Who is this girl that weeps endlessly? Certainly not anyone that I know–certainly not– because she would never let anyone see her cry.
I have no idea where they come from but they don’t stop. Tears like rain, I never understood that expression before. This morning, I woke up crying and not just sniff -sniff crying but full out sobbing. I had cried in quiet for so many years that the explosion of sobs that came from within me sounded like thunder in my ears. The sound of my sobbing was foreign to me. I didn’t understand where they kept coming from.
Cousin T. called to check on me. Mostly in response to my text “when does the crying stop?” She told me it was good and that I should cry, cry, cry. I told her that it wasn’t a choice, it was just happening. She reminded me that I was mourning the loss of my marriage. She said no matter, whether good or bad, no one knows the love I had for you and therefore they cannot be expected to understand the sadness that I feel.
I got out of bed today at noon. Might I add, a completely inappropriate time to go out and about in this small town on a Sunday when all the church traffic was descending on the businesses and I wanted to stay anonymous. But I had to get out, mostly because I felt it was the right thing to do. I will admit that staying in bed seemed like a good option at 11:59 am, but at noon, the reality struck me that I needed to move. So I headed into town and successfully avoided the masses by driving to an obscure store to get a phone charger that plugs into the wall. I “will” my phone to ring and hear your voice or see your name come up on the text message log, but it doesn’t.
I was looking back at a journal entry I wrote five days after D-day (Disclosure day). As often happens in my journal, I start out writing and it turns into a prayer. I do pray for her, and I can’t say why, just that she come to my heart when I start to pray. I also pray for you, my husband. I pray that you and I will come to a place of reconciliation however, as I prayed on this one particular day… I accepted that there was no obligation that you must repent or apologize in order for me to heal. That’s what I’m realizing…. that I have to heal on my own. And I do hope that you will seek help as well. Your choice brought about a consequence that only you have to bear, but the burden of that choice is felt by all of us. Part of my healing will involve leaving our rental. The memories are too much for me and I can’t stay. It’s so quiet that I hear echoes of our relationship when my mind stops its restless rambling. And the echoes coupled with the emptiness are just mirrors of how I feel.
I’m working on a plan to get moved the best I can. I know that several weeks will pass before you can get your stuff out of here. I need to go, I want to stay but I can’t. I also can’t believe that in our almost 11 years together, I never packed or unpacked for us…either from your apartment to mine, our apartment to the house, our house to the basement, or the basement to the rental. And now, it’s overwhelming to me that I need to consider what is “yours” and what is “mine.” I’m trying to be very grown up about it but I feel like a child. It also occurred to me that no one is around to get things off the top shelf for me. When you met me I had rabbit ears on my TV, and my toolbox consisted of a butter knife, which served as a screwdriver and a hammer, which served as everything else. I’m going to have to learn how to really vacuum and to use a plunger (although if I recall correctly, that wasn’t a problem for me as much as for you). <smile>
As I was out and before I left my parents this afternoon, there was a moment of recognition of a life that might exist in the future. And I got what you said on our way to Atlanta that day you left for a week. You saw a future for you and for me but not for us together. I got it…and maybe one day when the pain subsides, I really will be able to pass you on the street and smile and maybe we’d get coffee or in my case hot chocolate. Only this time, I promise I won’t spill it on my sweater or your chair. Could we actually be friends and good ones? I’d like to think so. I’ve always been on your side, your greatest advocate and I will always wish you could have my eyes to see how much you have accomplished over the years. In all sincerity, I do believe your dad would be proud of you.
The phone accounts still haven’t split and you should know that I still check the chat log. The entries look so “normal.” Now that you are with her, there isn’t the steady stream of texts with her name like visual diarrhea to my eyes. What was once a reminder of how far from me you were now seems to be the very thing that still makes me feel connected to you.