Sometimes when you run away from your troubles (a/k/a your cheating husband) you end up in an even hotter corner of hell. But sometimes you end up in heaven and find a little bit of joy in the midst of chaos. Wish I could stay here forever.
Sometimes when you run away from your troubles (a/k/a your cheating husband) you end up in an even hotter corner of hell. But sometimes you end up in heaven and find a little bit of joy in the midst of chaos. Wish I could stay here forever.
“Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.”
Shame on me. Shame, shame, shame.
We are just about ready to close on our new house. We are packing boxes for the move. B is acting like the man I used to know…loving, taking my hand, looking into my eyes, telling me he loves me numerous times a day. I feel like a school girl again. Life is good. Until Tuesday.
At 7 am B walks downstairs and tells me he has not been feeling good since Friday. He needs to go to the doctor. Oh, and he feels guilty that I went for HIV test after finding out about his three year affair with our tour guide in Vietnam and he will get tested just in case. Oh and he has something on his dick.
He returns home.
“So did the doctor look at your dick?”
“NO, I didn’t show it to him, He just ordered panels.”
“Okay, that makes no sense. Why would you go and worry you have something but not show it to him?”
Let me look. I see nothing. My antenna are now a mile high in the sky. Well, actually they were when he told me he was going to the doctor in the weird way he did so. That is just not like him.
On Wednesday morning he has had night sweats for three days and is up at 2 am. He is frantic. He tells me he is feeling really ill and has been sick for days and lost 6 pounds yesterday. He needs to go to the ER now. The man is out of his mind kind of frantic. Crazy nuts kind of frantic. Weird. As he is about to leave he grabs my hand and says:
“I think I caught something. While you took our son to a specialist on Friday (he fractured a bone Thursday) I went to a massage parlor and had unprotected sex. I swear I have never done anything like that before. That is why I have been avoiding you sexually. I think I caught something and don’t want to give it to you.” (He is still waiting for those Brownie points!)
“Wow,” I say. “If you wanted a divorce all you had to do was ask.”
And off he goes.
That morning I hired an attorney. I am filing for divorce. I also asked the court to step in and oversee a large sum of money that is coming our way the last day of the month. I have to protect our family and make sure that he won’t get the money and skip town to Vietnam with all of it, leaving me unable to care for our kids. Do I think he would do that? NO. Am I sure? NO. I don’t know anything anymore. I can’t believe anything anymore. I have been living an illusion for these past many years. I also wonder if he is suffering from mental illness that runs in his family.
He, of course, is down on one knee begging for forgiveness. Trying to get me to move with him while he “works on himself.” He is currently at a Catholic church praying for God to help him. He keeps sending me articles like “Five Reasons Christians Fail to Overcome Lust.” (Maybe the problem is you are not a Christian or you are trying to act like something you are not?)
Meanwhile, I flew to New York yesterday to clear my head and be with my son. I am trying to practice compassion for myself, love myself and just be kind to myself. I have had three years of chaos and I just want the freedom to grieve, take it easy and let someone take care of me for a change.
Our children who live at home are unaware of what is going on at this point. I am:
and wondering how I will ever be able to trust again.
I am trying not to be angry or bitter as It will only hurt me in the end. BUT…
my dreams have been thrown down the rabbit hole again but this time there is no soft landing. I am bruised and broken but somehow I will survive.
So about a month and 1/2 ago I told B that I could not move with him or our children if he was still in love with HER. I told him I was tired of his ever-so-quiet pining for her and that I was done and leaving if that was the way it was going to be. I was tired of being silently compared and tired of
AND FOR HEAVEN SAKES NEVER SAY AGAIN THAT SHE WAS A GOOD WOMAN like he said when the affair was discovered. As I told him, “Good women don’t try to take another woman’s husband. Period. A good woman doesn’t try to remove a man from a family of children whose special needs are significant. A good woman doesn’t take $20,000 from a man who has a family.”
A good woman? Well, I could go on and on about what a good woman is and isn’t.
And so my words were like a slap. I told him that I thought he should go to Vietnam and see what in the hell he wanted. I also said I would most likely not be here when he returned.
“I don’t want to go.”
“I bought you a ticket. You leave on Friday.”
“I love you. Not her.”
Later that day, we took all this to the therapist who told B that this fantasy he has lived was only that…just a fantasy and that he was going to lose the things he loved most…me and his children if he continued to put HER on a pedestal and ignore the goodness that was right in front of him. I think it shook him to the core.
That evening, he cried and apologized for all the pain that he has caused. He admitted that he was being stubborn and wrong and that he loved me, not her, to which I said well you had better start showing it…and he has. It is like the blinders are off and he is seeing me for me and not who he needed to see me as so he could conduct his affair. For the past 6 weeks we have been so much closer and he acts like I am his one and only, is being honest in all those little ways that count, and is stepping up to the plate to really work on himself and our marriage.
Last week I decided that I would move with him. I am happy with this decision. I was deeply in love with this man for almost 30 years until his affair started three years ago and he changed into someone unrecognizable. I am not going into this blind. I know that there is still a lot of work to do. I know that moving away does not solve all your problems. I know that moving with children is a major stressor and that our lives might implode. I am aware of all of this and yet, I have made the decision to go with him because I do still love him. Always have. Always will. But most of all, I love myself again. And…I also know this:
“Fool me once, shame on YOU. Fool me twice shame on me.”
B’s affair was horrid. Awful and he destroyed a part of myself that still needs for me to build it back up into something so strong it can never be leveled again…YES, ME…because I allowed myself to let go of who I was in an attempt to please him. My therapist believes I will never do that again. I believe so too.
So, while the affair and its aftermath has been the most painful thing I have ever experienced I am looking at it in this way…it was the first and only affair he has had in over 30 +years. He deserves another chance. As I do. As does our marriage and our children. And so we are giving that chance to each other and our family.
Will he contact her again or have another affair? I truly believe not because of all the devastation that his affair has left behind. He lost just about everything because of it including his health. And if it ever happens again I will take action immediately and leave. My therapist believes this to be true because I have found myself again and plan on never letting go of who I am in an attempt to please him. Another affair will not be tolerated. Period.
So…he goes. I am jumping off the deep end but this time I am holding his hand as I do it. If he let’s go, I will survive, but if we continue to keep our fingers intertwined I think we will have something to hold on to for the next 30 years.
At night I hear
Your ragged breath
And wonder if…
It was soft and peaceful
I wonder if…
You touched her
In that soft and gentle way
That you used to stroke me
When we made love
I wonder if…
Her lips tasted sweeter
Her moans were
She reached for you
With a desperate ferocity
That I once had for you
I wonder if…
Her “LOVE” for you
On ALL the money
That you sent to her
Or if it was true
That she loved
That middle-aged man
That I once thought
I would grow old with
But now am not so sure
I wonder if…
You should go
With Our Children
Introduce them to their
And see just what she is made of
See if she still dresses
As if on a red carpet
When the only thing admiring
Are teens with worn out
And autism controlling
Every aspect of her life
I wonder if…
She would still greet you
A woman with no cares
Pleasing you sexually
As you lay back
Watching as she went down on you
Expecting nothing but your
Total devotion to her family
And your money in return
Or would she turn into me
Right before your eyes?
Old and overweight
Using a “STRONG” voice
And having expectations
Of things besides
A big dick
And gifts and your time for everyone
I wonder if…
Your dream of the perfect
Submissive youthful woman
Would suddenly be
Popped like a giant balloon
Air bursting out
Like flab over her bikini
She would stay
Calm, peaceful and serene
Peppy and pleasing
On this merry-go-round
That we call our lives
You remind me that when you first asked for the “maybe divorce” I asked for a year to try and make our marriage better. Now, 2 1/2 years later, me doing the hard work of psychotherapy, and you working your dick into a constant state of arousal as you thought about her; you want 6 months to show you that you do love me and want to be with me…FOREVER. So let me ask you:
How long will you wait for me to decide our fate?
Will you still wait for me even if it takes as many days
As the number of times you thought of her?
Will you still wait for me
The number of days that you fucked her
Slow and steady
Creating a woman whose perfection
Existed only in your mind?
Will you wait as many months
As the number of times you were fucking me
The mother of your children
While you were thinking of her?
Will you wait
As often as you contemplated divorcing me
While you imagined her
So easily replacing me
And taking up my space in your life?
How many days are you willing to wait?
Is it the number of slutty pictures you exchanged
Over your company phone
Bringing down the house of cards
On which your bodies were forever imprinted
Or the number of times you were messenging her
While I waited in the bedroom for you alone?
Will you wait
As long as you made me
CHANGE who I was in order
To be more like her?
Will you still be there
If it takes me the number of
Lost kisses and missed opportunities?
That you denied us
Because you felt guilty for betraying her?
Will you wait for me if it takes
Me 2 1/2 years to decide that
That I might no longer love you?
Or the number of days that I acted the fool
Believing I was your one and only
When she was across the ocean
Believing so too?
How many days will you wait?
The number of days you have
Shortened my life due to the
worry and pain you have inflicted
Upon my sad and trusting soul?
Or will you wait
The number of days
That equal the number of dollars
That you sent to her
Or the number of dresses she bought
With which to turn you on
When you took them off in your head
Maybe you will wait for the
Same amount of time that you
Have put me through hell
All 921 Days
All 132 Weeks
All 30 Months
All 22,104 Hours
All 1,326,240 Minutes
All 79,574,400 Seconds
Or Will You Be A Coward
And Will You Wait Until Tomorrow?
So the saga of my thirty+ year marriage continues.
After being assured by my husband that he loves me and will do anything for his family I told him I needed to have completed access to his phone which he agreed to. I asked many questions including wether he had seen her or not. He assured me that he had not and that she would not have sex with him if he was with his wife…how noble of her!
Later my oldest daughter Nicole called me. She said, ” I am sending you a picture that you need to see. It is dad with her in Singapore. She put the picture up after you emailed her.” (In that email I told her she was a fool and told her that she was not the only one he was doing this with. Did she really think that she was the only one?)
B and I were taking a walk with me asking questions. I opened the photo and saw him with the Chickie. He spent four days in Singapore fucking her last January. I asked him again, “Did you see her in Singapore?”
“Really, so what is this?” I asked showing him the picture.
“I don’t know who that is”
“It is you with her in Singapore, you dick. Recognize it now?”
He went white.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose you or my family.”
Soon another text from my daughter. Worse still…seems my husband’s sister Jo is Friends with Chickkie on Facebook. I saved her daughter’s life and that is the thanks that I get. WOW! To me, for whatever reason, that is the biggest betrayal of them all. You love her so much you are already having your sister welcome her to the family!
More texts from my daughter. The woman has four Facebook pages all with different names. My daughter then sends her a message that says “If you keep in touch with my Dad I will send your naked picture all over the internet including on your tour company site.” (Honey, I don’t think you should do that!)
The very unfortunate thing about all this is our children found out. I was packing to leave and told my son “Dad has hurt me deeply and I need a few days to clear my head. This has nothing to do with your you, your brother or sister. Sometimes adults disappoint each other and just like you need time away from your brother I need a little time away from your father, not you.”
He turned away from me angry and wouldn’t let me touch him.
“Honey, this is not my fault. This is due to a hurt that your Dad has done.”
B jumped in. “It is all my fault. Don’t blame your mother. I did something that hurt her very much and she didn’t deserve it. I am hoping she can forgive me (yeah thanks for putting that part in…making it my fault if I don’t forgive him…that is slick!)
Remember the telephone at the beginning of all of this…this is where it gets ugly.
Before I left I went and asked to see B’s phone. He said no.
“You promised,” I replied.
He handed it over nervously. I went to messenger and saw Chickie’s sister’s Face Time at the very top so I pressed the button. He went ballistic and tried to grab the phone. I tried to keep it away from him. He grabbed me by the arm that just got out of the sling. One thing led to another and because he was hurting me…I bit him. Over thirty years of marriage and we have never had a physical altercation in our entire lives…until now. At this point our kids walked in the front door and her us yelling about HER (they have never heard us yelling like that at each other EVER). I got the phone and went into the bathroom. My hands were shaking so hard, well, that darn IPhone jumped out of my hand and into the toilet. Now neither of us could talk to her.
“I guess if she doesn’t matter to you like you have said, you wouldn’t have cared if I called her but obviously she means more to you than I do. Tell you what your fears have all come true. Everyone knows and you have imploded our family. Now go to her. You are free.”
My son went outside and lost it and started hyperventilating and saying he couldn’t feel his legs and it went down from there into a full collapse. I spent time trying to calm him…it was the worst thing I have ever felt in my heart, ever. Gracie wouldn’t come out from under her covers. We have a totally traumatized family.
I am sleeping at a friends house. My life is a shambles. My kids are traumatized. My husband is without a job.
Life is good…and then it is not.
In many ways, this past year has been one of the toughest of my life. It has been a year of sorrow and heartbreak as I watched my 30+ year marriage hang by a thread only to snap in December. But it has also been a year of tremendous growth as I have learned to sit with things longer before reacting, have found joy in places that were once unavailable to me, and I have located pieces of myself again which I thought were gone forever. Good and valuable pieces that I am proud of and am grateful to have re-captured in a slightly different form.
This past year I have walked down paths and met new friends who have been there for me while I cried on their shoulders. I discovered amazing people who have given me wisdom through new perspectives and helped me to realize that there is renewal in letting go and giving up so that future growth can occur.
My children have given me courage and a dogged determination to act in ways I once never dreamed possible. I have learned to appreciate them in a new light and with a sense of gratefulness that has brought joy to my spirit and wisdom to my soul.
Seeking peace has become a way of life and a way of viewing a future that is full of possibility and excitement while negative self-talk is becoming a slightly more distant phenomenon. I am trying, as I go into 2018, to avoid turmoil… self and otherwise so that anxiety is no longer walking in the shadows along side of me as I journey through the end of this life as I know it and the beginnings of a new life that I am about to confront head on.
The changing relationship with my husband has shown me that pushing my own agenda is like walking through a land mine and that sometimes you just have to stand still until the bombs can be diffused. It has taught me that people change in ways you once never imagined and that their changes are THEIR changes and you don’t have to take them on as YOUR OWN. I also learned and am working on the idea that his changes and dislikes may have little to do with me in all actuality so that disappointment I have felt in myself may well have been misplaced.
I have also realized (after spending time in a sauna yesterday) that even skinny 65 yo women’s bodies look old and that acceptance and making peace with my less-than-perfect body will probably bring me a sense of freedom that has eluded me for years.
As I march into 2018, head held high, I thank you for putting up with my confusion and bull shit for these past several years. Thank you for your wisdom, knowledge, and loving support. I know in real-life some of us could be best friends and leave our mark upon the world together though I think we might need the name of a bail bondsman handy!
I wish for all of you joy and wisdom in the coming year. Dance, dammit, dance…. preferably under the stars. Do something tough and do something you love often. Read tons of good books. Dream more. Eat more chocolate and take more time for yourself. Visit a place you have never been and kiss those you love more often. For those who suffer from chronic pain may it ebb. And lets try to remember that we never know just how much time we have on this earth so let’s all vow to use ours wisely.
And finally, may child-like Trump and childish Kim Jong-un not one up each another in a fit of spoilt “my dick is bigger than yours” and blow up the entire world just because they can.
Last night I eyed the little old man sitting across from me in the Taco Bell. He was wearing a WWII veteran cap full of medals and although almost ancient he sat ramrod straight as if an officer might call him out for sloppy posture. In his hand was a Sudoku book and he was busy placing the numbers when he wasn’t looking around the place. Suddenly, he looked directly at me, his shiny blue eyes piercing my soul and gave me a smile that warmed my breaking heart. Then he went back to his game.
I had come to Taco Bell after sitting alone at a table in a restaurant waiting for my fellow book lovers to show up for our annual party and book exchange. As I waited tears would well up as I thought about the previous evening when B and I decided to divorce after I realized there was no hope that his feelings for me would ever change. I was devastated and contemplating life alone or, God forbid, someday dating.
Sitting there in a room full of strangers I felt more alone than I have in my entire life. Crazy thoughts of “my family would be better off without me than putting them through this ” circulated around in my brain, and although I knew I would never act upon them, tears leaked silently as I contemplated how my 30+ year marriage had reached such a gut-wrenching low. As I scanned the email to ensure I was at the right place I realized I was a week early and decided I needed to escape all the holiday merriment going on around me. That is how I ended up at the Taco Bell across the street.
I watched the old veteran for several minutes. He looked happy yet I felt a sense of loneliness cradling his well-worn soul. I decided to take a chance and invite myself to dinner. When I asked if I could join him he looked delighted. He introduced himself.
“Ken?” I asked, wishing that my soon-to-be hearing aids had arrived.
“No Kent,” came the reply. “Like Clark Kent, superhero, although I am afraid the red suit would look a little wrinkly at my age.”
We both chuckled.
Kent was 92. He had been married to Doris for 65 years and she had died four years ago. They used to come to Taco Bell and sit across from one another enjoying each other’s company while playing Sudoku. He missed her and the life they had built together.
“What is my purpose here?” he asked me soon after introductions were made. “I just want to know why I am still here and what am I supposed to do with the rest of my life. I have no clue.”
“Well, that is obvious,” I replied. “You are suppose to be sitting here eating dinner with a sad middle-aged woman and telling me the story of your life.”
And so he did. He spoke of being too young to join the war when the United States was attacked on December 7, 1941, and how two years later, on December 7, 1943, the principal of the school told all the young men that he would grant them their diplomas, a semester shy of graduation, if they would only go and serve their country. Being the good All-American boy that he was; Kent went and signed up that day.
When he went home to tell his father, a WWI veteran that he enlisted; his father told him that he would regret it, but he didn’t believe him until his first Christmas far away from home, with guns firing in the distance, with regrets that flew fast and furious like bullets around his head. On that wintry night narrowly escaping death he realized his old man was right after all. He just wanted to be home.
“When staring death in the eye, men act in three different ways. There are those who want to flee, those who cry, and those who pray. I was one of the later but if I am honest there were times I experienced all three as I fought in the Pacific,” he explained.
Kent still marveled at his first airplane ride and laughed as he re-counted his complete and utter embarrassment at getting air sick and throwing up in a hat in front of the pilot. He talked about endless days at sea and wondering if their big boat would be someone’s prize target. And he narrated the story of a fellow veteran who was in the Merchant Marine, whose ship was stopped by the Japanese, after delivering supplies to the troops. For an entire hour the enemy shined a light on the American boat until turning off the light and slipping into the night.
“Why didn’t they kill us?” his friend asked the commander.
“We were high in the water so they knew we didn’t have any supplies and they didn’t want to waste their ammo on us. They just wanted to give us a bit of a scare,” came the reply.
Eventually, Kent ended up in Saipan surrounded by water and the Japanese. He recalled how the enemy would slip into camp and night with a wire garrote and strangle an unsuspecting solider and how they learned to walk with their back to the huts so no one could attack them from behind. But by far the saddest day of the war for Kent was the day a plane load of soldiers were flying home soon after the war had ended. As the plane took off over the base personnel could hear the sputtering of the plane and watched as soldiers tried to parachute to safety only to hit the roofs of the buildings because there was not enough time for their chutes to open. The ones who didn’t jump drown as the plane went down.
“A whole plane load of boys who had survived the war and were jubilant to be going home only to die as they were taking off. It never made sense to me,” Kent said with a far-away look in his eyes.
We spent two hours talking about the mundane: weather, walnuts (he was a farmer) and dogs and important topics like war and marriage.
When asked how he stayed married for 65 years he offered this advice:
“You wake up every morning, look in the mirror and tell yourself that come hell or high water, and am going to love this person no matter what. When you get to be my age you realize you just don’t remember those bad days but you do remember the good and the good far outnumber the bad anyway. Why hang onto bad feelings when you don’t have to?”
I told him my story. Married 30+ years, six kids, travel, building houses together and multiple moves to a man I had adored until he no longer adored me and did everything in his power to try to get me to leave. The night before, I had read him what he had written a year ago about how he loved to feel my touch and how much it meant to him. When I asked if he still felt that way he said, “No I don’t…. I’m just being honest” which is his newest mantra. It was then I knew that it was time to end, what had been for the most part, the happiest years of my life with the person I adored most in the world. This veteran of marriage was being discharged.
“That husband of yours must be crazy,” Kent said quietly as he leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “Too bad he doesn’t realize that he’s got a good woman if she comes up and invites an old man to dinner. My wife used to do that too. Believe me when you are my age you are lonely and you appreciate someone taking the time to show you a little love and concern. But don’t worry, a nice good-looking gal like you will find love again. Just don’t waste your love on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.”
Sometimes it is amazing how God puts someone who we need right in our path when we need them which implants a beautiful facet of multi-colored lights within our soul.Yet, I have found that most of the time it is up to us to seek out for ourselves what it is that we need whether it be companionship, a safe haven or the quite assurance of a hug. For it is in the seeking that we find out what we truly need, that we become confident and brave, and it’s how we realize that we are never alone in this world even though it often feels that way.
Thank you Kent for being my guiding star last night. Your light helped to lead me out of the darkness into a world that is open to possibilities for this old broad. Your purpose in life seems fairly obvious to me…you are a beacon of hope offering your light to those that will take the time to listen. I can hardly wait to see you next week when we meet for dinner again. You truly are a great first “date” and you have given hope for the future.
In the past six weeks I joined a gym and while exercising is not at the top of my “fun things to do” list, it is slowly getting bearable. I try to do at least two miles on the elliptical and then at least a 1/2 hour of weights five days a week. I also hired a personal trainer who I meet with once a week to give me ideas of new things to try with my various medical issues that make exercising a little more challenging. And while I have lost a bit of body fat already I have to confess that this exercise thing is really not my cup of tea. Why? Because of sweat.
I HATE sweat. For most of my life my body has refused to sweat no matter how hard I worked it and frankly; I liked that. IMHO, sweaty people are gross. While B would have sweat pouring down his face and dripping in his eyes during the most mundane of household projects; I would look and smell like I had just stepped out of the shower. But not any more. Recently I have discovered that with old age comes sweat. Not the menopausal “TURN DOWN THE AIR CONDITIONING” kind of sweat but the honest to goodness stinky sweat that antiperspirant companies make a mint off of. Frankly, I hate it. These days doing two miles on elliptical makes my hair sweat and my eyelashes too. YUCK! To me that water is far worse than exploding diarrhea oozing out of a baby’s diaper!
These days when this nearing 60 body works out; I look like a linebacker with sweat under my arms, dribbling down my back, and sloshing between my boobs. When I sit on the seat of the quad weight machine, a sweat line from my butt appears with two flabby cheek imprints on said seat, which requires me to have to position myself in such a way that allows me to quickly grab the disinfectant to spray down the seat before anyone notices. I almost killed myself doing this maneuver several times and today I almost took out a line of jazzercisers who were prancing around near by. For me, avoiding sweat at all costs is almost as dangerous as raising my heart rate to my target zone.
I don’t see what is so special about sweat. I know a lot of men who equate sweat as akin to having sex…it is something to strive for at all costs. Yet, I have always avoided it to the point of refusing to watch those movie love scenes where the bed sheets end up looking like a swimming pool. I mean, who wants to slide around on someone else’s recently released bodily toxins anyway? Not me. And further, since the government always wants to get into our business, shouldn’t OSHA have some sort of fact sheet posted in all bedrooms so consumers know what environmental hazards we are being exposed to when sweaty skin to skin contact occurs? Shouldn’t the EPA be instructing us whether to use bleach or plain old soap after being sweat contaminated?
As you can tell, sweat is a subject that gets me all hot and bothered. It also almost deters me from grunting, running, and lifting on a daily basis. But I have hope that I can cure this aversion because today when I was gyming; I met a sweaty woman who has lost over 100 pounds. Her story was inspiring and awesome. And as the sweat soaked through her bra and down her back as she was telling me about how she lost that weight she said, “it’s no sweat off my back to come in and work out everyday. It’s really just fat off my middle.”
“Wow,” I thought. “What a strong and amazing woman…such a great attitude. She really has it all together.”
And then she stuck out her hand to shake mine. I swear that I almost broke out in a sweat at the thought of her sweaty palm touching mine.
“Oh what the hell,” I admonished myself. “Time to stop sweating the small stuff.”
And with that, I stuck out my hand and clasped hers in mine, upon which which we both quickly wiped our hands on our towels and started laughing at the near mirror images of distaste written all over our faces .
“I hate sweat,” she said.
“Me too,” I answered.
And as I walked away, I decided if she could get over her distaste for sweat enough to lose 100 pounds then I could push myself a little harder in the days and weeks to come… right after I get some antiperspirant that I can rub all over my body to minimize all that pent up middle age sweat!
When we were young B and I could never have enough projects. They kept us busy and talking to one another about the different aspects that we needed to consider when we were working together. We tore out the kitchen of a cabin we bought, we built a house in the mountains, we started a winery and built the building to go with it. We were busy, tired, and often content with the manner in which our lives were progressing.
These days B is done with projects. He wants nothing to do with them. I suspect some of this stems from having to leave behind our hard work for others to enjoy when we did not yet have that pleasure. Moving for B’s career made us give up some of these comforts and dreams. Not being able to experience the joy of our labors made it more difficult for B to keep up the hard work, determination, and faith that building requires. And I think that stress at work has limited his enthusiasm for projects.
However, recently we decided to sell a property that we have owned for about seven years. This has entailed ripping our a kitchen and installing new cabinets, countertops and backsplash. We have had to repaint the entire place put up new lighting fixtures and vents in all the rooms. It has been a huge undertaking but it has paid off with some unexpected dividends…a closeness that has been missing and the chance to re-visit all of the amazing things we have accomplished together. This isn’t to say that everything is perfect. It isn’t. But it is nice to experience some of our “old selves” again and it is nice to be engaged with one another once more. I have missed this over the past several years. I have missed just being with B and watching him sweat as we struggle to hang a cabinet. I miss having dreams which are flavored with the smell of hard work and the sweetness of a job well done. I have forgotten how just spending time together made me feel connected and how my admiration for my husband would soar when all we worked for came to fruition. And it occurs to me that the respect I feel for this man, who, when exhausted, keeps giving his all, is immense and inspires me to do my best too.
I wish we could work together more. Find new projects to create together. I don’t know that it has to be building but something… anything that will plant new seeds to understanding, respect and appreciation. I thirst for finding commonalities again with the man that I love. I understand why B wants to lay down his hammer but for me these undertakings that we embark on together give me a sense of hope and purpose. And even though I can barely move after a day of hard work I would gladly down numerous Tylenol just to spend quality time with B once again. For when we work together I see deeper more personal glimpses of the man I fell in love with and I hope he sees the same in me and it also feels as if there is nothing that we cannot accomplish.