Regrets

Bobby hurt me. It’s not the same as before but my heart is broken, a little.

We talked today. He is genuinely sorry he hurt me. That doesn’t make it any easier.

What does make it easier? Knowing that this is a natural part of life. People meet, they start dating, sometimes things work out, sometimes they don’t. The fact that they didn’t work out this time doesn’t mean that either of us is undesirable or unworthy of love. (Although right now, because it still hurts I would just like to say I think it means he cannot recognise a good thing when it’s staring him in the face.) It doesn’t mean that either of us are bad people. (Although, really to break my heart, my sweet innocent little heart, what kind of monster do you have to be? Wait, sorry, back to the positive.) It just means that there is no future for us.

One of the things that scared me the most about getting involved with Bobby was the fear of getting hurt again. But I decided that I had to try. I had to look at the situation and decide which decision I would regret, giving us a chance and opening myself up to being hurt or walking away and always wondering what might have been. In the end I decided walking away would be the regret. The natural choice was opening my heart. So I cannot bring myself to regret that decision.

There are some who have suggested I not write about this here, where my ex can read it. But I don’t think what happened is anything to hide.Yes, I got dumped. Yes, I got hurt. But you know what else? I had fun. We made some memories that I will always treasure.

This life, this crazy life with it’s ups and down. Despite the fact that right now is a down, despite the fact that right now my heart is crying, despite all that, I love my life today and wouldn’t trade a moment of it. How can you regret that?

We need to talk

He loves spending time with me. He loves everything about me. I’m perfect for him. He loves the girls and would do anything to keep them happy. But he doesn’t love me. Not the way a man should. Not the way I deserve.

There are reasons we didn’t, couldn’t have a future. But I am the glass half full kind of girl. I am the love conquers all girl. In the end I believed we could have made it work. But love cannot conquer anything if it isn’t there.

So I suppose I should appreciate his honesty. And maybe tomorrow I will.

But right now. It hurts. Right now. My heart is broken.

I didn’t mean it

Snow has fallen again. Blanketing our east coast city. Only a month after our last big snow.

But so much has changed in this last month. We have become a couple.

On Saturday I was cooking in the kitchen and he was on the couch playing video games. The mood was light and he made a joke. He had no way of knowing the words he said in jest had once been used as cruelty by my ex. And knowing that he didn’t mean them, knowing that he couldn’t know what he was saying, knowing all that I still could not stop the tears that flowed.

He came to me, immediately apologising. I tried assuring him it was okay but still I couldn’t make the tears stop. I ran from the room.  Assuring myself I just needed to be alone I locked myself in the bathroom. And he gave me a moment.

And then he tried to open the door. Not to be thwarted by a flimsy lock, it took just a moment for him to push open the door. He sat beside me on the tub. And calmly he began to tell me all the things he appreciated about me. Until finally all I could do was put my arms around his neck and lose myself in his kiss.

He followed me, he wasn’t content to let me walk away. And I no longer want to.

Walls…

He grew up with an alcoholic father who delighted in tormenting him. He was once forced to sit all day staring at the switch with which his father intended to beat him with when he arrived home from work. His mother couldn’t save herself, much less her son. He grew up believing himself worthless. He began building his walls as a child.

He stood before the judge with a woman who promised him the one thing he wanted more than anything in this world. A child of his own and the love of family. His marriage turned more quickly than mine, until all that was left was the evidence that she had used him as the means to an end. The family he so desperately wanted had slipped away from him, until he was left broke and broken, with walls reinforced and shorn up.

We met by chance, I only glanced back from my barstool but it was enough to catch his eye. For a night, we used each other to chase away the loneliness. In the light of day, we started talking.  That talk led to others, until I began to see the heart of this man. A heart that had survived pain and torment, I will never fully understand. A heart I catch a glimpse of during our late night talks, when we lie satiated in each other’s arms. When carefully worded questions sidestep the guard he keeps held high, until he is answering questions no one but me ever cares enough to ask.

For the last year, timing and circumstance have kept us apart but not able to walk away. Until fate, snow and Christmas stepped in to give us the time we needed. For a week we loved and laughed as if we had been together for years, neither of us talking about what happened when the bubble burst.

The bell toll of the New Year came and went and the silence nearly broke my heart. He pushed, each time expecting the next time he called I wouldn’t answer. Each time, after the anger faded I could see clearly, the fear and the walls that he used to guard his heart. Until slowly, he began to let me in.

Then last week, he finally said the words out loud. His fear finally put into words.

“If we stay together, are you going to change?”

His heart, that’s guarded by those walls. Behind the brick and morter, behind the thorns and brush. It’s beautiful. And one day I hope to call it mine.

Homewrecker to stepmother

My ex was a cheater. There were numerous women. Some I knew about, many I didn’t. But this isn’t about the plethora of women, it’s about one woman. The last one.

I found out about her in August 2005. I heard a phone message she had left for him. When I dialed the number she answered “Hey baby.” My shocked response, “This isn’t baby, this is baby’s wife.” She hung up. Giving her the benefit of the doubt I called back and left her a voicemail, letting her know that despite what he was telling her, he was married, living with me, we shared children and she was not the first.

And then I threw him out.

He begged me to go to counseling. He begged me to take him back. He begged my forgiveness. He promised me the world. But he never stuck to it. I found out he was still seeing her. I called her again, this time the message was hard, dark. I named her behavior, a woman who chose to sleep with a married man. I called it what it was. I got down in the mud and slung it. What I found was there was no satisfaction there, and I determined that no matter what happened I would no longer lower myself to their level.

Still for two years we lived in limbo, not together but not divorced. Until one day a piece of paper arrived in the mail. There in black and white was the evidence that could no longer be denied. My marriage was over.

It took several more months for the paperwork to be complete but our divorce was final in November 2007.

They were married in December 2007. The homewrecker became my children’s stepmother. It was devastating. I was crushed. I was barely surviving, barely getting out of bed. Until it began to get easier.

Six months later I sat on the shores of Lake Champlain and took stock of my life. For the first time in a long time, I was happy, I was enjoying life. I woke up in the morning and got out of bed, not because I had to but because I wanted to.

Earlier this week I was reflecting on how far I’ve come. The ups and downs. Happiness and disappointment. And I wouldn’t have missed a moment of it for anything.

Gratitude washed over me. Others may call her a homewrecker, she was, that is the truth she has to live with. But I see her as my kids step mother, a woman who takes good care of them when they are not with me. I see her as the woman who gave me my life back. The good and the bad. The joys and the pains. I can smile. I can dance. I’m alive again. I am healthy again. I am grateful.

The Side Door

I’ve always known it’s there, I’ve glanced in the windows but never gone in.  I pulled around the back and began walking toward the neon lights. Opening the door, I slipped quietly inside. It only took a moment to take in the small room where the bar was the center of the world. Those closest to the door turned to stare and quickly I moved down the line until I stood by his side.

He turned, surprise on his face. Then he leaned and pressed his lips to mine, “woman, you look good tonight.” A stranger standing close by slipped his arm around my shoulders, leaned his face toward mine and mumbled what I can only assume was an off color compliment. The alcohol on his breath was overpowering, I turned away and slipped out of his hold.

While the bartender poured my drink I looked around. Beside us sat people hardened by life, known to each other only by first name, learned as they sat together day after day at a bar forgotten by those who had homes to go to. The bartender looked up for only a moment when I insisted he pull a better quality rum from the shelf behind him, not a regular his look seemed to say, a silent moment of understanding passed between us.

When I looked back he looked older to me, set in this scenery. I have never met his father but I fear the picture I saw that night, is one he may recognise from his childhood.

For months now work has been slow and he had finished by noon. What started as lunch with his apprentice had turned into a drinking binge and by the time I arrived at his side he could no longer remember how many bottles there had been. I asked the bartender for his tab and signed my name to his receipt.

The stranger returned to ask me my name. “I don’t really have one,” weary of the look of recognition in his eyes. “Don’t be like that. This is Elisabeth. Just who you think she is – Daddy’s little girl.” With those words I began moving, easily leading him in the direction of the door. 

I glanced back for just a moment, catching the eye of the stranger. On his face was a look I couldn’t quite read - jealousy, dejection, hopelessness. Or maybe a little of each. This is a world I have never seen up close, a world I have seen only in TV or movies,  a world I assumed existed but my sheltered life never led me to experience.

Yet it’s a world very familiar to him. A world he was thrust into at an early age by circumstances over which he had no control.

I was angry. I was angry he was there. I was angry the state he was in. I was angry I had to confront the darkness with him.

But the next day. When he called. When we talked, understanding dawned. He needed me to see the darkness. He needed me to know, that just under the surface lies a past, a life I have never come close to experiencing. He needed to know that I wouldn’t run back to my sheltered life, shutting the door to him when he began to revel what lies beneath.

It scares me. But it doesn’t make run. Not yet.

A love like Johnny and June

I caught sight of a twinkle in his eye. I followed his line of sight to my grandmother, where she sat opening a gift. Under the wrapping and tissue paper all I could see was fire engine red lace. It was my 16th Christmas and I had just I discovered my grandfather’s long held tradition of giving my grandmother sexy underwear. As the years passed I kept watch on my grandmothers gifts and every year there would be one she would unwrap and quickly tuck off to the side.

My grandfather was to me the greatest example of love. He loved me unconditionally and believe me there were times that I tested it. And he loved my grandmother. They went through their share of trials, as all marriages do but in the end they were together.

My grandfather married my grandmother against his parents wishes. My great-grandmother wore black to the wedding – which in those days was hugely symbolic. My grandmother was raised by a single mother, her parents had divorced in an age when the act was still scandelous. She was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. My grandfather was the dutiful son from one of the best families in town. He had grown up in boarding schools and under the care of a nanny. After marrying my grandmother, he finished law school and took over the family law firm. I will forever be grateful for his act of rebellion, marrying not because of her last name but for love.

My grandmother has grown frail, she now lives on the main floor of her house. The upstairs bedroom she once shared with my grandfather now sits empty. This Thanksgiving I opened a drawer in her old dresser. There, alone, was a box. A set in pale blue sat nested in tissue paper.

Until the day he died my grandfather loved my grandmother. She knew it and I knew. Because there it was, the last set my grandfather would ever buy my grandmother. He loved her, until the end. And his love lives on, tucked away in a drawer and tucked away in my heart.

A love that weathers the storms and rejoices in the sun. A love that has a firm foundation and builds from there. That kind of love exists, I know because I have been lucky enough to see it.

Am I worth it?

I am the center of attention. I dance in the aisle at the grocery store. I strike up conversations with the bank teller. I have 400 friends on facebook. I can carry on an intelligent conversation in most areas and keep up to date with political issues. I smile a lot. I’m an eternal optimist, I believe the glass is half full. I am a hopeless romantic and cry at sappy movies.

These are things I know for sure about myself.

But am I worth loving? Am I ever going to be truely loved for who I am? Me?

If we were to meet on the street I would be able to give you the right answer. Yes, unequivically. I am a strong, beautiful woman. I am a great mother, who helps with homework and packs lunches. I am good at my job and keeping others around me happy. I can stand on the podium with my father and shake hands with complete strangers. I am a good student, daughter, friend.

But at night. When I’m lying in my bed and there is no one to put on a smile for. I’m not so sure of myself.

It all comes down to one man. A man who promised to love me and then took it back. In two years I have come so far, seeing our years together for what they were, a lie. He lied to me, even worse I lied to myself, until I didn’t even recognise the truth anymore. I didn’t recognise myself. I have spent two years looking, finding, rekindling the old me.

But now I have come to the point where it is time to open my heart and let someone new in. A man. The man. See me. For who I really am.

What if he doesn’t love me? What if he gets past my defenses and decides that I am not worth love.

I know all the right answers. I know what I’m supposed to say. I know what so many of you are screaming at me right now.

But none of that. Nothing you say will matter. Until the night I can lay quietly, alone and know that I am worth love.

The gift

On Black Friday I woke early to walk the aisles and pick up the deals that give the day it’s name. The easy choices came first, the toys for my girls, the items on their lists.

Several hours later I stood in front of the display. I never made a conscious decision, yet there I stood. As if led by my heart. The idea had come to me several months earlier for his birthday but like so often in our relationship the timing had been wrong. This time I picked them up. This time I wouldn’t walk away. This time I would put the gift in his hands. I wasn’t sure when or how but this time I was taking the leap. Once I started I couldn’t seem to stop and over the next month there were several things for him that made their way into my Christmas stash.

Then came the snow. And an admission.

He had not been given a gift in 3 years. His family is small and they don’t exchange gifts among the adults. So for the last 3 years his birthday and Christmas have come and gone without a present to unwrap. My life suddenly looked pampered. With a large, close knit family, the idea that there wouldn’t be a single gift with my name on it was unimagineable.

Our anticipation had been building all week. Finally on Christmas Eve it was time. He opened each one with the same anticipation as my children, exclaimed over each one and eagerly turned to the next. I saved the best for last, the gift that had started it all.

When you care enough about a person to recognise something they lack, without them putting it on a list. When you go to the store and walk along the aisles until you have chosen the item in the right size, color. When you wrap it, tie the bow, an anticipation builds. Seeing him open it and his reaction were everything I had imagined. The gift had made him smile.

In the next days and months, when we have left the snow days and the holidays behind us, he will think of me, every night when he lays his head on his pillow. He will be reminded that there is a woman who cared enough to give him a gift. And that is the real gift.

Childless Christmas

Splitting the holidays. Every couple does it differently. Since we both have family out of town we agreed early on to alternate Thanksgiving – the whole thing – so we could travel. Whoever doesn’t get Thanksgiving gets the first half of the kids Christmas holiday, through December 26th. This year I got Thanksgiving. 

After nearly three years of child exchange I am finding my attitude towards time without the kids has changed over time. I used to dread the Friday nights the kids would climb into their father’s car and drive away. Then eventually I began looking forward to it but feeling guilty that I was happy my kids were gone. Now I have settled into a comfortable middle ground where I miss the kids when they are gone but I also enjoy the break.

This holiday season passed in a blur. I filled it with as many fun events for the kids as I could. My girlfriend and I had our traditional cookie weekend. We drove around and saw Christmas lights. We had friends over for movie night. We went to the tree farm and cut down our own tree and then decorated it and the house.

Now my house is empty. The hussle and bustle is quiet and I miss them. They will not be here on Christmas Eve, the nervous energy that keeps them from falling asleep will be missing. No one will jump on me on Christmas morning begging to open their stocking.

My children will never again wake up on Christmas morning with both their parents. I wouldn’t go back. But just for a moment I mourn the loss for them. And miss them.