Thirteen Years in a Blink
Early this morning I returned to the house my husband and I have shared for the last 13 years, to see Angel Baby off to school. While I have been staying overnight at the new place, Angel Baby has been staying where he has been for most of his life. This has been the best arrangement for him, a bit of a buffer for the disruption happening all around us. I try to talk with him every day, checking in to be sure he is moving forward, feeling calm and okay with what is happening. He always says he is, but I can tell when he is feeling overwhelmed. He told me recently that he has been confiding in two close friends. I told him I'm so happy to hear this as we all need that someone we feel comfortable discussing difficult matters with. He seemed relieved to see I am perfectly okay with him not confiding in me. And I truly am.
Now he is gone and so is my husband. I am alone in this house. I go to the bedroom I've been sleeping in for 13 years. My side of the bed is still made up. My husband's side of the bed is disheveled, the comforter and sheet tossed back, the pillows thrown haphazardly on top.
In the bathroom, my brush, comb, lotion, soap, shampoo are all gone. The only tell-tale sign I was ever there is the feet care kit I bought recently to show my feet some love. I pull it off the shelf, and as I turn to take it and put it in the bag of items to go to the other house, a strange sensation flits through me. As if all 13 years pass behind my eyelids when I blink. There then gone. I hesitate with the blink. Stay? Go?
I have to go. I know this. Yet each day a moment happens when I feel off balance, as if going isn't the answer.
Since I made the decision to leave, my husband has worked for either a temp service or doing handy-man jobs which are in answer to an ad he created and posted online. He's actually had quite a bit of work just from that ad. If I hadn't taken the step I did, he might not be taking the initiative to find work. He'd still be sitting on the couch, watching his 60 inch TV from morning til night.
I dreamed last night that I met a man. While he didn't look like my husband, his behavior was very similar. Everything was a joke. He asked me out on a date. I looked at him and said no thank you. I then turned and walked away, feeling so strong at having not given in.
Many days I don't feel strong at all. I know I can be, though. I have to be if I'm going to make my dreams happen.
Now he is gone and so is my husband. I am alone in this house. I go to the bedroom I've been sleeping in for 13 years. My side of the bed is still made up. My husband's side of the bed is disheveled, the comforter and sheet tossed back, the pillows thrown haphazardly on top.
In the bathroom, my brush, comb, lotion, soap, shampoo are all gone. The only tell-tale sign I was ever there is the feet care kit I bought recently to show my feet some love. I pull it off the shelf, and as I turn to take it and put it in the bag of items to go to the other house, a strange sensation flits through me. As if all 13 years pass behind my eyelids when I blink. There then gone. I hesitate with the blink. Stay? Go?
I have to go. I know this. Yet each day a moment happens when I feel off balance, as if going isn't the answer.
Since I made the decision to leave, my husband has worked for either a temp service or doing handy-man jobs which are in answer to an ad he created and posted online. He's actually had quite a bit of work just from that ad. If I hadn't taken the step I did, he might not be taking the initiative to find work. He'd still be sitting on the couch, watching his 60 inch TV from morning til night.
I dreamed last night that I met a man. While he didn't look like my husband, his behavior was very similar. Everything was a joke. He asked me out on a date. I looked at him and said no thank you. I then turned and walked away, feeling so strong at having not given in.
Many days I don't feel strong at all. I know I can be, though. I have to be if I'm going to make my dreams happen.
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