time marches on…

Ack… what a long month this has turned out to be… September has been a time of confusion, conflicting emotion and that old beast “what if” rears it’s ugly head every year about this time. Strangely, this year, my mind was so occupied, that yesterday came and went without a inch of sadness or elation. For what it’s worth, I have had literally no doubts, and I can admit to the world, without sadness or recrimination, with words I cannot take back, that I am over this farce of a marriage and life I have been drowning in for a third of my life.

15 years and 2 days ago, Mike emailed me compulsively, 10 or 11 times, begging me not to go thru with it. He warned that it would end in tears, and said if I would just let go and trust myself, I would see that this was no good for me. I cried and blocked him from my lists, and took a couple of Valium and told myself that he was a fool. 15 years and 1 day ago, I married The Professor; I cried and took a couple Valium and told myself I was not a fool…

Trouble in paradise began less that 6 months later, but I was determined to pour every ounce of my power into keeping hold of the baby growing in my belly. I had no time for anything but her life and Mike reassured me that she would be fine. The Professor was at sea April-Aug, 2000, so I spent the majority of that pregnancy alone, with friends to lighten the load. Mike came to visit once a week, would hold my belly in his hands and cry for the son we lost. He would drive me to the beach, make me drink juice, rub my feet. It was a soothing, surreal existence, focused on that bunny kicking me from within. When The Professor returned, few weeks before her impending birth, I was thrilled and tried to make him fit into the small life we had been creating in his absence; to no avail. Mike no longer came by, instead he sent photos of my pregnant tummy, with him standing behind me, one hand over the growing swell, highlighting how big I had gotten. He was always laughing, eyes directed to the camera, fully in those moments with me.

Thru the years, as my foxling grew, I slowly pushed The Professor from our life, until he was merely circling the two of us, like a beautiful moon. We loved him, were so happy when he graced us with his presence, but the connection was not there. I had bonded with my child, with the idea of a life raising her, and he did not fit in, nor did he want to, seemingly content to drink and play video games from the periphery.

Mike made the odd appearance, never staying more than an hour or two, just long enough to play with her toes, smell her baby scent, dance me around the living room and regale me with stories of how our life would have looked had this been us, with our son in his arms, instead of this precious creature belonging to someone else.

When we returned to CT a few years later, the marriage was dead, broken beyond repair and I do not think The Professor even cared. I was knee deep in the life of a 4 year old and tried to be what I thought a wife was, but let’s face it, I had no fucking clue. We both retreated a bit more each day, our common ground disappearing like tides that destroy the beaches. Day after day, a little more of us was washed away, each lonely on our ever-shrinking patch of warm sand. Mike wanted to resume visits, but by this time, I knew that if I saw him, all resolve would be gone. The last time I was him for almost a decade was September, 2004. We met at Barnes and Noble, surrounded by the friends I had made… safety in numbers and prying eyes, I suppose. My foxling does not remember this encounter, but we spent a pleasant few hours drinking coffee, with my foxling sitting between us, him reading story after story to her. When I said goodbye, he again had tears in his eyes, this time not for the loss of what might have been, but for the abject mess I had made of my small and broken life.

Last year, I broke down and called him when The Professor walked out. He was amazed that it lasted as long as it did, and immediately set about finding me someone he thought was “a good match” for me. =) Thus began the spring and summer of insanity; pool parties, boating days, football, an endless parade of men for me to choose from, keeping my mind off other things. He was always in the background, often punching one of his male friends who he thought was getting “too fresh” with me. It was a great time, of healing, and felt so fucking good to be the center of attention again. As the pounds slipped away, so did my reservations and I slowly chewed my way out of the self imposed, strangulating cocoon of a life I had forced myself into.

In July, Mike showed up at my house, unannounced. This was a HUGE no-no, was not about to fall back into this man’s arms after all this time and effort. But no, he was quick to point out that he had an ulterior motive for the visit, but never in my wildest dreams would I guess what that may be. For my birthday, “sorry it is a little late”, he got me someone. WTF??!! “GOT” me someone, how does one procure a man in this day and age, and why would I want one, anyhow ? I was enjoying my newly found sexual freedom and had no desire to be tied down in another box, no matter how pretty the label. When I realized what he had done, I went on a 2 day crying jag that ended only when John and Becky showed up with Valium, a bottle of Vodka and enough chinese take-away to last us the weekend. His present to me was to find the person who almost caused me to call off my wedding with The Professor. all those years ago…

Tentative phone calls, hundreds of emails, photographs, letters, memories long forgotten were pulled to the surface. Laughter, tears, happiness, we begin to build the smallest thing imaginable, a spark filled with light and hope, bitty enough to rest on the tip of a finger. Dandelion fluff, a shred of what may someday become something together. This time, it is on our terms, of our own accord, each with a daughter relying on us in no small way. Thousands of miles separate us, but “this whatever” continues to grow. Not by leaps and bounds, but by the smallest of gestures, the shallowest of breaths, so we do not wound this small, perfect thing.

On that note, nurture your own “whatever” you are building; remember to be gentle and do not for one minute imagine that there is nothing special to come; perhaps just around the corner…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

to irrigate the desert...

watering the future, one mind at a time

Zipf's Law

A blog about the implications of the statistical properties of language for second language learners

Sincerely Reine

Beauty, Lifestyle & Everything Else In Between

Behind the White Coat

Beats a real human heart...

No Blog Intended

But the pun is

The Bumble Files

The truth is in here

Bluefish Way

The life of Ralph, Natascha and our cats

coffee and a blank page

a feminist writes, rants, remembers

rarasaur

frightfully wondrous things happen here.

Power Plant Men

True Power Plant Stories

Mad Tea Party in My Head

Clean Cup! Move Down!

The Virtual Statesman

The Independent & Engaging Political Commentator

CombatBabe

somewhat witty, often combative.

A Tramp in the Woods

A nature diary from the Forest of Dean.

Mollytopia

Fabulously Refined/Wildy Inappropriate

talinorfali

Don't ever change yourself to impress someone, cause they should be impressed that you don't change to please others -- When you are going through something hard and wonder where God is, always remember that the teacher is always quiet during a test --- Unknown

Be Like Water

Music, Film and Life

Dream, Play, Write!

Today, make a commitment to your writing.

Storyshucker

A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.

%d bloggers like this: