Carolyn and I moved six times within a span of the same number of years. We’re no strangers to packing our stuff, and this isn’t the first time I’ve seen empty rooms; rooms that were once full of life and vitality.

It didn’t really strike me until today how empty the house feels. I’m not talking about Carolyn being gone - I’m talking about our stuff being gone. After eight years of marriage there was a strong sense of things being “ours”, and there wasn’t a lot of duplication. Hence - it’s impossible to separate without there being hug vacant spaces in the house.

The contents of the master bedroom could comfortably fit in the trunk of my car now. A few hampers, my clothes, and a portrait of Muskoka from a few years ago. Since Carolyn took Muskoka, we agreed that I could keep his framed portrait.

Time to get out of the house.

Carolyn moved into her apartment today.

I have made *many* mistakes in our marriage, but I think I’ve been a “superstar husband” today. I even helped pack and unpack, and I drove the moving truck for her.

It takes a strong man to help his own wife move out, and I did it. Don’t even ask me how I feel right now - there are no words to quantify it.

Welcome to the first day of the rest of my life.

So I’ve been living in this state of quasi-separation from my wife for one month now.

And it hurts.  There’s not a minute that goes by that I don’t think about her.  Wonder what she’s doing, and how she’s doing.  Wonder if she’s thinking about us, and remembering the good times.

There are a few restaurants I haven’t been able to go into.  Like El Rodeo - one of our favorite Mexican restaurants.   It was the last restaurant we ate in as a couple.  And Sushi Thai - the restaurant where we had my birthday dinner, not even two weeks before all of this happened.

In fact, it’s become a regular thing for me to drive past a restaurant or a store, and to think to myself “gosh - the last time I was in there, we were still together”.

You can’t appreciate how much “togetherness” there is after you’ve been married for eight years (unless, of course, you’ve gone through what I’m going through now - in which case you may understand it perfectly).

We started marriage counseling last week, and it’s been going well.  Nothing is certain, but I feel like we’re starting to make some real progress.  It’s giving me something to hold onto.

Carolyn moves out on Saturday.  I don’t know if I’ll be there or not.  As much as I want to help, it just might be too hard for me.  She understands that and won’t be angry if I’m not around.

Two weeks ago I was settling in for a visit to my parents’ farmhouse in rural Ontario - still numb from the idea that my wife and I might be separating.

Last week I was preparing to say good bye to Carolyn as she left for her own trip to Toronto, to spend time with her own family.

Today, I find myself wavering between a few different emotions. One side of me wants to preserve all that is good. I want to keep the house, keep as much in it as I can, and go about my day-to-day life with as little change a possible.

The other side of me wants to purge. Sell the house, and sell many of the things in the house that I don’t need. Get a small apartment across the street from where I work. Sell the motorcycle, downgrade the Mercedes to an inexpensive Toyota or Honda, and live simply for a while. As one wise person told me - “the lighter the load, the easier the travel.”

In short - take some time to regroup. Think about what’s important, and what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’m 32 years old; there’s still a good 50 years ahead of me before I have to worry about pushing daisies. Once I get my life to a simpler state, I’d take some time out and go for a few long trips.

It’s exciting - and impossibly difficult - to think about this. One of those impossibly difficult moments came the other day when I was looking at apartments for myself. As I toured the little pad, I instinctively turned around in the kitchen to ask Carolyn what she thought. It took me a moment to stop and remember the context - and I had a little meltdown, right in front of the sympathetic leasing agent who has probably seen this before.

I’m starting to learn that love hurts like this because what we had (have?) was (is?) special. It would be far, far worse if it didn’t hurt this much; even if our marriage is over, we have a lot of good memories to cherish, and we’ll be better people for having enriched each others’ lives. As hard as this is right now, it’s not an experience I would trade for all the money in the world.

First of all - thank you to all of my friends who have left comments, emailed me privately and/or called. One silver lining on this cloud has been the support, the friendship and the love that you have all shown to Carolyn and I during this difficult time. It’s some comfort knowing that we’re surrounded by such good people, and I hope I get the chance to thank each and every one of you. It means the world to me.

Carolyn is visiting her family in Toronto right now. That’s important - she needs her time to “deflate” and be in her comfort zone, and I need the time to get back into some regular routine.

Next Monday we’re going to go for some marriage counseling. I’m not holding out for any miracles, but I do hope it will at least help us identify things that went wrong. Even if our marriage is truly over, it will at least give us awareness of mistakes that were made, weaknesses, unfulfilled needs, etc.

I love my wife. We’ve been married for 8 years, we’ve been together for 10 years, and we’ve known each other for 12 years. That represents a third of my lifetime, and virtually all of my adult life. Even if we separate for good, I hope she knows that I will always love her, and will always have the highest respect for her. Every day with her has been a gift, and it’s something I’ll always cherish.