Bad blogger...

I am a bad blogger. I've missed five days now. All I can plead is peace and quiet.

The kids are gone to their sister's for the week, leaving B and I home alone to enjoy each other's company (and to dream of what it will be like when the kids fly the nest). It's been bliss, for the most part.

One little misstep was in taking Monday off. We decided to make it a long weekend, so that we could enjoy the time, and in theory, it should have been wonderful. What ended up happening was explosive, albeit productive.

We were halfway in the middle of a home improvement project over the weekend, taking a broken door out of the kitchen and replacing it with a new door. We had spent Sunday wandering blissfully through Home Depot, seeking parts and pieces. We even made some really good progress in our relationship. B was getting spun off into spirals of possibilities in the middle of the second hour of the shopping trip. (In order to fix the door, we had to fix the frame. In order to fix the frame, we had to replace the casing. In order to replace the casing, we had to finish the floor trim. In order to finish the floor trim.... etc.) Finally we sat down right there in the middle of the door display and put our heads together, decided what to do, and got up and did it. B has a tendency to spin out on hard decisions, and I have a tendency to bite back my opinions, so for us to powwow there in Home Depot was a major step for us, and we left there feeling happy and much more connected as a couple.

The door went in beautifully, thanks to B's careful craftsmanship. We finished most of it on Sunday, and left the trim for Monday. We got up Monday feeling good, having slept in for a little and snuggled for an hour, and then went out for our morning cup of coffee. And before we knew it, before we'd been able to turn our cell phones off like we'd promised each other we would, preserving the sanctity of our day off together, his phone rang. He looked down at it and my heart sunk. His ex. At 8:30 in the morning. He went off to the garage to talk to her, shutting the door between us.

I tried to pretend that it didn't bother me, but we'd just had this conversation last week, how all my calls from my ex were either not answered or taken out in the open, and that it upset me that he wouldn't disconnect from her. I tried to shake it off, but it left me feeling blue. I took the CD I'd been listening to out in the living room and decided to occupy myself with sketching instead, hoping the Christian music would give me some peace. I had a sudden need to talk to God... to ask for peace and patience.

I heard him when he came in but didn't get up. He came out to find out what I was doing, and when he told me why she'd called, I couldn't help myself. All the anger I'd been stuffing for months now boiled out. I won't go into details about what it was all about, but suffice to say that what she was calling for was above and beyond the call of duty.

If I've called our arguments 'fights' before, I was in error. This one was definitely the worst. I finally told him how I felt. I asked him why he would even CONSIDER doing what she asked. I could see that he was angry, too. He said "She's still my wife, M." And that was when I left the garage. He's said that before, and it's not stopped hurting me. I went into the house and took out my frustration on cleaning the toilets, but it still didn't help. I had an overwhelming urge to just get out of there. I gathered up my purse and some books to return to the library, and went out to find him loading garbage in the truck. He was doing the same thing: getting the dump stuff ready so he could run away, too.

I saw then that we needed to finish it. We went back and forth for a few moments, and something strange happened. I told him how much that statement had hurt me. He let me talk. He didn't interrupt. He didn't yell. My voice had been raised in the beginning, but as he listened, it fell. I felt heard. I felt validated. And when I finished saying what I had to say, I felt empty. He sat silently for a long time, so long that I felt pain at having hurt him with my words, even if they'd been true. I tried to go to him, to make physical contact, but he told me no. He wasn't ready. I went back inside, and at length he followed. And we hugged, albeit stiffly. And then we talked. And talked. And talked. And came to some understanding of each other's deepest fears, and how hard it was to break the cycles of relating that had come before, the dysfunctional habits, even within the circle of this blessed love. He said he'd never thought of how I'd hear what he'd said... and that it hurt him that he'd hurt me.

I asked him the hard question this time: I asked him to make the choice between the old life, and our life. He did it for me, a couple of months ago when I was going through some rough spots with the ex intruding into our lives, and the fear that there was a possibility of losing B was the impetus I needed to make the break. I told him how much I appreciated him saying the hard thing.. because it was what I needed to change.

We went back to working on the door that day as if nothing had happened, and it was good. I anticipated the night, knowing that there would be the sweet solace of his arms in the night to take away the lingering taste of strife between us, but it never came. This time we'd caused some pain. In the morning I told him how odd it was to learn his 'fighting style', and how different it was than what I'd ever known before. We talked about how proud we were that we'd come back, rather than running from the conflict, as we instinctively wanted to do. And I told him that I was sad that we'd not made up.... that I'd craved being close to him that night, and was sorry that I'd hurt him.

When we went off to work yesterday, we were as refreshed as newlyweds, the storm passed and the scarred landscape washed clean. I called to make him an appointment with the attorney, and he was grateful, because he didn't have the emotional strength to do it. Last night, he took me out to dinner, at the nicest place in town. He was resplendent in his Dockers and a nice shirt and the jaunty felt hat that he wears so well. He offered me his arm, and told me that I was the love of his life, and that he didn't want to lose me. We sat over drinks and talked, and when dinner came, as beautiful as it was, we let it get cold while we held hands and looked in each other's eyes, reaffirming our life... reaffirming our love... holding fast to the important things. He told me about some of the painful things he had been through, like the loss of his parents, putting more tiles in the magnificent mosaic of his life. The picture is getting fleshed out, slowly but surely, the scenes becoming clearer and clearer.

This man is where I want to be for the rest of my life. I want nothing more than this. You can keep fame, and fortune, and recognition. Somewhere, God heard my prayers, and brought me B.