There is an ache that has taken up full time residency in my chest and often it expands to such a girth that I fear my internal cavities cannot withstand the pressure. I have to find the saddest or the most seductive song and play it loud so that some of my longing and disquiet can find its way out and relieve that pressure for a short while. I think a lot about leaving. I know I could never do it and live with myself, I could never be apart from my children for very long, it would be too devastating but there are days when I think about checking myself into a psych ward just to get something of a vacation from these children. Some days I can’t stand them for long periods of time and I don’t let them near me because I can’t breathe. I think I must be the most awful mother there is to tell my children to leave me alone, to feel so resentful, to want to punish them for hampering my life so. If they were gone truth is I would wander aimlessly and feel uneasy, uncomfortable in my skin, not as confident. I would be half a person. It’s comedy really, that I feel half a person with them and half a person without them. Lately I fluctuate between wanting to jump off a bridge or making out with someone. Probably I should opt for the latter…find a babysitter, go to a bar, drink some tequila, set my sites on easy but appetizing prey and corner him. I’d have better luck in a smaller town.
I have lost sight of what it is I am supposed to be doing right now. Am I supposed to be ruminating on my marriage and figuring out if I want to salvage it and how? Am I supposed to be working on myself and putting thoughts of the marriage on the back burner or am I supposed to be working on myself and moving on? My husband called from Afghanistan last night and asked if I am dating anyone. After nearly two months of brief, terse conversations finally he asks a question that eludes to the glaring fact that we are separated. I thought it would open the door for us to talk about how we’re feeling so far, what we’ve realized in retrospect, what our positions are on divorce etc…. But after I told him I wasn’t dating and answered his “Why?” he said it was a good place to end the conversation. There I was thinking we had just begun. But he has to compartmentalize all of his emotions so that he can work 12 hour shifts seven days a week in weather that rarely goes below 100 degrees in hostile country. I get it. He gets that it is hard for me. We shoulder it and trudge on in our separate directions. He says he will be filing for divorce as soon as he gets back and though I expected it, it still sends a shock through my body to hear it, a rending sensation that next morning I realize has added to the ache. Even though an actual divorce is at least a year in the future, I still feel like things are moving at a dizzying pace and I feel a need to steady myself before I go hurtling down this avalanche. I feel entitled to have some time, some space to figure myself and everything else out. With him it’s black and white, I’m in or out and there’s no alternatives. If we’re separated then it’s divorce and I’m scared. I’m really, really, fucking scared.
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Big Mountains, Crappy Beer
My heart, not yet a clean slate, has surrendered to the knowledge of the many lonely months ahead. My brain has nothing definitive to say of love. It’s opinions, like love itself are constantly evolving, shifting and morphing- never finite. Just when I seem to have figured out how I got to this place in my marriage, when I could draw it out like a map, I realize that there are far more paths than the ones I have shown- that mountain wasn’t as big as I remembered it- and the place from where I started might have been farther away or was it closer to where I am now? Was it that the paths were long, or serpentine and tangled, giving the illusion that a great distance was traveled? In the end it’s of little import where I started from- I have come to this place. This strange, sad place where hopes, like little chinks of light, try to find their way in where ever the barrier is weakest. Do I dare to hope that some day I will have love again? Wild, passionate, love? Will I ever want a man so badly I pull the car over, straddle his lap, take him into me and actually enjoy the ride? Sex is so staid in my marriage- quite frankly I’m a boring lover and my husband would be doing things much differently if he had his way. God- what if I never become an adventurous, uninhibited lover again? How embarrassing…. But why does it matter? Why does it mean so much to me? Why do I feel embarrassed? Biologically speaking there is no need for me to be some deranged sex fiend- I mean I did my friggin’ job and popped out a couple kids- the human race will live on in part thanks to my contribution. These standards that I feel I’m not living up to are not innate they are derived from a copulation crazed society. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.!! OK so the extra exclamation point may be a result of the two Bud Light Limes that I’ve been forced to drink here in this beautiful, Podunk town of Sutton, West Virginia that doesn’t sell micro brew. The kids and I are on our way back to Raleigh from a short New England visit and have landed at the Elk Motor Lodge off of WV 4. Suffice it to say that this motel is significantly different than it’s cozy, homey depiction online. I did request a non-smoking room but it appears that all 15 of the rooms are smoking or have been smoked in. The owners have bought-hook, line and sinker- into the belief that potpourri actually masks the odor of cigarettes. A girlhood friend of mine had parents who were chain smokers and owners of one of those small, yippy dogs who was ancient and literally rotting. This dog-ironically named snuggles- stank so bad I couldn’t get close to it without gagging. Her mother earnestly shook potpourri powder onto the shag rugs everyday. I had too much tact to tell them that the end result was a odorous frying pan to the face of cigarettes, fetid dog and sickly sweet potpourri. I was smacked with this memory upon opening my motel door but I’m not in the mood to rock the boat so I breathe lightly until my nose has adjusted. It’s an honest to goodness motor lodge where the cars are parked nice and orderly in front of their doors and there’s a long line of chairs placed outside the rooms, air conditioners purring and leaking onto the cement. When we arrived I seemed to be the only adult female lodging here amongst a motley crew of gruff, rugged men all eyes and soft whistles but now as I sit outside my room listening to Robert Johnson I am alone with my thoughts and almost wishing myself some burly company if at least for the fodder. There are fireflies though… Did you know that there is a spot in the Great Smokey Mountains where the fireflies light only in unison every five seconds? If you take them out of that area they no longer do it in unison. The only other place on earth where this phenomenon has been documented is in China. What the hell is that all about? If you cannot find one pathetic reason to carry on let it be because shit like that goes on every day and we are here to witness it. These events we humans consider a miracle are trivialities to Nature. What a concept.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Don't Count Your Chickens...
I’ve got blisters on my fingers from learning chords on the guitar, darker hair cause I discovered some new grays and a ball of ugly emotion right in my core. I’m working hard to release that ball before it wins the whole day. My husband got the call yesterday that his deployment got pushed back from March to July. Just like that. How many things were riding on that initial March date? How many decisions were made based on that March date? How many sacrifices did that March date require of me? It just serves as a reminder that no matter what, I cannot live this military lifestyle any longer. It is not in my nature to play second fiddle. It is not acceptable to know that my plans, no matter the importance, are not considered by those who hand out the orders. Ah well, life doesn’t play by rules when handing out the orders or consider everybody’s plans so I need to button it.
I went to see ‘Crazy Heart’ on Sunday night. Great movie, great sound track. I had some time to kill before the movie started so I decided to do a little work. I write an entertainment blog for a local glossy and basically get paid to visit bars and restaurants where I am given entrees and drinks and then write a review on the ambience, cuisine, crowd etc… They have me on a project while I’m here promoting a city-wide cocktail competition that will be featured in their May food and wine issue. I’ll get to pick the top ten winners and there will be a photographer to chronicle my sipping escapades. So I decided to pop into a few bars to drop off my card and recruit for participants. The first place I stopped at is a biker bar and as soon as I pulled into the parking lot about 14 bikers pull up in their colors. There were about 12 more already in the small bar when I walked in and it occurred to me that some one raised differently from myself might not have been as comfortable sauntering into this particular atmosphere. Alone. But hell I’m from NH and grew up around burly, nasty looking men in denim and leather so I can hold my own and at the very least appear confident. Second place I visited is what I like to call your basic, square bar. Small and square with one window and the light from one door. Old men with their cans of beer snuggled in their own koozies they brought from home. Coupla drunk Mexican men walk in trying to act sober enough to get some beers.. A pool table is squeezed in one corner and the players are good naturedly vying with other patrons for space to shoot. And there’s this great band playing all my favorite classic rock tunes so I have to stay for a beer. The band is comprised mostly of middle-aged men but the bassist is some young stud in sunglasses. They’ve got talent and a hell of a lot of love for these old tunes and I quite enjoyed myself. The really, really old man to my right identified himself as ‘Peanut’ and a manager of the bar. He had a koozy full and one on ice in his little beer bucket in front of him at the bar. There was a constant variety of patrons coming up and buying him a beer so that little bucket always had one chilling. Then one of the patrons was nice enough to replenish my beer as well as Peanuts’. His name was Bill and Bill is a skydiver. Bill seems to eat, drink and sleep skydiving. Bill talked to me about skydiving for a long time. A long time.
Now that’s the kind of review I wish I could write but the magazine is pre-tty conservative so my blogs are basically like advertisements for the places. Today is a crappy, rainy day. Even the kitties are choosing to sleep away the gloomy hours. There’s the occasional flash of red or blue in our yard of a cardinal or bluebird. I can hear the rain dripping on the flower boxes outside and our wind chimes are working overtime. I can get through today, hopefully with some grace and positivity and tomorrow I am attending women’s group for dinner and a break dancing competition in Raleigh. I’ll spend the night with my friend T, have coffee in the morning and take my time instead of rushing back like I usually do. That will recharge me enough so that I can resume chugging along towards god know what. But hey- I got to rub elbows with an ancient man named Peanut, drink some beers, eat some pretzels, listen to a live version of ‘Sharp Dressed Man’ and now possess a walking wealth of information about skydiving. Life ain’t all that bad.
I went to see ‘Crazy Heart’ on Sunday night. Great movie, great sound track. I had some time to kill before the movie started so I decided to do a little work. I write an entertainment blog for a local glossy and basically get paid to visit bars and restaurants where I am given entrees and drinks and then write a review on the ambience, cuisine, crowd etc… They have me on a project while I’m here promoting a city-wide cocktail competition that will be featured in their May food and wine issue. I’ll get to pick the top ten winners and there will be a photographer to chronicle my sipping escapades. So I decided to pop into a few bars to drop off my card and recruit for participants. The first place I stopped at is a biker bar and as soon as I pulled into the parking lot about 14 bikers pull up in their colors. There were about 12 more already in the small bar when I walked in and it occurred to me that some one raised differently from myself might not have been as comfortable sauntering into this particular atmosphere. Alone. But hell I’m from NH and grew up around burly, nasty looking men in denim and leather so I can hold my own and at the very least appear confident. Second place I visited is what I like to call your basic, square bar. Small and square with one window and the light from one door. Old men with their cans of beer snuggled in their own koozies they brought from home. Coupla drunk Mexican men walk in trying to act sober enough to get some beers.. A pool table is squeezed in one corner and the players are good naturedly vying with other patrons for space to shoot. And there’s this great band playing all my favorite classic rock tunes so I have to stay for a beer. The band is comprised mostly of middle-aged men but the bassist is some young stud in sunglasses. They’ve got talent and a hell of a lot of love for these old tunes and I quite enjoyed myself. The really, really old man to my right identified himself as ‘Peanut’ and a manager of the bar. He had a koozy full and one on ice in his little beer bucket in front of him at the bar. There was a constant variety of patrons coming up and buying him a beer so that little bucket always had one chilling. Then one of the patrons was nice enough to replenish my beer as well as Peanuts’. His name was Bill and Bill is a skydiver. Bill seems to eat, drink and sleep skydiving. Bill talked to me about skydiving for a long time. A long time.
Now that’s the kind of review I wish I could write but the magazine is pre-tty conservative so my blogs are basically like advertisements for the places. Today is a crappy, rainy day. Even the kitties are choosing to sleep away the gloomy hours. There’s the occasional flash of red or blue in our yard of a cardinal or bluebird. I can hear the rain dripping on the flower boxes outside and our wind chimes are working overtime. I can get through today, hopefully with some grace and positivity and tomorrow I am attending women’s group for dinner and a break dancing competition in Raleigh. I’ll spend the night with my friend T, have coffee in the morning and take my time instead of rushing back like I usually do. That will recharge me enough so that I can resume chugging along towards god know what. But hey- I got to rub elbows with an ancient man named Peanut, drink some beers, eat some pretzels, listen to a live version of ‘Sharp Dressed Man’ and now possess a walking wealth of information about skydiving. Life ain’t all that bad.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Coming in Last
Well, as much as I’m tempted, I can’t really glamorize where I’ve been as of late. I am faltering and not feeling strong this week. I am scared of how hard life will be when I’m on my own, a single mother of two children with no college education and no savings. I’m overwhelmed with how much there is to do here in this house and by how much of it is falling on just me. My husband is gone all this week and then home for a few weeks before shipping off to Afghanistan for six months. I will need to have this house in tip top shape and be all moved out by April 1. I’m searching Craig’s list every day but of course unable to view any of the apartments as I am many States away. Where and how everything will fall together is so unclear and all this uncertainty is taking a heavy toll on my mental well-being. I am not able to go to yoga which my body and mind are screaming for, I am binging nearly every night on Cheez-its, chocolate chip cookies, ice cream etc…. I even bought Cool-Whip the other day. I hate Cool-Whip!!! I am not spending quality time with the kids aside from bed time, I am short tempered with them and totally unequipped for this awful angry phase that Everett is going through. I can barely keep myself in check and I have this screaming, hateful 5 1/2 year old stomping around the house all day. I’m desperately unhappy right now. If I just had one person to help me every day, this would feel manageable. Looking around my room right now makes me want to crawl under my covers- there’s so much shit to deal with and add to that five more rooms left to deal with!!! My brain tends to shut down and isn’t inclined towards organization.
My husband and I have fallen into a strange existence together. Upon arriving home I was caught off guard by a great sexual desire that arose in me. Thus when he made the first move I was more than agreeable. We made love twice in one night and let me tell you: that ain’t happened since before I got pregnant the first time. I sincerely wanted to hold him and to be held. We watched movies together and snuggled with arms, legs and fingers entwined. For two days this stuck and then there was some small spat and the bubble was popped. Now I’m back to being disappointed at things he hasn’t done and responsibilities he’s not on top of. The sex drive is back to where ever it’s been all these years. After two months of living in near isolation at my nana’s, being totally broke and grieving the loss of this marriage and friendship, I really needed to be held and he’s been my rock and safe haven for so long; he’s a good lover and knows my body and the way we fit best. I do not think that I would have been able to feel desire if there were not an impending separation. Just driving up to the house took some wind out of my sails because of all the unhappiness, disorganization and stalemate existence that it represents.
Now a little joy is creeping into my heart because I am reminded of the fuller life in NH that awaits my arrival. I will have friends for dinner! I can have birthday parties for the kids! I can call up dozens of people on any given night and say, “Hey want to go see some kick ass blue grass tonight?”
This morning my breath was so awful that I wondered how I could ever have another lover. Am I going to have to wake up at 3am to brush my teeth again so when he rolls over at 7 he’s not bowled out of bed? Do I have to go back to agonizing when I unexpectedly have to take a shit at his house? What about broccoli farts and ass zits? Oh my god. I’m terrified. This is why women stay in unhappy relationships! I am destined to be a pariah in the dating scene…. Eff it. I learned everything I need to know when I was eleven. Wink wink.
**************************Phone call with N *****************************
You can’t hear it but I just let out an audible sigh of release. N gave me a much needed reminder that I am only a human mama and I am doing the best I can under difficult circumstances and it won’t last FOREVER! So what if the kids watch too many movies, so what if I don’t go for a walk everyday, so what if I can’t give everybody my best this month. I have to get through this part and then through the next part and then life will start to resemble something more peaceful with a routine and a rhythm and then I can worry about reaching super mom status. Man was I lost in that self-deprecating sea.
There have been some humorous moments in the past few days that should not go un noted. My cat Zoot, who is going on 10, suffered a most undignified failing of her bodily functions the other night. Whilst snuggling in bed I glanced over to see flecks of diarrhea on the sheet next to my shoulder that had not been there seconds before. My glance immediately zeroed in on Zoot’s bum and confirmed the source. Poor Zoot had sharted and was completely oblivious to the fact. I reached for a tissue to wipe the small amount on her bum before she could sit on my duvet and it wasn’t until I began cleaning her did she catch a waft and investigate. Skip ahead two days and I am on the phone with my father. My nose begins to run and I reach for a tissue that had fallen between the bed and my nightstand. As soon as my snot wetted the tissue the substance already residing there was revived and identified itself as- you guessed it- cat diarrhea. This reminds me of the only segment of the “Jeff Foxworthy Show” worth remembering- ‘Tell me that don’t stank.’
Ok- time to get out of my bathrobe and see what the little heathens have been up to downstairs. Such a huge part of me doesn’t want to know….
My husband and I have fallen into a strange existence together. Upon arriving home I was caught off guard by a great sexual desire that arose in me. Thus when he made the first move I was more than agreeable. We made love twice in one night and let me tell you: that ain’t happened since before I got pregnant the first time. I sincerely wanted to hold him and to be held. We watched movies together and snuggled with arms, legs and fingers entwined. For two days this stuck and then there was some small spat and the bubble was popped. Now I’m back to being disappointed at things he hasn’t done and responsibilities he’s not on top of. The sex drive is back to where ever it’s been all these years. After two months of living in near isolation at my nana’s, being totally broke and grieving the loss of this marriage and friendship, I really needed to be held and he’s been my rock and safe haven for so long; he’s a good lover and knows my body and the way we fit best. I do not think that I would have been able to feel desire if there were not an impending separation. Just driving up to the house took some wind out of my sails because of all the unhappiness, disorganization and stalemate existence that it represents.
Now a little joy is creeping into my heart because I am reminded of the fuller life in NH that awaits my arrival. I will have friends for dinner! I can have birthday parties for the kids! I can call up dozens of people on any given night and say, “Hey want to go see some kick ass blue grass tonight?”
This morning my breath was so awful that I wondered how I could ever have another lover. Am I going to have to wake up at 3am to brush my teeth again so when he rolls over at 7 he’s not bowled out of bed? Do I have to go back to agonizing when I unexpectedly have to take a shit at his house? What about broccoli farts and ass zits? Oh my god. I’m terrified. This is why women stay in unhappy relationships! I am destined to be a pariah in the dating scene…. Eff it. I learned everything I need to know when I was eleven. Wink wink.
**************************Phone call with N *****************************
You can’t hear it but I just let out an audible sigh of release. N gave me a much needed reminder that I am only a human mama and I am doing the best I can under difficult circumstances and it won’t last FOREVER! So what if the kids watch too many movies, so what if I don’t go for a walk everyday, so what if I can’t give everybody my best this month. I have to get through this part and then through the next part and then life will start to resemble something more peaceful with a routine and a rhythm and then I can worry about reaching super mom status. Man was I lost in that self-deprecating sea.
There have been some humorous moments in the past few days that should not go un noted. My cat Zoot, who is going on 10, suffered a most undignified failing of her bodily functions the other night. Whilst snuggling in bed I glanced over to see flecks of diarrhea on the sheet next to my shoulder that had not been there seconds before. My glance immediately zeroed in on Zoot’s bum and confirmed the source. Poor Zoot had sharted and was completely oblivious to the fact. I reached for a tissue to wipe the small amount on her bum before she could sit on my duvet and it wasn’t until I began cleaning her did she catch a waft and investigate. Skip ahead two days and I am on the phone with my father. My nose begins to run and I reach for a tissue that had fallen between the bed and my nightstand. As soon as my snot wetted the tissue the substance already residing there was revived and identified itself as- you guessed it- cat diarrhea. This reminds me of the only segment of the “Jeff Foxworthy Show” worth remembering- ‘Tell me that don’t stank.’
Ok- time to get out of my bathrobe and see what the little heathens have been up to downstairs. Such a huge part of me doesn’t want to know….
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Descent from the summit
‘I think you are the sweetest, kindest, dearest, loveliest, most thoughtful, best looking and most loveable girl in the whole world. I love you with all the strength that is in me.’
-Dean P. Stiles to Marion E. Davison, April 1945
‘What I want to convey in this note is that my thoughts have been filled with you constantly since Sunday night and that the days have seemed dreadfully long, I’ve missed you so. Already tonight I miss you voice. Somehow the day doesn’t seem complete. I wonder where you are and what you are doing. Are you thinking of me? I love to spend my waking hours each day running over and over again the things we have done together, the things you have said to me and to recall every wonderful moment you have been in my arms. I do believe I remember every little detail. Yes, I even remember that the big toe on each of your feet is relatively shorter than the one next to it.’
-Dean P. Stiles to Marion E. Davison July 1944
‘Can you keep a secret? You can? Well, I love you, sweetheart, so much in fact that these words form with my every breath. May my love for you keep you warm and close to me. I’ll be with you soon.’
-Dean P. Stiles to Marion Davison July 1944
All these love letters and twenty something years worth of birthday, anniversary, Easter and Mothers Day cards, stored away in boxes all over the house. Love. It can be so ephemeral! It can build you up and break you down in a day. I found a card sent from my Grandfather Dean to my Nana after twenty something years of marriage that read on the front- “Can we get together on this?”. When you open it up there is a picture of a bed and it’s signed, your loving and hopeful hubby. He sent it from the post office in their town to the house they shared. Weird. And sad. And damn if history doesn’t repeat itself!! My husband hasn’t had a regular sex life in years. Poor guy… Anyway, the infamous story is that when my Grandfather left my Nana, he threw a book at her that he had bought full of new sexual positions he hoped they could try. My Nana was crippled with arthritis and probably depression and my Grandfather was sexually frustrated and unhappy with the way his life had turned out. Love in all its new beginnings is so Utopian but loves’ decline is anything but idyllic.
My husband told me last night that he’s been spending time with a woman he met. Not official dates, just getting together and talking. I didn’t feel a shock or jolt of pain. I felt calm and actually happy for him. Huh. I mean that says a lot right? But I also have some excitement going on here so maybe that’s why I’m so OK with it?
This guy that I fell head over heels in love with during a summer spent in Oregon eleven years ago, recently opened a FB account just to find me. I mean this guy……… I haven’t ever really gotten over the sense that I missed out on something big with him. Total unrequited love. He, (I’ll call him J), had a girlfriend when I met him but the draw we felt towards one another was so strong that he told his girlfriend he needed to spend time with me to figure out what was going on. She gave him her blessing and I’ll always admire her for that very strong and difficult decision. We only spent time alone on two occasions and kissed with sweet longing and immense restraint. We jumped into a freezing lake and collapsed laughing and shivering on our towels. We lay on our bellies, shoulders touching and talked for hours. On the drive home that day he reached silently across the car and ran his fingers down the entire length of my arm to my fingertips. I can still remember how my arm tingled and practically burned from his touch. Then she recanted and made him choose. He chose her and rightfully so. I was devastated and spent the last three weeks crying myself to sleep and slept with some dude who was just that- some dude. At the end of my last day of work at the resort lodge, I called the bellhop service for a ride to the golf course where the car I shared with friends was parked. Who should show up to get me but J. I walked to the back of the shuttle van, the only passenger in there and sat with arms crossed in the very back. He drove me in silence for most of the way and suddenly pulled off to the side of the road practically skidding to a halt. I can’t remember if he turned to face me or if he spoke to my reflection in the rear-view mirror but he told me that he needed for me to know, with out a doubt, before I left, that the decision had been very difficult for him and that he cared for me very much. That he thought about me every day even though he couldn’t call. He delivered me to the golf course, I hugged him goodbye, flew back to Boston the next day and that was eleven years ago.
He ended up marrying her. She asked for a divorce a few years ago. Now he writes me out of the blue and our emails have that same veiled excitement that our conversations did all those years ago. The excitement that comes from wanting and finding yourself able to discuss anything and everything with a matched wit, imagination and intelligence. Then he tells me in his last email that he has a girlfriend out there that he got together with shortly after his divorce, who followed him from New Orleans to northern California. He intimates his unease at not feeling sure that she is the one he wants to marry and have children with. She wants this with him and he wonders if he is being unrealistic and selfish in holding out for that ‘mind bending’ love as he calls it. Oh man… My heart fell about three stories when I read this. He has a girlfriend. Pffffft. But then this is the shit I’ve been thinking about and writing about every day for years now, so you can only imagine the lengthy email I sent out in response.
I don’t want to be let down again. Nor do I want to be used like a sandbag on his scale so he can determine how much he loves this woman. But I also don’t want to let him slip away again if this is life yelling in my face. Maybe as we communicate more I’ll realize he’s a total dork, or he’s way into God, or he’s too straight laced for me. Or maybe I’ll just tell him to get some balls, take the reigns and come for a visit to New England.
But just as ephemeral as love can be, it can also suddenly sprout the most tenacious roots that declare permanence. It remains to be seen what will happen between J and his lover or what he wants from me. Just one more thing for me to add to the list of uncertainties that make up my present and future. This afternoon I will continue to immerse myself in the lives of my grandparents, whose future has already become their past, the last chapters already written. THERE is something I can hang my hat on-a future that I know awaits me with absolute certainty: a final chapter. Here’s to a damn good read until then!
-Dean P. Stiles to Marion E. Davison, April 1945
‘What I want to convey in this note is that my thoughts have been filled with you constantly since Sunday night and that the days have seemed dreadfully long, I’ve missed you so. Already tonight I miss you voice. Somehow the day doesn’t seem complete. I wonder where you are and what you are doing. Are you thinking of me? I love to spend my waking hours each day running over and over again the things we have done together, the things you have said to me and to recall every wonderful moment you have been in my arms. I do believe I remember every little detail. Yes, I even remember that the big toe on each of your feet is relatively shorter than the one next to it.’
-Dean P. Stiles to Marion E. Davison July 1944
‘Can you keep a secret? You can? Well, I love you, sweetheart, so much in fact that these words form with my every breath. May my love for you keep you warm and close to me. I’ll be with you soon.’
-Dean P. Stiles to Marion Davison July 1944
All these love letters and twenty something years worth of birthday, anniversary, Easter and Mothers Day cards, stored away in boxes all over the house. Love. It can be so ephemeral! It can build you up and break you down in a day. I found a card sent from my Grandfather Dean to my Nana after twenty something years of marriage that read on the front- “Can we get together on this?”. When you open it up there is a picture of a bed and it’s signed, your loving and hopeful hubby. He sent it from the post office in their town to the house they shared. Weird. And sad. And damn if history doesn’t repeat itself!! My husband hasn’t had a regular sex life in years. Poor guy… Anyway, the infamous story is that when my Grandfather left my Nana, he threw a book at her that he had bought full of new sexual positions he hoped they could try. My Nana was crippled with arthritis and probably depression and my Grandfather was sexually frustrated and unhappy with the way his life had turned out. Love in all its new beginnings is so Utopian but loves’ decline is anything but idyllic.
My husband told me last night that he’s been spending time with a woman he met. Not official dates, just getting together and talking. I didn’t feel a shock or jolt of pain. I felt calm and actually happy for him. Huh. I mean that says a lot right? But I also have some excitement going on here so maybe that’s why I’m so OK with it?
This guy that I fell head over heels in love with during a summer spent in Oregon eleven years ago, recently opened a FB account just to find me. I mean this guy……… I haven’t ever really gotten over the sense that I missed out on something big with him. Total unrequited love. He, (I’ll call him J), had a girlfriend when I met him but the draw we felt towards one another was so strong that he told his girlfriend he needed to spend time with me to figure out what was going on. She gave him her blessing and I’ll always admire her for that very strong and difficult decision. We only spent time alone on two occasions and kissed with sweet longing and immense restraint. We jumped into a freezing lake and collapsed laughing and shivering on our towels. We lay on our bellies, shoulders touching and talked for hours. On the drive home that day he reached silently across the car and ran his fingers down the entire length of my arm to my fingertips. I can still remember how my arm tingled and practically burned from his touch. Then she recanted and made him choose. He chose her and rightfully so. I was devastated and spent the last three weeks crying myself to sleep and slept with some dude who was just that- some dude. At the end of my last day of work at the resort lodge, I called the bellhop service for a ride to the golf course where the car I shared with friends was parked. Who should show up to get me but J. I walked to the back of the shuttle van, the only passenger in there and sat with arms crossed in the very back. He drove me in silence for most of the way and suddenly pulled off to the side of the road practically skidding to a halt. I can’t remember if he turned to face me or if he spoke to my reflection in the rear-view mirror but he told me that he needed for me to know, with out a doubt, before I left, that the decision had been very difficult for him and that he cared for me very much. That he thought about me every day even though he couldn’t call. He delivered me to the golf course, I hugged him goodbye, flew back to Boston the next day and that was eleven years ago.
He ended up marrying her. She asked for a divorce a few years ago. Now he writes me out of the blue and our emails have that same veiled excitement that our conversations did all those years ago. The excitement that comes from wanting and finding yourself able to discuss anything and everything with a matched wit, imagination and intelligence. Then he tells me in his last email that he has a girlfriend out there that he got together with shortly after his divorce, who followed him from New Orleans to northern California. He intimates his unease at not feeling sure that she is the one he wants to marry and have children with. She wants this with him and he wonders if he is being unrealistic and selfish in holding out for that ‘mind bending’ love as he calls it. Oh man… My heart fell about three stories when I read this. He has a girlfriend. Pffffft. But then this is the shit I’ve been thinking about and writing about every day for years now, so you can only imagine the lengthy email I sent out in response.
I don’t want to be let down again. Nor do I want to be used like a sandbag on his scale so he can determine how much he loves this woman. But I also don’t want to let him slip away again if this is life yelling in my face. Maybe as we communicate more I’ll realize he’s a total dork, or he’s way into God, or he’s too straight laced for me. Or maybe I’ll just tell him to get some balls, take the reigns and come for a visit to New England.
But just as ephemeral as love can be, it can also suddenly sprout the most tenacious roots that declare permanence. It remains to be seen what will happen between J and his lover or what he wants from me. Just one more thing for me to add to the list of uncertainties that make up my present and future. This afternoon I will continue to immerse myself in the lives of my grandparents, whose future has already become their past, the last chapters already written. THERE is something I can hang my hat on-a future that I know awaits me with absolute certainty: a final chapter. Here’s to a damn good read until then!
Friday, January 22, 2010
Guess I'm Doin' Fine
The kids and I have been on self imposed exile after being exposed to a nasty virus that sent my uncles wife to the hospital with dehydration. Today is day five and even though the sun is shining I'm feeling burnt out and low on patience. My husband has come around and now wants us back to the house for the month and a half before he deploys and even though this was what I originally wanted, now I feel like it's throwing me off kilter. As painful as these past weeks have been for he and I, the pain was essential to create boundaries and new relationship definitions. I am weary and wary in the knowledge that this stay together is going to throw us right back to point A. I'm anxious to put down roots and get a rhythm going with the kids, to organize play dates and reunite with my friends around here. Instead I am picking up yet again and leaving. Ultimately it is not about me though, it is about the kids being able to see their father before he deploys and one doesn't have to expound on the importance of that, one just puts their own feelings aside and makes it happen. It also give me needed time to pack up the house, get rid of shit and clean for the showings. If we are able to find good tenants then there is a chance we might get our deposit back which considering our financial situation right now, would greatly help us. I can't remember the last time I was so broke. It hasn't been without it's benefits though. Strangely, it has been freeing. No longer a slave to guilt inducing impulsive buys and the hollowness that followed those purchases, I am finding little pleasures in the money I am saving by not shopping at Hanafords or the co-op. I am trying to make crock pot meals stretch for the week and baking goodies instead of buying them. The flip side is that I can't afford a babysitter (now that I actually have one in the area) and I can't afford the gas money to drive to see the friends I have been missing so much. But I wake every morning in a lovely house that is a safe haven from the cold and I have the luxury of a laptop and pirated internet signal. I have French Roast and free range eggs in the morning and a park up the street where the kids and I can sled or ice skate. I have friends calling to offer their tireless support and love and little windfalls keep coming my way. Returning to the house one snowy night there was a package by the door with my name on it. A new friend had seen my face book post bemoaning the onset of a cold and had sent me a whole slew of get-well goodies from drugstore.com. I was totally blown away by this act of generosity. The items inside the box are only part of the gift, her reaching out and offering her support fortified me immensely. Yesterday while going through yet another box of stuff in my nana's home, I found a letter from a friend dated in 2007 that I had never received. Inside was a message of such love and support and affirmation that it seems like it was meant for today. I am thankful for these unexpected gifts. I am also thankful for marajuana and white wine. I am thankful for hot showers and snow down the back of my pants. I am thankful for the little peals of laughter from the living room. I am thankful for the picture I have propped up next to my computer, my nana's beautiful smile encouraging me to write every sentence. I am thankful for mysteries and for not feeling the need to solve every single one. I am thankful for walks on warm nights and the feel of silk on my naked skin. I am thankful for my mother's music and the freedom of dance. I am enraged by big business customer service, devoid of humanity. I am overwhelmed by Haiti and all the desperation, need and loss around the world. I am scared of never being successful. I am jealous of those I perceive as having it 'easy'. I am confused about love. I am disappointed in the size of my breasts and probably always will be. I'm annoyed by religious people knocking on my door (when I am greasy and disheveled), bringing a message out of the goodness of their hearts, of impending doom and damnation. Can't they see I'm having a hard enough time preparing myself for TODAY? Like the seasons and cycles I was born into, I am balanced by positive and negative, gain and loss, potential and collapse, generosity and materialism, optimism and despair. I am perfectly imperfect.
'Well, my road might be rocky,
The stones might cut my face.
My road it might be rocky,
The stones might cut my face.
But as some folks ain't got no road at all,
They gotta stand in the same old place.
Hey, hey, so I guess I'm doin' fine.'
-
Bob Dylan from 'Guess I'm Doin' Fine'
'Well, my road might be rocky,
The stones might cut my face.
My road it might be rocky,
The stones might cut my face.
But as some folks ain't got no road at all,
They gotta stand in the same old place.
Hey, hey, so I guess I'm doin' fine.'
-
Bob Dylan from 'Guess I'm Doin' Fine'
Monday, January 18, 2010
I too have a dream
On NPR this morning a Reverend Kyle noted that so often pioneers don’t live to walk the trails they blaze. Kyle was with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on the day he was shot. My mind skipped back to something Elizabeth Gilbert said on ‘The Exchange’ the other morning, about marriage and how in essence, we are all pioneers of modern marriage right now. She said that we really only have two generations of women to model ourselves after, who have married with equal rights and choices. And because of this marriage is still evolving and we are in the thick of it. I nodded my head in agreement over the sink of dishes I was tackling. This is partly what I touched on in one of my earlier blog posts: that the multitude of choices women have now can negatively affect our success in long term relationships. I just hadn’t thought about it the way she presented it, that we have so little in the way of role models, that we are the pioneers. It would make sense then that women can feel so lonely and isolated in their desires for an alternative kind of marriage or for freedom from their marriage simply to pursue some of these choices we now have. Choices that guide us closer to ourselves. In our great grandmothers day, it was bona fide scandal if a woman left her husband-especially if it was for another man. Depending on where she lived and who she was, she could lose her children, reputation and social standing for choosing selfhood or passion over wedlock. Wedlock. What a terrible word. Implying that there is a lock holding two together, also implies that there must be a key. Who is the holder of the key? I wonder if I will ever get to pioneer by example before I die. Will I ever test or achieve the relationship I envision? Will I see in my lifetime the necessary major shift of consciousness surrounding marriage? I wholeheartedly support wanting and having a till death do us part relationship. I think cohesive, successful ones greatly benefit society. Our society’s inability to adapt it’s thinking and teaching of marriage will only allow for its continued decline. History has taught us so many times it’s hardly necessary to point it out again, that failure to adapt results in extinction. So why don’t we start with early education. Teach children that a ‘normal’ marriage might consist of two people keeping separate bedrooms. Not for a lack of intimacy between them, but in the interest of achieving intimacy with themselves, to satisfy a need for personal space, to provide a retreat, a place for expression through the chosen color of paint, textiles, artwork etc. A ‘normal’ marriage may work best when the couple sees each other one or two weeks out of a month. A ‘normal’ marriage may facilitate sabbaticals so to speak. I would like children to learn that monogamy and marriage are not about owning another person literally or figuratively, that it is about supporting and helping your loved one live a fulfilling life that is guided by an internal compass and expecting the same in return. I would like to steer love and ego in separate directions- like state and church they shouldn’t be mixed.
I have the basic outline for what I consider to be the New Marriage but I still need to meditate on the fillers. For example, teaching myself how to be productive and self reliant when my lover is off on sabbatical or, back it up, when I am newly dating and waiting around for that phone call, that assurance I am so used to seeking. I realize this is all big talk from some one petrified of even dating! One of these days it will be time to step down from my soapbox and conduct some trial runs and I imagine I will fail more than once. The early American settlers lost many lives to the winters of this strange new land and we all know what atrocities the survivors went on to commit. I pray my own errors will not wipe out any chance my children have of achieving healthy love. If I do not ever get to walk the trail I am helping to blaze, I hope that my children can, that at the very least the path if not paved, will be well trodden.
I have the basic outline for what I consider to be the New Marriage but I still need to meditate on the fillers. For example, teaching myself how to be productive and self reliant when my lover is off on sabbatical or, back it up, when I am newly dating and waiting around for that phone call, that assurance I am so used to seeking. I realize this is all big talk from some one petrified of even dating! One of these days it will be time to step down from my soapbox and conduct some trial runs and I imagine I will fail more than once. The early American settlers lost many lives to the winters of this strange new land and we all know what atrocities the survivors went on to commit. I pray my own errors will not wipe out any chance my children have of achieving healthy love. If I do not ever get to walk the trail I am helping to blaze, I hope that my children can, that at the very least the path if not paved, will be well trodden.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Marie Curie ain't got nothin' on me
There are times when I wouldn’t want to hire myself to babysit my own children. I can get almost a perverse, teenage pleasure from mimicking their high whiney voices until they break down in tears. A couple times I’ve pushed to get an emotional response from my son when he didn’t cry about something truly sad or upsetting. I think I was honestly worried that he might be unable to have a sad emotional release. Mothers are underpaid under-recognized and let’s face it- sometimes unqualified, anthropologists. We are scientists shoved into the field armed only with our limited life experiences and what we consider right and wrong as a result of those experiences. We are alchemists pulling elements off the shelves adding a dash of discipline, a cup of love, with a blueprint hanging on the wall reminding us of the anticipated, magnificent end result. The culmination of our blood, sweat, tears, love, heartache, mistakes and well meaning. How often we have to remind ourselves that the original essence we’ve been amalgamating, in many ways identical to our own, is also many parts it’s own unique substance entirely alien to us. One wrong ingredient could fuck the whole thing up! Sounds like a dream job doesn’t it. To be quite honest there are days when I don’t want the damn job. Get. Me. Out. Of. Here. Just let me fly free for a few days, a week, a month. Just lighten my load so I can think for a while. What I wouldn’t give sometimes to be my old girl self, before the preoccupation with boys turned me into a sullen, depressed, pimply pain in the ass. To be the confident, curious, energetic girl who spent all day in the woods amusing herself. To sit by the side of a secret stream, on a moss covered rock, hugging my knees, inhaling the scent of their sun-warmed skin.
I sat with that too long and now I’m crying… Grief is a funny thing. It runs on it’s own schedule. You thought the last train came five years ago and suddenly you have to dive off the tracks to avoid that roaring, steel, harbinger of memory and you’re left to nurse the resulting cuts and scrapes. I’ve always been overly nostalgic and I do grieve for that childhood never to return. I grieve that I only travel farther and farther from ‘her’ and closer and closer to frailty and infirmity. I could really use some more celebration in my life. I could use some belly laughs, some wicked mirth, some gentle words, a long hug, some sister love. Right now I’m broke as a joke and the phone brings me my friends. Once I have a little gas money though I am going to buckle the kids in and aim my wheels towards the nearest warm kitchen. Keep a light on ladies.
It sounds like the kids movie has ended, time to drag myself back to the lab. Maybe I should focus more on my own concoction today. Let’s see: a cup of patience, a gallon of optimism to balance the brooding, a dash of contentment to cure the malaise and enough wisdom and perseverance to keep the whole thing from fermenting. Let’s hope it doesn’t blow up in my face.
I sat with that too long and now I’m crying… Grief is a funny thing. It runs on it’s own schedule. You thought the last train came five years ago and suddenly you have to dive off the tracks to avoid that roaring, steel, harbinger of memory and you’re left to nurse the resulting cuts and scrapes. I’ve always been overly nostalgic and I do grieve for that childhood never to return. I grieve that I only travel farther and farther from ‘her’ and closer and closer to frailty and infirmity. I could really use some more celebration in my life. I could use some belly laughs, some wicked mirth, some gentle words, a long hug, some sister love. Right now I’m broke as a joke and the phone brings me my friends. Once I have a little gas money though I am going to buckle the kids in and aim my wheels towards the nearest warm kitchen. Keep a light on ladies.
It sounds like the kids movie has ended, time to drag myself back to the lab. Maybe I should focus more on my own concoction today. Let’s see: a cup of patience, a gallon of optimism to balance the brooding, a dash of contentment to cure the malaise and enough wisdom and perseverance to keep the whole thing from fermenting. Let’s hope it doesn’t blow up in my face.
Monday, January 11, 2010
I know why the caged bird is thirsty
Some days I sit and wonder how I’m going to get anything done. How will I ever get the kids to the park when I can’t get myself dressed? The task of getting them dressed, finding socks, putting on snow pants, jackets, boots, mittens and hats seems too monumental and I can’t get off the edge of my bed or out of my bathrobe. The weight of lost dreams, an unknown future and unclear present, settles around me like cement and if I don’t drag my arms and legs through the motions it will harden and I will sit forever. The kids will have to go to the neighbors for help. Maybe my son will remember how to dial 911. When the ambulance comes I will sit, unable to move my mouth, my eyes pleading for them to recognize my cemented condition. Once the fantasy gets this far I’m distracted enough by the absurdity to grab for my pants and the battle’s already half won.
Outside and bundled, we troupe to the park and I am shocked anew by the stinging cold that greets my cheeks and lungs. I let them slide across the ice of the duck pond as long as I can stand it and when my toes start to go numb we head for what we now call home. I spend hours re-arranging two of the bedrooms, trying to transform them into comforting, uncluttered, welcoming spaces. This is what I can offer them right now. I drag a slightly mildewed mattress up from the basement for myself and set up a little desk in a corner with plants to my left and a window to my right. This is where I have taken to having my coffee in the morning, listening to NPR, and it doesn’t eradicate the sadness or loneliness, but it helps. It’s where I’m writing from now, yelling at the kids when they squawk too loudly in their play. Then they sneak in on tip-toes to whisper in my ear that they love me and offer me their small, wet lips that only a parent can enjoy kissing without worrying if that’s spit or boogers. I can tell today it is going to be nearly impossible to be present and thankful. Today I’m going to wait for the phone to ring and my heart will flutter around in my chest, an impatient, anxious tenant and my patience will wear thin before noon. Today my heart will weigh heavy as the cement that threatens to pinion me to the bed. But it’s all really controlled by perspective and I can’t help but think of those old adages of glass half full or half empty and making lemonade from lemons. As I clear off the window seat to neatly place some books, toys and a pillow for the kids, as I tape bright, colorful cards of various winter birds on the wall to cheerfully greet them when they awake so far from their familiar room, and papa and beloved kitties; I am squeezing those lemons and mixing in what sugar I can procure to distract them from the sourness of life. I fill their glasses first and sometimes there is enough to fill mine and sometimes, like today, it’s half empty.
Outside and bundled, we troupe to the park and I am shocked anew by the stinging cold that greets my cheeks and lungs. I let them slide across the ice of the duck pond as long as I can stand it and when my toes start to go numb we head for what we now call home. I spend hours re-arranging two of the bedrooms, trying to transform them into comforting, uncluttered, welcoming spaces. This is what I can offer them right now. I drag a slightly mildewed mattress up from the basement for myself and set up a little desk in a corner with plants to my left and a window to my right. This is where I have taken to having my coffee in the morning, listening to NPR, and it doesn’t eradicate the sadness or loneliness, but it helps. It’s where I’m writing from now, yelling at the kids when they squawk too loudly in their play. Then they sneak in on tip-toes to whisper in my ear that they love me and offer me their small, wet lips that only a parent can enjoy kissing without worrying if that’s spit or boogers. I can tell today it is going to be nearly impossible to be present and thankful. Today I’m going to wait for the phone to ring and my heart will flutter around in my chest, an impatient, anxious tenant and my patience will wear thin before noon. Today my heart will weigh heavy as the cement that threatens to pinion me to the bed. But it’s all really controlled by perspective and I can’t help but think of those old adages of glass half full or half empty and making lemonade from lemons. As I clear off the window seat to neatly place some books, toys and a pillow for the kids, as I tape bright, colorful cards of various winter birds on the wall to cheerfully greet them when they awake so far from their familiar room, and papa and beloved kitties; I am squeezing those lemons and mixing in what sugar I can procure to distract them from the sourness of life. I fill their glasses first and sometimes there is enough to fill mine and sometimes, like today, it’s half empty.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Bon Voyage
The dance has ended. The last awkward and unbalanced steps were painfully performed for both of our families during the holidays and then he went home to work while the kids and I stayed on in New Hampshire with the intention of returning a week or two later. Now he asks that we not return, that he be allowed to prepare for his deployment without the misery that my presence causes him. He is angry and launches a verbal attack on my character, on my failings, on everything I have given this family during the six years of our marriage. He rejects the notion that I love him and predicts that I will take him for all he’s worth in court. I sit on the other end of the phone hearing the pain and anger in his voice, my insides churning, my heart in anguish for him, for me, for the children. I am able somehow, in the midst of this unloving barrage, to feel a calm understanding of what he is doing and why he needs to do it. He needs to free himself of me in order to heal. He needs to be angry so that he will not be made vulnerable by his love for me. He needs to believe that I have used him to keep a roof over my head, that I plan to rake him over the coals in divorce court, that I have single handedly ruined the family that he is supposed to have. He is hardening himself against me.
There is only one small blessing that will come from his six month deployment to Afghanistan: that I will not be able to torture him by succumbing to my sadness and loneliness, that I will not be able to call him with the selfish need to tell him I love him, I miss him, his smell, his hug, his companionship. There is one great fear that haunts me: that he will die in Afghanistan.
A friend just gave birth to her second child in the thresh hold between her living room and kitchen. Not exactly where she had planned, but it was time RIGHT THEN and everyone adapted to what was inevitable. Holding her four day old son in my arms and listening to her birthing story, I was transported back to my own labors and those sensations normally kept under lock and key by biological necessity, come back in small increments. I realize that where we have been in our marriage is akin to the crowning during birth. The head needs to come past the pubic bone, the pelvis needs to expand the last little bit, the skin of the perineum needs to stretch a little more and it feels like none of these things is possible. The pain, aptly called the ring of fire, is unbelievable and the fear that you might split in two is very real. I remember being terrified of pushing, of increasing that pain, but I knew I had to do it for there to be progress. Those pushes that moved my babies heads down and into the world required the most strength and trust I have ever had to summon.
I told the kids this morning that we will not be going back to North Carolina, that their papa is leaving on another long work trip, that he loves them very much, that we both love them very much. I told them papa and I are having a hard time being married. My daughter who’s emotions are readily available at the drop of a hat, cried. My son said the same thing he did when I told him his great nana had passed: “ That’s not sad for me!”
I left the room to stir the oatmeal and when I came back he was standing alone with his finger in his belly button. I drew him to me and he began to cry. We all cried a little together and then went on with our morning. This is what it will be like for us, I thought. Later we called their father and they expressed their sadness. Then my daughter said, “I don’t remember what your face looks like.” My insides crumpled for him. It’s only been five days since she’s seen him, of course she remembers him, but I know this statement has played on one of his worst fears and I imagine him being in our big house alone contemplating all that he has lost and there isn’t a damn thing I can do. I haven’t been able to make him feel better in years so really this isn’t a new handicap yet it continues to cause me heartache and seems alien to the essence of my being as a woman. I suppose that in time this particular pain will ease for both of us, that eventually some other woman will open her arms to him, nurture and love him as he deserves. I am less sure that I will be able to love and give like that again. I feel broken down and undesirable. I could find ten guys, in one night out, who would want to take me home. Who might fancy themselves fortunate to call me a girlfriend, but when they find out who I really am, how my mind works, what my requirements are, how fiercely I value my autonomy, how my energy will mainly flow to my children, how I am hurting for an obsolete marriage, then they will count themselves lucky to slip out in the morning without leaving so much as a phone number.
Ah, but that feeling is thankfully not constant and I can catch glimpses of this confident, beautiful, powerful, bright woman with bold ideas and a wonderfully open mind and heart who has just set out on a terrifically exciting journey.
Pack your bags folks. Here we go.
There is only one small blessing that will come from his six month deployment to Afghanistan: that I will not be able to torture him by succumbing to my sadness and loneliness, that I will not be able to call him with the selfish need to tell him I love him, I miss him, his smell, his hug, his companionship. There is one great fear that haunts me: that he will die in Afghanistan.
A friend just gave birth to her second child in the thresh hold between her living room and kitchen. Not exactly where she had planned, but it was time RIGHT THEN and everyone adapted to what was inevitable. Holding her four day old son in my arms and listening to her birthing story, I was transported back to my own labors and those sensations normally kept under lock and key by biological necessity, come back in small increments. I realize that where we have been in our marriage is akin to the crowning during birth. The head needs to come past the pubic bone, the pelvis needs to expand the last little bit, the skin of the perineum needs to stretch a little more and it feels like none of these things is possible. The pain, aptly called the ring of fire, is unbelievable and the fear that you might split in two is very real. I remember being terrified of pushing, of increasing that pain, but I knew I had to do it for there to be progress. Those pushes that moved my babies heads down and into the world required the most strength and trust I have ever had to summon.
I told the kids this morning that we will not be going back to North Carolina, that their papa is leaving on another long work trip, that he loves them very much, that we both love them very much. I told them papa and I are having a hard time being married. My daughter who’s emotions are readily available at the drop of a hat, cried. My son said the same thing he did when I told him his great nana had passed: “ That’s not sad for me!”
I left the room to stir the oatmeal and when I came back he was standing alone with his finger in his belly button. I drew him to me and he began to cry. We all cried a little together and then went on with our morning. This is what it will be like for us, I thought. Later we called their father and they expressed their sadness. Then my daughter said, “I don’t remember what your face looks like.” My insides crumpled for him. It’s only been five days since she’s seen him, of course she remembers him, but I know this statement has played on one of his worst fears and I imagine him being in our big house alone contemplating all that he has lost and there isn’t a damn thing I can do. I haven’t been able to make him feel better in years so really this isn’t a new handicap yet it continues to cause me heartache and seems alien to the essence of my being as a woman. I suppose that in time this particular pain will ease for both of us, that eventually some other woman will open her arms to him, nurture and love him as he deserves. I am less sure that I will be able to love and give like that again. I feel broken down and undesirable. I could find ten guys, in one night out, who would want to take me home. Who might fancy themselves fortunate to call me a girlfriend, but when they find out who I really am, how my mind works, what my requirements are, how fiercely I value my autonomy, how my energy will mainly flow to my children, how I am hurting for an obsolete marriage, then they will count themselves lucky to slip out in the morning without leaving so much as a phone number.
Ah, but that feeling is thankfully not constant and I can catch glimpses of this confident, beautiful, powerful, bright woman with bold ideas and a wonderfully open mind and heart who has just set out on a terrifically exciting journey.
Pack your bags folks. Here we go.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Feeling low but reaching high
When it comes to relationships I don't like gray areas. I like it to be black or white- saves me a lot of angst. It's been one of the nicest things about marriage, not having to waste my time and energy trying to figure out some guy. I have never been good at the 'dating game'. I wear my wants, needs, feelings and expectations on my sleeve and it usually turns the guy off. I have a hunch that dating men in my generation might be easier now, that they just might be ready for a woman like me and a lot of them are fathers themselves with needs and expectations that more closely match mine. Or perhaps I'm being totally idealistic which is another reason I sucked at dating. Why so much thought on the subject? My husband and I have decided to separate and will be doing so about two months after our five year anniversary. We have not been able to reach a compromise on having an open marriage, namely I am not able to promise him complete fidelity and he can not offer me the freedom I desire. We came to the decision peaceably enough with no yelling or screaming but not without heavy hearts and lots of tears on my part. We've been going regularly to a marriage counselor that the Military provides and this one is actually really good. We tried with one guy who flicked his tongue like a reptile which was too disconcerting and then we tried with a chaplain right before my husband deployed who was very nice and didn't bring religion into the sessions thankfully but I was uncomfortable discussing my unorthodox relationship desires with him. So this new guy is very good at what he does and we have made a fair amount of progress in our communicating. Since we started seeing him the focus has changed from saving the marriage to navigating separation and divorce and I am very thankful we will have help during this time. Our sessions have brought to light many key and core differences and have helped me to realize that the marriage isn't necessarily ending because of the open marriage disagreement. I now see that I want and need a partner who is willing and capable of expanding their mind around a different relationship concept. That the world has changed and as a result people do business differently, dress differently, priorities have changed, religion is adapting and people relate differently. I want a partner who can love, cherish and honor me and who is not threatened by the idea of me exploring a connection with some one else. I desire a partner who is not wholly ruled by their ego, who can identify when fear is fueled by jealousy and ego and can work through and beyond it, who can help me work through and beyond mine. I want to grow and expand with someone in the ways that I live and love. Long before we had children and long before I was aware of this yearning in myself I would have thought my husband eager to explore this new way of loving but I have learned that he is comfortable in the traditional ways of love and as much as I wish it could be different I have to accept that it is OK. He is not backwards or ignorant, he is who he is and I am who I am and as much as we love one another we can no longer fulfill each others needs. He said in one of our last sessions that I see myself as a big fish in a big pond and he sees himself as a small fish in a small pond and the concept and realization exploded in my head. I have much broader visions of my future and he is content with much less and should we stay together he would always resist my greater needs and feel threatened by them. I can't shrink myself to fit into his dream and he should not compromise his happiness to fulfill mine either.
And yet there will be a few times each day that I am ready to compromise myself, ready to stifle my longings. I start to believe when he says that I am making a big mistake and will always regret this- that I will always be unhappy because I can't be happy with what I have. I just want to stay together, to avoid all of this hurt, to keep the children from the inevitable pain. After all we do love each other immensely. But then I call a good friend and she reminds me that I am an amazing woman with so much to offer and that if my closest friends thought I was making a mistake they would have hopped on a plane by now to come shake some sense into me. As much as they all love my husband they are all rooting for the separation. They have heard my unhappiness for the past five years and they have faith that there is a better match for me out there and once I know that kind of love I will be shocked that I lived so long with out it. I want that for my husband too. These days he is sleeping downstairs and we are trying to establish some healthy ground rules, boundaries. He suggests that we not have sex any more so that we can focus on our friendship which is the most important thing since it has to live on after the marriage. We make love that same night. We manage to stay some what aloof for a few days then we get a christmas tree and decorate it with the kids and we go for a walk in the snow by the quiet river. We need each other. We need to be held. We want to feel close because neither of us can stand for long the thought of being apart. After making love there is a heaviness that is almost worse than the heaviness that preceded the act.
I grieve a lot. I have amazing friends who help me through this but there is a six hour time difference between us so there is a lot of quiet and lately I have been filling it with nonsense. Dumb TV shows and trashy magazines. I am trying to escape into other realities which is ultimately very unhealthy for me. This stuff is like a gate way drug for me because then I start drinking wine every night and can't go to the gym in the morning because I'm too dehydrated and then I start sugar bingeing... It's a bad cycle lemme tell ya. I have one girlfriend who although is not married and doesn't have children ,is going through a very similar thing. We have been amazed at how parallel our experiences have been and grateful that there is some one else out there who can relate. She is working up the courage to make the break with her lover and asked me to write her a letter of encouragement that she can refer too when feeling weak and low. It ended up being more for the both of us:
I've been feeling so low. So this is for us. I need to hold on to this as much as you. We have a whole wonderful, beautiful life ahead of us. We have good loving and true love- maybe even loves ahead of us. This difficult, lonely, heartbreaking time is but the blink of an eye in a long, long life. Both of our lovers were instrumental in helping to form us into the women we are today but our relationships with them do not define us, nor the ending of these relationships... It's what we have in our hearts and minds that defines us, our dreams we are working hard to reach, the immense amount of love and support we get and give defines us because WE have drawn that into our lives. One of the hardest facts is that we are all alone, when we're happy, when we're sad whether married, single or swingin', we're all alone. So it's of the utmost importance that we listen to ourselves and guide ourselves and trust ourselves. It's important that we forgive ourselves when we fail at any of the above. Some nights we will feel so lonely, our beds will be so empty that we will hug ourselves to feel warmth, pull the pillows to our backs to feel some one there. I've lived through that and can do it again. We will also feel the sun on our faces, the smooth pull of water over our bodies, the strength of our legs on a mountain trail, the hug of a dear friend, the kiss of a new lover and the electricity that follows and spreads over our whole being. We'll smell the damp earth pregnant with life and death, warm pine needles, salty air, freshly baking bread, babies sweet breath. Man- there is so much to be joyful for and we need to hold onto these truths because we both have important work immediately at hand and shit is going to be difficult for a while. I have two little children to protect from the pain of this separation, you have no choice but to keep yourself immersed in your studies because you are going to be a DOCTOR!! You are going to change peoples lives! So it's not just for ourselves we will plug on through this- it's for my son and daughter and those countless people who will feel your healing hands.
And yet there will be a few times each day that I am ready to compromise myself, ready to stifle my longings. I start to believe when he says that I am making a big mistake and will always regret this- that I will always be unhappy because I can't be happy with what I have. I just want to stay together, to avoid all of this hurt, to keep the children from the inevitable pain. After all we do love each other immensely. But then I call a good friend and she reminds me that I am an amazing woman with so much to offer and that if my closest friends thought I was making a mistake they would have hopped on a plane by now to come shake some sense into me. As much as they all love my husband they are all rooting for the separation. They have heard my unhappiness for the past five years and they have faith that there is a better match for me out there and once I know that kind of love I will be shocked that I lived so long with out it. I want that for my husband too. These days he is sleeping downstairs and we are trying to establish some healthy ground rules, boundaries. He suggests that we not have sex any more so that we can focus on our friendship which is the most important thing since it has to live on after the marriage. We make love that same night. We manage to stay some what aloof for a few days then we get a christmas tree and decorate it with the kids and we go for a walk in the snow by the quiet river. We need each other. We need to be held. We want to feel close because neither of us can stand for long the thought of being apart. After making love there is a heaviness that is almost worse than the heaviness that preceded the act.
I grieve a lot. I have amazing friends who help me through this but there is a six hour time difference between us so there is a lot of quiet and lately I have been filling it with nonsense. Dumb TV shows and trashy magazines. I am trying to escape into other realities which is ultimately very unhealthy for me. This stuff is like a gate way drug for me because then I start drinking wine every night and can't go to the gym in the morning because I'm too dehydrated and then I start sugar bingeing... It's a bad cycle lemme tell ya. I have one girlfriend who although is not married and doesn't have children ,is going through a very similar thing. We have been amazed at how parallel our experiences have been and grateful that there is some one else out there who can relate. She is working up the courage to make the break with her lover and asked me to write her a letter of encouragement that she can refer too when feeling weak and low. It ended up being more for the both of us:
I've been feeling so low. So this is for us. I need to hold on to this as much as you. We have a whole wonderful, beautiful life ahead of us. We have good loving and true love- maybe even loves ahead of us. This difficult, lonely, heartbreaking time is but the blink of an eye in a long, long life. Both of our lovers were instrumental in helping to form us into the women we are today but our relationships with them do not define us, nor the ending of these relationships... It's what we have in our hearts and minds that defines us, our dreams we are working hard to reach, the immense amount of love and support we get and give defines us because WE have drawn that into our lives. One of the hardest facts is that we are all alone, when we're happy, when we're sad whether married, single or swingin', we're all alone. So it's of the utmost importance that we listen to ourselves and guide ourselves and trust ourselves. It's important that we forgive ourselves when we fail at any of the above. Some nights we will feel so lonely, our beds will be so empty that we will hug ourselves to feel warmth, pull the pillows to our backs to feel some one there. I've lived through that and can do it again. We will also feel the sun on our faces, the smooth pull of water over our bodies, the strength of our legs on a mountain trail, the hug of a dear friend, the kiss of a new lover and the electricity that follows and spreads over our whole being. We'll smell the damp earth pregnant with life and death, warm pine needles, salty air, freshly baking bread, babies sweet breath. Man- there is so much to be joyful for and we need to hold onto these truths because we both have important work immediately at hand and shit is going to be difficult for a while. I have two little children to protect from the pain of this separation, you have no choice but to keep yourself immersed in your studies because you are going to be a DOCTOR!! You are going to change peoples lives! So it's not just for ourselves we will plug on through this- it's for my son and daughter and those countless people who will feel your healing hands.
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