Divorce doesn’t end with a signed paper, at least not for those who have lived in a marriage. The courtroom might close the file, but the heart carries the story much longer. That’s what Seth Megow learned after his divorce, when the calendar brought him face-to-face with something he never thought about before: the ex-anniversary. It’s that one day every year that refuses to blend in with all the other ordinary squares on the calendar. It arrives whether he wants it to or not, and each time it stirs up a complicated mix of emotions that can’t easily be labeled.
Before the divorce, the anniversary had been his favorite day. It wasn’t about gifts or guests, but about intimacy and reflection. He loved celebrations in general, birthdays and holidays, but anniversaries had their own magic. They carried hope, promises, and the excitement of growing old together. For Seth, that date symbolized a leap into his roles as husband and father. Friends and family had gathered once to celebrate it, and even years later, the date stayed embroidered on gifts, stitched into memories, carved into his life.
He remembers those years almost like a patchwork quilt, or maybe a pair of jeans from their 60s-themed wedding. At first the denim was new, then the patches started adding character, until eventually the whole thing became a story written in fabric. He still owns those pants, not because they are useful, but because they remind him of what once was. And then, as life does, everything shifted. Divorce arrived like a storm, and suddenly that date on the calendar wasn’t about joy anymore.
When the first ex-anniversary showed up, Seth pretended it was another day. He told himself the marriage was over and the date no longer mattered. That lasted maybe ten minutes. The truth came rushing in like a flood, good and bad memories, and with them came anger and sadness. That first year, he focused on the worst of it, reminding himself of the toxic times. He thought maybe leaning into the pain would help him move forward. Instead, it left him bitter, counting the hours until the day ended.
The second year he tried a different approach. He woke up determined to be grateful. He thanked God for the good parts of the marriage and the growth it had given him. And for a while that helped, until grief slipped in again, not for the person he divorced, but for the intimacy he no longer had. Missing the feeling of a best friend, of having someone so close, made it impossible to pretend everything was only positive. Neither method worked.
Years later, he admits he doesn’t know how to feel. Sometimes there’s relief, sometimes sorrow, sometimes frustration at his ex’s choices. He doesn’t feel romantic love for her anymore, but he still knows her deeply, and watching her become someone he barely recognizes leaves him unsettled. That day always forces him to wrestle with questions without clear answers. Should he feel guilty for feeling free? Should he focus on forgiveness or on scars? What happens if he falls in love again with someone who has never been divorced? How will this date feel then?
The hardest part comes when children are involved. His kids ask questions every year, each with their own perspective. One child wishes he would marry someone who makes him happy. Another wonders if he would marry their mom again if she said she was sorry. Seth answers as best as he can, reminding them that both parents love them beyond words, but that choices carry consequences. Explaining such things to young hearts is its own challenge. Divorce isn’t just between two adults, it echoes through their children too, and the ex-anniversary becomes a yearly reminder of that.
For Seth, the best way to describe it is through the image of a tree struck by an axe. At first, the wound is huge, impossible to miss, the scar taking up most of the trunk. But as the tree grows, the scar stays the same size while the trunk expands. The wound never disappears, yet it becomes smaller in proportion to the life that has continued to grow. His ex-anniversary is like that scar, permanent but not defining, shrinking each year as he grows taller and closer to the sky.
Ultimately, he believes it is all right not to know how to feel. The day doesn’t have to be neatly boxed into happiness or sadness. It can be both, or neither, or a jumble of all emotions simultaneously. What matters is the growth, the faith, and the reminder that people can survive heartbreak and still flourish. For Seth, the ex-anniversary isn’t about what was lost but how far he has come since then.
