Right now, all of us in the Metropolitan Atlanta area are axiously awaiting the impending storm, the storm that could be of historic proportions. It bears down upon us like a Cat Four hurricane. Count yourself lucky tonight, Savannah.
We are watching all the signs as though we could read tea leaves, doing our best to prepare but lacking the foresight that hindsight will soon enough provide. We can only hold our breath. It is calm right now, but we know and we know full well, the storm is all too soon to come.
This anxiety is somehow familiar. There is something known in it. These are like those pensive moments when you’ve resolved some life defining decision; you’ve set your course in motion, you’ve unleashed, perhaps, the hounds of hell and nothing can turn you back now.
These are the moments in family law when you’ve decided that your path no longer runs with another. You’ve chosen your attorney, your course of action is set, but you haven’t yet announced your intention, your direction, your universe altering escape plan. You know what’s next. But your once significant other doesn’t. Divorce, like the storm, is imminent.
Sometimes these moments are few, mere hours or, at most, days. But some times these moments are many, weeks perhaps even a month or more. And these moments whether few or many are imbued with weight, nearly over-burdened by the coming storm. These moments are surreal as though in a vivid dream and you are but an actor in your own play.
Each interaction now is tinged with ether or perhaps even formaldehyde. Each word is heavy laden as if each syllable held lead for ballast. Each breath, each step takes far too long, as though a funeral dirge were its tempo.
Such as it is as this city awaits what now lies before it. Except that tonight, whatever lies before us, lies before us all.