Before

I am the youngest of 3 children. It was always in me that I was going to be a nurse, whether or not I knew it. I was born a nurturer. Having a terminally ill parent, I made them my perpetual play patient, whether or not they liked it. Cold clothes to their brow when their fever was high, checking temperatures obsessively, dispensing medications by memory prior to my ability to read. I have few memories of any of that, but have heard the stories. Snippets come flying back at odd times; scents of things at times, cooking paoched eggs in metal pans hits me every times with waves of nostalgia.

Never growing up was I one of those girls who dreamt of being married and having that lavish wedding with hundreds of guests. In turn, I never dreamt I would be getting divorced. I have been in tens of weddings, never the bride. I didn’t think the day the would come. It isn’t that I don’t believe in love. (Though, maybe now I don’t… perhaps I am just still numb.) I just didn’t think it would happen for me. I always felt a little unlovable. A little damaged. Even as a child. I am a extroverted introvert. I linger on the outskirts of the party, but I do generally go. I used to anyway. The older I have gotten, the less I have shown up. I am friendly, can talk to anyone, but it makes me a little anxious. I don’t show it. I don’t want people to know it does. So, I just talk to hide my anxiety. I am a little too loud at times, snort when I genuinely laugh. My heart is huge if I let you in it.

My husband was one of the people that would be on the outside of the parties too, except I am not sure he was ever invited to the parties. He is an introvert too. Quiet, reserved, calculated. Opposite in so many ways of me. But somehow, we always just worked. He would shush me sometimes. I would jump up and down if I was excited about something like a little kid, sometimes even clap my hands with exuberation. I am a horrible dancer, but have been known to dance on the streets and sing songs at the top of my lungs, while maintaining eye contact. I would go running around the house sliding in my socks, living on the edge of danger and grab the doorjambs just to see him giggle at me whilst trying to not fall and crack my head open.

I knew when I saw him I loved him. I never thought he would love me back. He did though. He wanted to date me. He wanted to court me, he had me move in with him, proposed to me, and he wanted to get married. He took my breath away. Correction. He takes my breath away. I think he walks on water. Even after all the heart ache; I was in happy forever, working on forever with him. It is a horrible, awful feeling. I feel lost without him and I can’t find my footing. It isn’t that I am dependent on him; but I didn’t know he was going away, so I don’t know how to properly mourn his loss in my life. My life has turned into a nightmare without him. He is trying to replace something that was missing in our relationship, but what is missing is within him. It wasn’t and isn’t between him and someone else, let alone us. He has a deep, dark void in himself. He doesn’t realize that he is killing me along with his quest of “I deserve to be happy,” and that the kids are confused and hurt too. By throwing me away like a piece of garbage, he has made me question any sense of self worth I had. Simulatanously he tells me “You are strong, you will be fine,”

That is where he is wrong. I am not fine. He broke me. He blew up my life. He broke my mind, my soul and my body. He tipped the scales for me. He made me believe I was good enough to be loved and he took it away from me. Now I have to try and find that on my own. I am not sure I can. I have to though because the alternative isn’t good.

He pays better attention to the garbage. He takes it out every Wednesday morning. He doesn’t forget about it. He doesn’t ignore it. He pays the bills for it to keep getting picked up. He found trash with his new woman. Maybe he just deserves trash, maybe he is trash. Maybe that is all he can relate to.