew before the day was over. We joined Hilary’s mom and sister in the hallway of the birth center. Soon-to-be-grandmothers paced. Soon-to-be-aunts chatted. We all craned our necks to decipher the noises coming from the birthing room. Our hearts collectively raced whenever Andy came out with an update. Even under stress of the son-being-born-eight-weeks-early variety, he was a rock. Why didn’t I get that gene? It would really come in handy during major life events.

By late afternoon, Hilary had performed the single greatest feat of her life to that date. The baby formerly known as “Judo” had made his grand entrance. We were barely able to catch a glimpse of his little face as the nurses whisked him away to the NICU. He was a relatively hearty 4 lbs., 15 oz., but his little lungs weren’t quite up for the big game yet. While I wouldn’t get to meet him until I got back from Illinois, I felt immense love for him already. His birth marked a new generation for both my family and Hilary’s, and life would never be the same.

While Hilary got patched up and pampered, my mom and I went out to grab some dinner. We were tired but relieved, and Mom had the glow you might expect from a woman who’d been born ready for the role of “Gamma.” We marveled at the baby’s timing, and I was thankful that his birthday wouldn’t fall on the date of my divorce. Our travel schedule was going to be tight—we’d have to drive eight hours on Friday and be ready to have a garage sale by Saturday morning. But it didn’t matter. We went back to the hospital to visit the happy new parents, and they generously let the whole crew watch “Grey’s Anatomy” in the hospital room.

I looked around at the baby’s new family, everyone spent but happy, and I knew that everything was going to be OK. In four days, I would be divorced. I was going to need a lot of support, but I’d survive, probably even thrive one day. And for now, the profundity of new life dwarfed my pain. Down the hall, in the NICU, there was a beautiful baby boy with eensy, weensy tubes in his teeny, tiny nose. Ethan Donald was resting in his incubator, sustained by the sweet flow of oxygen and the love of every person in this room.