Ok. So it's been a while since I posted. Life is complicated and fast and doesn't run on a schedule. It's upside down right now, literally and completely. It's almost, almost funny. Not in the ha ha way, but in the 'are you kidding me' way. Is ridiculousness a word? It is now. So I stopped posting on this blog because I am afraid. I'm afraid that words that I say here in this free style rant will someday hurt someone I love. I'm afraid that my private, free-flowing thoughts will come back to haunt me. But the truth is, while I write them, I feel really good. It's like talking to someone without actually having to talk and choke down the lump in your throat by forcing out words you don't want to hear out loud. Now, why not write to a diary, you say. Well, there's something much more gratifying about knowing that someone other than me will hear me. So, I haven't written, but now I am writing.
Is it possible to experience too much pain and love at the same time? Two days ago, I had to wake up and face the day knowing that at some point during the day, my husband and I would sit down and tell our children that he was moving out. I didn't want him to. I perceived it as his fault. But I committed to saying that this was a mutual decision and that we were having problems and that we both loved them equally and... I can't remember the rest. I hated him in that moment. Hated him for making me an accomplice to a lie. Hated him for putting me in a position to lie to my children. Hated him for thinking leaving would make it better. Hated him for thinking leaving was the best example to them on how to face life's challenges. But we did it. We sat. We told them. She cried and begged him not to go. Our son asked questions to understand and wanted to be sure we were not just thinking of them, the kids, but of ourselves and each other. And then he left.
The next day, we each connected with our parents and closest friends and relatives to tell them of this change. When he called his mom, he found out his Oma (grandma), and really, the only grandparent he was ever close to, probably only had a week to live. Not a good day. I wanted to be detached from him for a long time. If we were going to be apart, then I wanted to be apart all the way. But, no. We needed to connect and discuss how to handle this. The very next day, this is what happened: His grandmother died in the morning, the refinance fell through and needed to be corrected immediately, my sisters' dog died or at least word of the dog dying reached me (this dog is like a God to my children), the microwave broke and needed replacing and scheduling, the wrecked van (having just been in an accident last week) needed scheduling for maintenance, the van needs new tires before the upcoming trip, our renter decided to move out and needs a checkout walk through whenever he decides to have it and will continue to change that time, etc. Obviously, I'm all messed up right now because there should not be a list. Nothing should be compared to a person dying. But somehow it all adds up to a lot. At some point during this day I had to laugh. I had to laugh at what I perceived as ridiculousness. I huffed and announced to myself that of course I could handle all this. Sometime, probably only minutes later, I cringed and begged for help because I can't handle all of this.
Here's to where it comes to love and pain. I sent out a couple emails to let those closest to me know that we are separated. And the love that has come back is almost embarrassing. But, the truth is, it feels really good. I am feeling something like the whole "reap what you sow" thing or something. Whatever it comes down to, I have friendship and love bursting a the seems and it doesn't seem right compared to my failure and lack of love where it's needed most.
I've never hurt this much and also never felt this loved. It's confusing and complicated and I know I'll figure it out.
