I guess it comes with the territory. When your husband leaves you, it MUST be relatively natural to feel abandoned. I certainly feel that. Lately however, I have been feeling something a little worse than simply abandoned. I feel replaceable.
There are just so many memories. So many times that I look back on with great fondness, and the sadness follows shortly thereafter. I don't know how it is so easy to let go of 14 years of memories. It amazes me. I think about our trips to Hawaii, SC football games, taking Charlie to the park, game nights with friends... I am certain that his life, his NEW life will contain some of that. I am certain that he won't stop loving Hawaii and all things Tiki just because he isn't with me anymore. I am sure that he will continue to root for SC and attend homecoming games. I know he will still want to take Charlie to swing at the park. But now he will be doing that all with someone else. Now he will be with someone else. She will replace me in his world. It is a horrible, miserable feeling.
Will he go to the same restaurants WE used to go to? Stay in the same hotels? Will the number 9 still be one of his favorite numbers even though it seemed to hold so much significance for US? I wish I could understand how you can just trade it all in, maintain this world we created together while slipping someone else into the role I once played in his life.
I so desperately wish things were different. And I certainly wish it were less painful to feel so completely replaceable.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Lonely
I think we need a roommate... or a puppy. Not sure which one would be less work. :)
I have just had these moments lately where I feel quite lonely. Tonight, I made dinner at home and then sat at the table, just me and Charlie. I think that is the first time that has happened since Will officially left. It was certainly not the first time we had ever sat alone at the table together, but tonight it just felt empty. I asked her lots of questions about her day and what she did with Aunt Lisa but there is only so much you can really talk about with a 2-and-a-half-year-old.
After dinner and our minimal conversation, I cleaned up the kitchen and finished putting our newly decorated Valentine's cookies away. (Charlie is an expert at the "frinkles"). And in those moments of washing dishes and being tugged on by little hands that "need me," I began to wonder how it is exactly I am supposed to do all of this on my own. How do I attend to her constantly? How do I make the time to play with her and love on her and make her dinner and bathe her and do her laundry and fit in my job with all of that? I guess it isn't anything I haven't been doing for the past several months as Will drifted farther and farther away from us, but now it feels more daunting, more consuming and certainly a lot more lonely.
How am I supposed to do it alone? The answer to that is pretty simple. I'm not. I'm not supposed to do this alone. This wasn't in God's design for family and it wasn't in his plans for us. But we don't always follow God's plan and then we find ourselves here, wondering how to fix the mess we or others have created. I am not SUPPOSED to do this alone. I am supposed to have a teammate, a husband who is there to do it with me. But instead, I find that I am relying on friends and family and my community to get me through. Their love and support have been amazing and have had a significant impact on my ability to rebound just a little bit everyday. From feeding me, to entertaining me, to praying for me, I can see how God is using His people to become real to me right now in a very tangible way. Some of it is such unexpected generosity that I hardly know what to do with my gratitude. I am so incredibly blessed.
Sadly, there is still that window of lonliness. Waking up first thing in the morning without kisses, chatting for hours about our day before falling asleep in his arms, quiet times of respite when he played with Charlie so I could do dishes in peace or read a chapter for class, having him here in at 6am so that I could attend a yoga class once a week at the community center, having a partner to come along side of me in ministry, I miss all of that and it sometimes makes me very, very lonely.
The reality is that neither a dog nor a roommate are really going to fix things here. So, I just keep leaning into God, reading Psalms, spending time in scripture, devouring books about God's grace and my place within his family. I know that is where he wants me, I know he can use this time to cultivate that dependence in me. But I pray that this cultivation doesn't require THAT much time. I hope that redemption comes soon, cause I really don't want to feel this lonliness for much longer.
I have just had these moments lately where I feel quite lonely. Tonight, I made dinner at home and then sat at the table, just me and Charlie. I think that is the first time that has happened since Will officially left. It was certainly not the first time we had ever sat alone at the table together, but tonight it just felt empty. I asked her lots of questions about her day and what she did with Aunt Lisa but there is only so much you can really talk about with a 2-and-a-half-year-old.
After dinner and our minimal conversation, I cleaned up the kitchen and finished putting our newly decorated Valentine's cookies away. (Charlie is an expert at the "frinkles"). And in those moments of washing dishes and being tugged on by little hands that "need me," I began to wonder how it is exactly I am supposed to do all of this on my own. How do I attend to her constantly? How do I make the time to play with her and love on her and make her dinner and bathe her and do her laundry and fit in my job with all of that? I guess it isn't anything I haven't been doing for the past several months as Will drifted farther and farther away from us, but now it feels more daunting, more consuming and certainly a lot more lonely.
How am I supposed to do it alone? The answer to that is pretty simple. I'm not. I'm not supposed to do this alone. This wasn't in God's design for family and it wasn't in his plans for us. But we don't always follow God's plan and then we find ourselves here, wondering how to fix the mess we or others have created. I am not SUPPOSED to do this alone. I am supposed to have a teammate, a husband who is there to do it with me. But instead, I find that I am relying on friends and family and my community to get me through. Their love and support have been amazing and have had a significant impact on my ability to rebound just a little bit everyday. From feeding me, to entertaining me, to praying for me, I can see how God is using His people to become real to me right now in a very tangible way. Some of it is such unexpected generosity that I hardly know what to do with my gratitude. I am so incredibly blessed.
Sadly, there is still that window of lonliness. Waking up first thing in the morning without kisses, chatting for hours about our day before falling asleep in his arms, quiet times of respite when he played with Charlie so I could do dishes in peace or read a chapter for class, having him here in at 6am so that I could attend a yoga class once a week at the community center, having a partner to come along side of me in ministry, I miss all of that and it sometimes makes me very, very lonely.
The reality is that neither a dog nor a roommate are really going to fix things here. So, I just keep leaning into God, reading Psalms, spending time in scripture, devouring books about God's grace and my place within his family. I know that is where he wants me, I know he can use this time to cultivate that dependence in me. But I pray that this cultivation doesn't require THAT much time. I hope that redemption comes soon, cause I really don't want to feel this lonliness for much longer.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Little Glimmers
It is still incredibly dark around here. I feel like I am mostly overcome and overwrought by the oppression of it. Yet, every now and then, I just get the faintest glimmer. I can't even put my finger on it. I don't know what triggers them. Part of me wonders if it just clicks on when people are in the midst of prayer for us. I am not really sure. But they are there.
At some point in the past couple of days, I just began to feel the tiniest bit lighter. There have been times in the past few days when I have been able to stop and realize that just a couple of moments have flown by where I was not overrun with the ache of pain, loss and rejection. It is almost as though I have forgotten or been transported back several months to a time and place that held so much more hope and so much less pain. And then it all hits me again, but that is okay. Be it ever so brief, I had a glimmer. And when it all hits me again, it doesn't hit quite as hard. I don't start crying every time I think of it and I don't always feel like my world is ending anymore.
Somewhere, there is hope. It is almost a freedom. It is as if I am realizing that there really is promise. Maybe it is all sinking in, finally, slowly, painfully. As layer upon layer of my old life is stripped away from me and I realize all that I am losing, I begin to see how much there might be to gain. So many hypotheticals but many of them carry some semblance of promise. I lose my home, I find a cheap room to rent and gain some financial freedom, I lose my husband but gain the opportunity to fall in love with someone else, someone who CHOOSES to love me the way that Jesus does, someone who wants to partner with me in ministry and parenthood, I lose my job, I go back to school full-time and find myself doing something else that I love and am passionate about.
Who really knows what life is going to look like 5 years from now? I could still be married to Will, in this house, having more kids, experiencing the marriage we have always wanted. I could be a single mom, living on a fixed income and relying on the generosity of others to help me get through, I could be remarried, I could be delivering babies... I just have no idea what journey I am on. But I am grateful right now for the little, tiny, miniscule glimmers of hope. I am beginning to not only see but maybe, finally, be feeling now that God is going to weave this all together into a beautiful masterpiece. For the first time in a long while, I am no longer dreading what it might all look like.
I am grateful for glimmers in the heaviness of the dark around me.
At some point in the past couple of days, I just began to feel the tiniest bit lighter. There have been times in the past few days when I have been able to stop and realize that just a couple of moments have flown by where I was not overrun with the ache of pain, loss and rejection. It is almost as though I have forgotten or been transported back several months to a time and place that held so much more hope and so much less pain. And then it all hits me again, but that is okay. Be it ever so brief, I had a glimmer. And when it all hits me again, it doesn't hit quite as hard. I don't start crying every time I think of it and I don't always feel like my world is ending anymore.
Somewhere, there is hope. It is almost a freedom. It is as if I am realizing that there really is promise. Maybe it is all sinking in, finally, slowly, painfully. As layer upon layer of my old life is stripped away from me and I realize all that I am losing, I begin to see how much there might be to gain. So many hypotheticals but many of them carry some semblance of promise. I lose my home, I find a cheap room to rent and gain some financial freedom, I lose my husband but gain the opportunity to fall in love with someone else, someone who CHOOSES to love me the way that Jesus does, someone who wants to partner with me in ministry and parenthood, I lose my job, I go back to school full-time and find myself doing something else that I love and am passionate about.
Who really knows what life is going to look like 5 years from now? I could still be married to Will, in this house, having more kids, experiencing the marriage we have always wanted. I could be a single mom, living on a fixed income and relying on the generosity of others to help me get through, I could be remarried, I could be delivering babies... I just have no idea what journey I am on. But I am grateful right now for the little, tiny, miniscule glimmers of hope. I am beginning to not only see but maybe, finally, be feeling now that God is going to weave this all together into a beautiful masterpiece. For the first time in a long while, I am no longer dreading what it might all look like.
I am grateful for glimmers in the heaviness of the dark around me.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Small packages
Time seems to be slipping by so quickly. I can't always see that over the course of a day or a week, but when I look back on the years, I am astounded.
3 years ago today, I gave Will one of the most wonderful presents I could ever imagine. I left the tiny package on the stairs and waited for him to find it when he got home from work. It was a little thing, wrapped in a big bow with a note to open as an early Valentine's present, or a very early birthday present. Inside was the onsie we had bought to put in the hope chest with a note regarding a potential due date near Will's 30th Birthday.
I remember crying together. I remember the look on his face, the way my heart raced as he opened it. I remember being completely swallowed up in joy. It is all so clear, even still. I remember so many details of that night. I remember thinking even then that it was one of the greatest days of my life. I hope that I will always feel that way. I never want to forget how marvelous it was to share that news with the man that I loved. Together, we had created a little tiny life that was already in full possession of my body and captured every waking thought. It was truly surreal. In that moment, all I had was hope and a dreamy outlook on the future, all tied up in pink and blue bows. In that moment, life was perfect, life was full of promise and I had no idea of how much would lie ahead of us; grossly ruptured membranes, prematurity, NICU, heart surgery, heartbreak, loss, separation.
Some time in the future, I want Charlie to grasp how incredibly happy we were that day, both of us. I want her to hear about how much we had hoped for her to join us and make us a family. I don't ever want her to doubt the love that we shared for each other and for her at the time. This tiny package was, and still is, truly one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
I can't believe it has been 3 years. I can't believe how much has changed. I wish I knew where it all began to unravel to so I could go back and fix it. I wish that we were giving this precious little girl everything that she needs and deserves, everything we had hoped for her. Instead, we are giving her brokenness, right out of the shoot. It makes me so sad to see how different things are now.
I find myself closing my eyes and trying to relive that moment. I want to remember it, all of it. I want to experience the waves of joy and embrace the uncertainty of it. I wish I could go back and whisper to myself to drink it in, to take in every moment because it might all end way too fast. I want to remember what it was like to have bliss be a part of my daily existence.
Memories like this hold so much happiness, but that happiness quickly turns to depression upon the realization of what has changed, how much I have lost, what once was and seems so impossible to attain again.
But I cling to the reality of that moment. We were happy. We were excited. We were scared out of our minds but we knew that we could do it. We knew that we could be great parents. We were thankful. We were hopeful. We were blissfully unaware of what life had in store for us. Life was truly beautiful.
This little life I discovered 3 years ago held my hope and embodied my dreams. I want that hope back. I want to live with the conviction that there is still good out there and it is labeled with my name on it, with Charlie's name too. I need to recognize that God's gift of hope, the miracle that he has given in the form of my amazing little girl lives on. In the face of betrayal, hurt, anguish, that tiny package still reminds me of his ability to heal, his promise of hope, his unwavering parental love for me. I just have to choose to see it, to accept it and then live in it.
Monday, February 1, 2010
What to do with this anger...
I am trying desperately not to be consumed, but I cannot deny that I am ANGRY. I know that anger only escalates things. But I am so very angry and I don't know how I am supposed to handle it all.
I want to find her. I want to confront her. I want her to SEE and EXPERIENCE what she has done to my family, to my daughter. I want her to know that she is making a mess of all of our lives. I feel like I have to show HER all of this because HE doesn't seem to care. Of course, to him it is not about her at all. To him, it is all me, all my fault. And it doesn't matter how much I own any of this. It doesn't matter how many times I apologize. His heart already belongs to someone else.
It is shockingly sad to me that he can be here, an unexpected visitor, see how different Charlie is, how she acts out, how clingy she is, how she misses him but is clearly afraid to trust him, and not be impacted by that.
I spent the better half of the night on Saturday night pleading, begging, literally on my knees, for him to reconsider, for him to stay, for him to see the pain he is causing us, to turn back to Jesus, to me. It was as if I was talking to a wall. He says over and over that he just can't. He can't do it. He is physically incapable of it. He is completely unable to come back. Too much anger, too much hurt. Not enough faith.
That is what most confuses me. How can you claim to be a man of faith when you cannot even believe in God's redemptive work? Isn't that the whole story of God? I feel like we know or have heard of far too many couples who have experienced deep pain and betrayal in their marriages and yet God is able to salvage them. He is able to create an even better, more beautiful marriage from the depths of the mess. I so truly believe in that. I believe that God can do the things that we are unable to do, that he can stand in the gap for us. But Will apparently doesn't believe that. If he does, he doesn't want it to apply to US.
He says there is no "us." It is like a knife to the heart. He is convinced that there was more bad than good in our marriage. He says that all of our marriage was him just TRYING to feel it, not actually feeling it. It makes me wonder how much of my life has been a complete lie. But I refuse to believe that. I know what we had. I know it was real. He loved me... deeply. And I loved him. I cannot let the lies that he is buying become lies that I begin to believe too.
Yes we often missed the mark. Yes, we have failed each other in many different ways. But that doesn't mean things were always bad, certainly not bad enough to walk out on everything we had.
The reality is that I know he probably CAN'T come back to me. He CAN'T forgive or move forward or see the beauty of what could be if we could reconnect as a family. But I am not asking him to do this alone. I know that if he allowed God back into his life, back into our marriage, that we could most certainly find joy, intimacy and happiness in our marriage. But it is not possible without divine intervention.
God has commanded him to love me the way Jesus loved the church, meaning complete sacrifice and unconditional love. I don't think God was crazy when he said this. I am pretty sure that He recognized that we are NOT God and we are not perfect. I am also fairly certain that he knew these times would come, when we just do not feel like loving each other, when we get angry, feel resentful, tear each other down, hurt one another. But he calls us to do it anyway. And we probably CAN'T do it on our own. But God can. God can love people through us. He can change our own hearts to look more and more like his heart. He can teach us how to love in spite of rather than because.
But Will doesn't want that. He doesn't even want to try. He won't even pray and ask God to change his heart toward me. And it makes me sad. It makes me hurt. It makes me feel like I am dying inside, and my anger, my bitterness, my rage take over. I realize on some level that it is one of those things that only God will be able to help me control. My anger has to belong to God and not to me. I have to ask him to do what I am incapable of right now. I have to let go of this anger. That is all I can do.
I want to find her. I want to confront her. I want her to SEE and EXPERIENCE what she has done to my family, to my daughter. I want her to know that she is making a mess of all of our lives. I feel like I have to show HER all of this because HE doesn't seem to care. Of course, to him it is not about her at all. To him, it is all me, all my fault. And it doesn't matter how much I own any of this. It doesn't matter how many times I apologize. His heart already belongs to someone else.
It is shockingly sad to me that he can be here, an unexpected visitor, see how different Charlie is, how she acts out, how clingy she is, how she misses him but is clearly afraid to trust him, and not be impacted by that.
I spent the better half of the night on Saturday night pleading, begging, literally on my knees, for him to reconsider, for him to stay, for him to see the pain he is causing us, to turn back to Jesus, to me. It was as if I was talking to a wall. He says over and over that he just can't. He can't do it. He is physically incapable of it. He is completely unable to come back. Too much anger, too much hurt. Not enough faith.
That is what most confuses me. How can you claim to be a man of faith when you cannot even believe in God's redemptive work? Isn't that the whole story of God? I feel like we know or have heard of far too many couples who have experienced deep pain and betrayal in their marriages and yet God is able to salvage them. He is able to create an even better, more beautiful marriage from the depths of the mess. I so truly believe in that. I believe that God can do the things that we are unable to do, that he can stand in the gap for us. But Will apparently doesn't believe that. If he does, he doesn't want it to apply to US.
He says there is no "us." It is like a knife to the heart. He is convinced that there was more bad than good in our marriage. He says that all of our marriage was him just TRYING to feel it, not actually feeling it. It makes me wonder how much of my life has been a complete lie. But I refuse to believe that. I know what we had. I know it was real. He loved me... deeply. And I loved him. I cannot let the lies that he is buying become lies that I begin to believe too.
Yes we often missed the mark. Yes, we have failed each other in many different ways. But that doesn't mean things were always bad, certainly not bad enough to walk out on everything we had.
The reality is that I know he probably CAN'T come back to me. He CAN'T forgive or move forward or see the beauty of what could be if we could reconnect as a family. But I am not asking him to do this alone. I know that if he allowed God back into his life, back into our marriage, that we could most certainly find joy, intimacy and happiness in our marriage. But it is not possible without divine intervention.
God has commanded him to love me the way Jesus loved the church, meaning complete sacrifice and unconditional love. I don't think God was crazy when he said this. I am pretty sure that He recognized that we are NOT God and we are not perfect. I am also fairly certain that he knew these times would come, when we just do not feel like loving each other, when we get angry, feel resentful, tear each other down, hurt one another. But he calls us to do it anyway. And we probably CAN'T do it on our own. But God can. God can love people through us. He can change our own hearts to look more and more like his heart. He can teach us how to love in spite of rather than because.
But Will doesn't want that. He doesn't even want to try. He won't even pray and ask God to change his heart toward me. And it makes me sad. It makes me hurt. It makes me feel like I am dying inside, and my anger, my bitterness, my rage take over. I realize on some level that it is one of those things that only God will be able to help me control. My anger has to belong to God and not to me. I have to ask him to do what I am incapable of right now. I have to let go of this anger. That is all I can do.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Decisions
After a week and a half of being in Utah with my family, I am finally home. Charlie was so excited to be "in my home!" Watching her rediscover all her toys, connect with her memories, it made me so sad.
This home holds so many good memories... and now, so many bad ones. Every picture of "us" makes my heart break. I so desperately miss him. I miss us. I miss our family.
I thought I was ready to be back. Now, I just don't know for sure.
I have bills to wade through, decisions to make, numbers to crunch.
I don't even think this can be "my home" for much longer. And it makes me sad. It makes me sad that my daughter is losing every semblance of normal, that HER entire life is being turned upside down in all of this.
He was here when we were gone. He came by to get some stuff... clothes, movies, books.
The book that she gave him for his birthday was gone. The journals that sat right beside it, the ones I had been keeping for years before we got married, the ones that I gave to him and read to him by the fireplace on our wedding night, they are still here.
My heart is breaking. His decision has seemingly been made.
And my decisions are just beginning...
I don't know how I am going to make it through.
This home holds so many good memories... and now, so many bad ones. Every picture of "us" makes my heart break. I so desperately miss him. I miss us. I miss our family.
I thought I was ready to be back. Now, I just don't know for sure.
I have bills to wade through, decisions to make, numbers to crunch.
I don't even think this can be "my home" for much longer. And it makes me sad. It makes me sad that my daughter is losing every semblance of normal, that HER entire life is being turned upside down in all of this.
He was here when we were gone. He came by to get some stuff... clothes, movies, books.
The book that she gave him for his birthday was gone. The journals that sat right beside it, the ones I had been keeping for years before we got married, the ones that I gave to him and read to him by the fireplace on our wedding night, they are still here.
My heart is breaking. His decision has seemingly been made.
And my decisions are just beginning...
I don't know how I am going to make it through.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Line Please...
I suppose it is rare when I am at a loss for words. I am pretty sure most people don't see me having that issue very often. But I am getting to the point where I really just don't know what to say.
What am I supposed to say when people ask me where he is? What am I supposed to say about him going? How much do I disclose? What do I say when the kids who idolized him as their fun-loving Sunday school teacher ask where he has been? What do I say when old friends or former client inquire as to how things are going with us, with the business that we worked so hard to create?
And, worst of all, what am I supposed to say to Charlie? What do I tell her about where daddy is and why he has gone? How do I protect her in all of this? I feel like I have been left to fend for myself and no answer is a good answer. Nothing seems to come out right. No answer is sufficient. How do you compensate or try to minimize someone else's selfish decision, especially when it is hurting the one person that is a living, breathing manifestation of your heart?
In the end, the reality is that he has chosen a life different from the one that we had. He has chosen a world without US in it. He wants to still be her dad, he wants to be involved in her life, but how do you really DO that without being there for her all the time? How do you separate your daily life from this little person that is so much a part of you? How do you explain that you still want to be there for her when you have already spoken to the contrary with your actions? How do expect her, at two-years-old, to understand the disconnect between what you say and how you act?
Sadly, I know that she doesn't. I can feel it in her. I sense her anxiety. I feel her cling to me. I know her fear. I experience her rejection in all of this. Although she can't really articulate it, I know she is sad. I know she is scared. I know she is confused. I know she misses him. I know she expects that, at some point, her life will go back to the way it was, safe and predictable. I know because I am her mom. And it makes me so incredibly sad.
I wish I knew what I was supposed to say. I wish I knew how to fix it. I wish I were given some script on how to handle it, how to make her see that this isn't her fault at all.
All I can do is tell her what I know, that I love her unconditionally. And I am never going to leave her.
What am I supposed to say when people ask me where he is? What am I supposed to say about him going? How much do I disclose? What do I say when the kids who idolized him as their fun-loving Sunday school teacher ask where he has been? What do I say when old friends or former client inquire as to how things are going with us, with the business that we worked so hard to create?
And, worst of all, what am I supposed to say to Charlie? What do I tell her about where daddy is and why he has gone? How do I protect her in all of this? I feel like I have been left to fend for myself and no answer is a good answer. Nothing seems to come out right. No answer is sufficient. How do you compensate or try to minimize someone else's selfish decision, especially when it is hurting the one person that is a living, breathing manifestation of your heart?
In the end, the reality is that he has chosen a life different from the one that we had. He has chosen a world without US in it. He wants to still be her dad, he wants to be involved in her life, but how do you really DO that without being there for her all the time? How do you separate your daily life from this little person that is so much a part of you? How do you explain that you still want to be there for her when you have already spoken to the contrary with your actions? How do expect her, at two-years-old, to understand the disconnect between what you say and how you act?
Sadly, I know that she doesn't. I can feel it in her. I sense her anxiety. I feel her cling to me. I know her fear. I experience her rejection in all of this. Although she can't really articulate it, I know she is sad. I know she is scared. I know she is confused. I know she misses him. I know she expects that, at some point, her life will go back to the way it was, safe and predictable. I know because I am her mom. And it makes me so incredibly sad.
I wish I knew what I was supposed to say. I wish I knew how to fix it. I wish I were given some script on how to handle it, how to make her see that this isn't her fault at all.
All I can do is tell her what I know, that I love her unconditionally. And I am never going to leave her.
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