Raw and bleeding

MY HEART is bleeding this morning. I did something that hurt B yesterday. It has shaken the foundations of our world as surely as an earthquake. Now it remains to be seen if there will be any injuries, and how much has been bruised and broken.

Natalie Merchant is singing "My Beloved Wife" on Pandora this morning, a bittersweet twist of the knife.

I had this wonderful thing planned... a surprise for B. (And for me, if I were completely honest) My daughter has been in pageants for a long time, and over the years, she's been photographed by a local photog with a lot of talent and a very artistic eye. We've become friends over the course of his shooting my daughter's events, and the offer has always stood open for him to do a photoshoot for me. I've always pooh-poohed the idea, knowing that it means a couple hundred dollars I didn't really have to waste, and thinking that no one would ever be interested in portraits of ME. But after the divorce, I suddenly felt very free... and needed to do something to declare my independence and self worth. I tried the bellybutton piercing, but couldn't get into it. I thought about a tattoo, but couldn't justify the lifelong commitment to a design I might not love twenty years from now. And then I remembered the photos.

B has told me over and over how much he loves me and how I look: big nose, saggy breasts, little love handles and all. And he certainly seems to be telling the truth, judging by his enthusiastic response to my (imperfect) body. And it's been great for my self esteem. So much so that I gave up another lifelong dream: to have a breast lift. He went dutifully to the plastic surgeon's office with my daughter and I as we sat in evaluation of our breasts, hers uneven and needing reduction, and mine in need of a lift. And when we walked out of there unnerved by the proposed surgery and newly appreciative of our native shapes, he was overjoyed. We bought ourselves new bras to celebrate, and called it good. But I'm no one's idea of a supermodel, and I've traditionally not photographed well.

But David works wonders. I've seen him do magic with his camera. So I cooked up the idea of making this a surprise for B. Last Saturday I told him that I had to be gone most of the day to an appointment, and that it would be a surprise for him, and he gave me the keys to the new car and his blessing and told me to go and have fun. The girl and I went to Wenatchee and spent five hours on a shoot, complete with new hairstyle and five or six different outfits. We had a lot of fun, but to be completely and totally honest, I was missing B terribly after the first hour. When I got home I folded into his grateful arms, and confessed it, saying "I didn't realize I was so attached...."

David called on Monday, when he was supposed to show up with the proofs, saying he couldn't come until Wednesday, but could I please meet him at the bookstore to go over them at 5:30?

I told B I needed to go, and he was fine with it. I thought I'd be gone about an hour. It ended up being an hour and 45 minutes; David was late from his last appointment, and there were over 500 photos to go through so we could choose the final prints. I looked up at 7:10 to find my daughter coming in.

"Where ARE you?? B is frantic!" she said, and we flew home.

I pulled into the drive and he was sitting in the chair in the garage, face stony. "Are you angry with me?" I asked.

"Yes." he growled. "Where the hell were you for two hours?"

He would hear no explanation. I dropped to my knees, unable to make eye contact with him from above; dropped to the level of my heart. "I'm so sorry...." It was the only thing I could say, and not nearly enough.

Something in his face changed. "Get up off your knees..." he said, his voice choked.

"Then come up to where I can see you."

We rose and he pulled me to him suddenly, holding me tight. "You frightened me so badly." he whispered into my hair. "I thought something had happened to you. I can't be without you... I couldn't live if something had happened to you."

We clung for an hour; apologising, reassuring, caressing, reaffirming. He hung on my shoulder, in my arms, like a drowning man. I could feel his fear and exhaustion; it ran through him shuddering like a current. Eventually, the kids looked for us for dinner. He was too wiped out to eat. He sat a few moments while I got the kids squared away; eyes closed, curls sweaty, looking like a child that has cried itself to sleep.

It is a function of the disease, this fear. But I am his post... his pier, in this stormy sea. He's clung to me through his divorce and the shock waves that are still rolling our little household topsy turvy on regular intervals. He's been such a cool cat for the last couple of months, so self assured, that I've felt like I was the one who was in too deep, wearing my heart on my sleeve. Last night I found out that I was not alone. He needs me as much as I need him.

Is this healthy?

It is what it is.

I've shaken his trust in me. After the tears and fears had calmed down, I wanted to break the surprise right there... to tell him everything, about the photos and the need to go back on Friday to pick up the final disc... but he wouldn't let me, telling me he could see that it meant a lot to me.

We were getting through it, moving on, his smiles just returning, when I got the phone call from my ex. He was supposed to have come by shortly after I returned home to pick up an old piece of wood that we'd collected that he was going to use in a project, but thankfully he'd not shown up, allowing me to spend that needed time with B. Now, at bedtime and nearly dark, he was ready to come get it. I told him to hurry up and I'd wait.

He showed up within five minutes, and had the wood loaded. I still had a piece of software that he wanted, so I took a few moments to explain to him how to load the program before he left. Halfway through the explanation I heard the back door slam. I shooed him out and went to find B, heart sinking.

He was livid, lit up like a roman candle. "Get out of here." he said. "I can't talk to you right now."

I let him be for about ten minutes, puttering around the house and waiting, then went back to talk to him. The door was locked. I stood staring at it for a moment, then knocked. "Are you coming out soon?" It was quiet a moment, then the door opened, and he was there, head hanging, anger spent. "Oh, honey," I took him in my arms again. "He's gone. And you knew he was coming. What's up?"

He was angry about how my ex had showed up, music blaring, coming in and getting the dogs all riled up like he owned the place. I commisserated, knowing he was right. R had come in, spreading himself all over like he was a dog peeing on a tree. It was pathetic, and I had nothing effective to say, except to reassure him that I was glad R was gone, and so very thankful that B was there.

We didn't go to bed mad; far from it, we clung like anemones. But dinner made my stomach sick on top of all that stress, and B slept restless. And I was left feeling crummy about the whole photo surprise thing. I hope that when he gets them, he feels like it was worth the hassle. Somehow I've lost my enthusiasm for it.

I can't stomach hurting B, even inadvertently. If my silly cell phone would have been charged, none of it would have happened. But the take home lesson, despite the pain, was this:

I thought for a while that I was the one who was more in love. That I was pathetic. Too clingy. That maybe B wasn't okay with all this closeness. I realize now that we are both in this, both of us all the way to our toes, together. And that's something.