The demarcation of love and hate is thin - cobweb thin and I am balancing on the wisp of it. The line between anger and understanding: thin. Between hope and despair: thin. Between opportunity and regret: thin.
Am I being forced to stand on the those thin lines to build character? To perservere so that I may build character?
My character was just fine! I awoke every morning, drank my cup of black coffee, swallowed my vitamins, greeted my children with hugs and breakfast and my husband with a kiss. I sorted through the mundane features of my life with ease; without depression; without ulterior motives. My biggest mistake was waiting for my character to reach the heart of my husband, for his sight of me to become clearer, for my promises to him and my children to be felt.
The house was clean, dinner was on the table, my nights were spent folding laundry, reviewing contracts for the company or sitting on the sofa, my hand always near the hand of his. I'd peer into his eyes for that recognition, and I'd shrug my shoulders when it didn't come - blaming it on the pressures of his job. I sat, wordless, apprehensive to push the envelope toward a greater intimacy because I didn't want to add more stress to his already stressful life.
One of my best friends (you might know him, Bruce) once said to me, "I can't tell my courage from my desperation." Praise the Lord, that's exactly how I feel. It is how I have been feeling since all this began!
Is it courageous to want to know why, why, why (!) the dreams, promises and security were left on the bathroom floor instead of thrown into the washer for a good cleaning? Is it desperate of me to wonder why (or how) someone can be embedded into the guts of my future, and then gone? Hello in the morning, good-bye in the evening. Am I still wondering about this - flabbergasted by the abruptness of it - because I am desperate? Am I desperate because my pride has been mutilated? Am I desperate, or courageous, when I cry and ask for answers. I am sorry. Is he?
Will knowing the answer to that question build my character any more than it is being forced to be built?
Who in the hell invented divorce anyway? I'd like to strangle the man (or woman, whatever). On the day we were married, we promised each other. We said, "divorce is not an option." Ho hum, that promise has taken the hand of every other promise and run away, never to be found again.
Regret, hate, despair - these things leave such a bitter taste in my mouth, yet I can't get past them right now.
Love, hope, opportunity and understanding - oh. Character. Yep, rebuilding it, with a wee bit more distrust, a harder heart and a desperate courage that will see me through to the end of this.
As soon as I can open my eyes again, I'll look up at the horizon and do what I intended to do with this blog - give hope. But first I have to wash and dry my character - wring out the soil, scrub the stains and disembowel my projected future from what it is now.
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