I’ve made it to week two without a nervous breakdown. Better living through chemistry. Xanax during the day, Lunesta at night. Little gay tic tacs. But it’s really OK. As I’ve said, my new motto is “my life is in chaos and I’ve never felt more at peace.” The meds aren’t really for my sanity as much as to help me adjust to the lightning speed at which this has all happened. That was the one aspect of this I NEVER saw coming.
She’s decided, and I fully agree, that the best thing is for them to return to Atlanta. While they love the water, that, alone, isn’t enough when they have not developed relationships here that will help through the aftermath. So last Monday morning they headed out to look for housing. As I write this, I’m thinking that some of you will think “she’s absconding with the kids – he’ll never see them again.” And nothing could be further from the truth. We’re closer than we’ve been in months. Fully engaged with each other, supportive of the paths we’ve embarked on and yet fully aware that there is pain and tears to unfold. But we’re best friends. Have been for 20 years and she’s determined that this is not going to undermine that friendship. I’ve said before on these pages that I’m married to the greatest woman in the world. If she had the right parts, we’d be set.
So they’ve spent last week looking at housing in the old ‘hood and I’m fully engaged. Checking the listings online, skyping to get a real time tour of the ones at the top of their list and helping craft and then reviewing the offer on the one they liked best.
The problem is that everyone thinks they’re an expert and feels the need to weigh in on our situation and it’s creating all sorts of noise she’s having to filter out. The hens are trying to make her play the role of scorned woman and she knows better. Others in the old neighborhood just roll their eyes when they hear the tale. But in that neighborhood, dysfunction abounds. I suspect half of the eye rolling really means “that’s nothing. You should have heard what I heard yesterday.”
They came back from Atlanta last Friday afternoon. She dropped the kids off and headed to the grocery. I got back home before she did. Tears on both sides when we saw each other for the first time. But we made it through dinner. After cleaning up the kitchen, I point blank asked if sharing a bed bothered her. “Nope. Does it bother you?” It doesn’t but I had made arrangement to sleep elsewhere if it did. But then when it came time to actually climb into the bed, the faucet was turned on. Uncontrollable sobbing. I did my best to console her. We talked for two more hours. About everything. Finally gave her one of my night time tic tacs and she was able to sleep. The days are good. Saturday was fine but before we went to dinner with my mother, I suggested that it wasn’t a good idea for us to sleep in the same bed and she agreed. So I sneak away after getting my son in bed and am back before he wakes up in the morning. I don’t like games at this point in the story but I’m not sure a kid his age would “get” the issue of us sharing a bed when we’re otherwise friendly and engaged. Sunday and Monday the same.
Today they headed back to Atlanta “for good”. Although “for good” here is a really a purgatory of sorts. The house they’re going into wont’ be available until the end of October so they’re staying with friends and will be back here on a regular basis to start moving a few things before the movers really get here. But they start school there tomorrow and that’s a very good thing. They’ve missed a week and a half already and that’s simply too much. My son thrives on a routine and life is anything but orderly right now.
I count my blessings. I read fellow bloggers who are living in limbo of some sort or another. Important people in their lives not really knowing them, spouses who don’t know what to do or what they want, inertia ruling their lives. Not here. And while I can’t take credit for the decisive action post-disclosure, I’m thankful. It seems painful right now but we can’t be far from the bottom and once there the climb to happiness for all of us begins. I can’t imagine standing on the ledge looking into the abyss.