Going Solo

I thought when my husband moved out I was ready. We have lived apart before. Our relationship was barely civil. Everyone was avoiding each other. He was miserable and so was I. Our son just retreated from us both.

He came by today to grab some musical equipment. Off teaching guitar to our nephew. He hadn’t been showing much interest in playing music (with me, anyway) so I guess it is bittersweet to see. I can feel him pulling away. I know he’s thinking about moving on, more than coming back. I think he’s happier.

And the loneliness is setting in. We just had our 22nd anniversary, so just the thought of starting over seems strange. Being single. Dating? Probably not. Although I get a lot of attention from younger men, and I like that, I am not ready for more than a booty call. I don’t mind being the MILF at the grocery store or wherever, getting a second look or a comment. Even a phone number. Usually I am surprised, flattered and my ego is fed, but I am going through more reality than these kids could ever handle.

Dylan is looking at least four more months of recovery from his surgery. His moods swing, but he’s almost 17. Surprise. We are communicating and our relationship is good, but he’s also not too worried about what Mom is up to. He’s feeling better, recording his music. Meanwhile, I need to find a job with benefits, but I just can’t think right now.  Trying to get used to Stephen not coming in after work is distracting me. I feel kind of numb and sad. I just feel quiet, and ready to cry a lot.

It’s hard to let go of the only life you’ve ever known. I am used to being half of a team, and even though my wedding ring has been off my finger for awhile, I am not embracing the idea of being single. I guess I am just beginning to accept it.

 

Sadness, I Thought I Knew Thee

I thought after 42 years, I knew sadness. I thought I felt it when my father rejected and abused me, and when I fell in love with someone who didn’t love me back. I could have sworn it was there when I lost the best job I ever had, considered divorce, buried family members, and heard my child was chronically ill.

But I had to look into my son’s eyes to see it for the first time. True sadness. I’ve seen him scared, in pain, angry, frustrated and confused. But not sad. Not hopeless… until now.

His resection was around 6 weeks ago, and his recovery is not going as fast as he had planned. He had hoped to be physically stronger by now. But Crohn’s disease kicked the crap out of him for three years at least, not to mention the medications and side effects. A normal recovery is around 8 weeks. He is on schedule, but he is sick of being sick and Lord knows I don’t blame him.

Two neighbors, who were like sisters to him, moved away, then he got sick. That would have been enough, but then being too ill to finish school, and losing contact with most of his friends has made him hesitant with others. I watched my happy, healthy little boy grow into a pale, thin young man with pain in his face. He is well versed in the disappointment that shape many of us during our the teens. He has learned an early lesson in the fleeting nature of friendship and loyalty. I wish some of these things he didn’t have to learn all at once.

I had been planning to return to work. But I have unemployment until July, and I am going to spend it trying to help him to learn to enjoy life again. Even if it is 15 minutes at a time.

 

 

The Slow, Painful Death Of A Marriage

He doesn’t want to live with me. I don’t really want to live with him. Our poor son is caught in the middle. We ignore our anniversary. I stay closed up, angry, and sad at the way things have turned out. He doesn’t have anywhere to go or he would be gone. His heart doesn’t belong to me anymore.  I have already grieved the life I had… the man I married. I have cried over the loss and steadied myself. I’m no longer afraid of being alone.

But he is caught up between trying to find happiness and taking care of his family. Despite the fact that his leg ended up under a tractor, he has only missed a couple of days. I admire that. I am extrememly grateful for it. And since his employer is a cheap bastard and offers NO sick days, I somehow feel responsible for all that pain. The only way I can see to help him is to take some of that burden away. I want to give him the freedom to go.

Our son’s recovery from surgery is slow and steady now. He’s doing well. And I need to go back to work, get some health insurance and let go of my marriage. Even after 22+ years, no one wants to be “an obligation.” I don’t want to depend on anyone. I want a new beginning… I can only hope that I can find a purpose, a feeling of contentment, and maybe, someone to love me.

The time that my husband spent having to lie around with his injured leg was the perfect example of two people who have little to say, and little in common. You would think that such a close call would bring us closer.  But in taking stock of life, we looked past each other. Our dreams no longer mingle together; our ideas of happiness are elusive and hard to put into words; our bond is fragile, if not already broken.

How we have come to enjoy NONE of the same things is a mystery. That phrase “grown apart” came from somewhere. I just don’t know what to do with myself. I am a strong woman — I know I can do anything I want. But even strong women get lonely.

But while my son and I are very close, it would be nice to have someone else to just give me a hug every now and then. Just to tell me I’ve done well considering what life has thrown at me. Maybe even whisper in my ear that I’m still pretty.