Last night, as a family, Rich, Joya and I burned the small, wooden arbor that Rich built for our wedding ceremony, almost six years ago, in September of 2020.
As the flames licked the tired wood and leaves of ash floated on the wind, I felt a mixture of relief, hope and grief.
That arbor that once held that younger couple has been falling down for years. I hated seeing its listing reminder in our yard, of how our relationship has been steadily declining, too.
It’s been a hard couple of years for our marriage. That’s the truth.
Becoming parents, aging, and weathering so many social and political twists and turns has taken the sheen off the glow that once surrounded our partnership.
Since I returned two weeks ago from a month apart from him, we’ve gotten sober about the work we need to do, to feed our relationship again. It has begun.
Slowly. Steadily.
Last night when I suggested we dismantle the arbor, unlike previous times when I have suggested this and he has resisted, he agreed. It was his idea to burn it, which was brilliant. So brilliant. Exciting, even.
I’ve died a number of deaths to acknowledge that my relationship is not where I want it to be. It was grounding to see the physical wood fall and burn, an outward expression of my internal process. A validation. A making real something that has been quietly private, and felt unreal even at times.
May this dying of the old – and brave acknowledging of where we find ourselves – feed the new that is coming. And may we have strength for the humble rebuilding. 
