Immediately following my divorce, I sat on my couch and gazed at the ceiling forhours.
No one knew I did this.
The television was off, the stereo silenced. Nothing could interfere with the happily married memories flooding my mind -- twelve years of twinkle-light holidays, the smell of his cologne, gregarious family celebrations, teasing inside jokes, seeing his car in the driveway, whispered terms of endearment and our smiling son in the middle of this beautiful, colorful world we created. These images moved across the backdrop of a white ceiling, like a movie reel, as I forgot to eat, forgot to breathe, forgot who I was.