#willwestaytogether

This word is new to me.  Not that I didn’t know what it meant or how to use it.  But new that it became a full ten minutes of our conversation.  His sentence began with, “See, I don’t want to say these things to you without someone else present.” And then went on to explain that he holds resentment towards me.

So, I looked it up later that day. According to dictionary.com, it means, “bitter indignation at having been treated unfairly.”  M-W states: a feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury.

“treated unfairly....treated unfairly...” I can’t tell someone if they should be bitter about something.  But I think I can determine if someone is being treated unfairly or has suffered an insult. As long as we have been together, I have never thought of the word resentment.  I never felt either of us were treated unfairly or insulted.  We were doing the jobs as we signed up for them, and the best way we could, so we could reap the benefits of our hard work.  For him: be successful so that he could retire early and be home by age 47. For me: do my best to raise healthy and independent children that will go out into the world and care for themselves and others.   

The word resentment never found a place in my brain. I guess, I could have resented his happy hours after work through the years.  While he is sitting back drinking and discussing the trials of his day with the people he spent his day with, I am figuring out how to get 3 children to three different activities all at the same time.  As an exhausted mom of two prepping for Easter, I could have resented his boys’ trip to NOLA the same weekend. As a mom of 3 home with various ages on various days, one might expect me to resent his half day Saturday running and coffee time with his mini-city pal. As a mom home with an unexpected third daydreaming about traveling the world, perhaps resenting first class trips to London would be understandable.  As a woman without a salary, I can’t help but feel guilty if I spend money on myself, but even when he would buy a $200 rain jacket, I would think, “Good for him!  He works hard. I am glad he can treat himself.”  

How did I get here?

How did I get to a place where my new normal is to cry, all day?

How do I move forward?

The long weekend was a struggle.  I tried to convince myself that his actions to avoid me were in my head.  I was making up drama.  Until I wasn’t. Until he stood on the porch desperate sounding as he called out to his friend, “I’ll text you in the morning with a time.”  I froze. Tomorrow is ‘our’ day.  My parents have been on the calendar to take the 3 all week.  This was ‘our’ time to spend together. When he turned around, I think my presence directly behind him caught him off guard. “Why would you be texting him in the morning with a time?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from cracking, there were others that I needed to say good-bye to.  Evenly, he replied, “I thought I would go running with him.” “But, we have plans to run or hike tomorrow.” His quick solution, “We can all run together.”

And so we did.  I tried not to harbor my disappointment on our mutual friend.  It is certainly not his fault that he was unknowingly being used as my husband’s pawn. After our run, my husband suggested we grab coffee, in one car.  Then we walked around our mini-city together, the three of us going in an and out of stores together.  The clerk from one store recognized the two of them from their outing the day before.  It was clear to me that he was just trying to dwindle our alone time together.  This became abundantly clear when he started looking up movie times.  I was clear that I did not want to see a movie on this beautiful afternoon.  Eventually, our mutual friend was dropped off at his car, and to my husband, I suggested lunch.

I aimed for a normal lunch, but the elephant in the room was too large.  It didn’t take too long before the conversation focused on us.  It continued on the car ride home. It continued for at least an hour at our home.  

None of it was good to hear.  This is the second conversation of its type.  Each a week apart.  Each similar, where this is completely about him.  He tells me this is about how he sees that he has other choices he can make and he sometimes thinks he wants to try these other choices (living in the big-city, going to happy hours, not commuting on a train, meeting new people that are more job focused).  I am not included in these other choices.  Either are our 3.

Wanting to be candid, I decided to go with honesty.  So, I told him exactly how I feel: that I was dying inside because I felt solid that he was my future and without him is not a path I had ever considered, and it devastated me to be thinking that it could be true.  There was no encouragement from him- nothing that promised a future together- just "I am not sure what I want.”  Not very reassuring. His quotable lines, "I don’t want to lose you- I just don’t know what I want,” and  “I understand you shouldn’t have to wait for me."

I did not need to wait too long until he spent the night in the big-city again.  I was anxious the whole day.  Eating was an impossible task.  Focusing was an impossible task. I feared the night would be torture. It did not disappoint.

The text strand that day was heavy with requests from him to organize more time in the big-city.  I tried not to let it bother me, but he seemed all too eager to volunteer to stay in the big-city on an upcoming Friday night in order to help a pal on the following Saturday morning.  I felt soothed when he reached out at 9:14 to say “Heading up...kids all in bed?”

Unfortunately, Find Friends told me a different story.  He was at the bar far longer than he led me to believe.  I didn’t sleep much that evening, but eventually my eyes closed for a short amount of time. I was up before 6:00, and I didn’t wait too long to send him a text with an interesting article. No reply.  At 8:00, I sent “Good Morning!” No reply.  Find Friends still had his location at the bar, which is in the same building as his work. So, my sleuthing could not be very accurate. Could he have went from the bar downstairs to sleep in his office? When I finally received a “Good Morning” text from him, it was 9:30. I asked a few pointed questions, but received vague, noncommittal responses.  That evening, his commute home was a hellish 3 long hours.

The seed of doubt began to grow.

The next time he stayed in the big-city, I made an effort to text a few times during his evening outings. I purposely wanted his phone to buzz and light up while on the bar top. I wanted his eyes to look away from his friends and glance at his watch. I wanted him, if just for a split second, to remember me, us.

When his forays in the big-city began, I would receive  “Good Night” and “Good Morning” texts that usually read “Everyone up?”, but they began to fade, and with them, my trust.  One morning, I realized #1 left something home that he needed for school, so I looked at Find Friends to see if I could still catch his bus in the neighborhood. That is when I discovered my husband was not where I expected him to be.  I texted him a “Good Morning”.  No reply.  

I lie, there was one warning sign: One moment where I was baffled by something he said.  

Two weeks ago, we enjoyed a date night.  He and I strolling through our suburban-city holding hands, knowing our children were safe at home.  Each of us enjoying drinks with dinner, the warm weather we have been waiting for, and each others’ company.  Conversation on our long, relaxing walk began to change from comfortable and consistent to new and unnerving.  

(Backstory: He had been spending more time at work, late nights, early mornings, so a month before we had agreed that he should stay over night in the big-city.  This would ease his commute and keep him sane.  I was happy for him.  I saw his frustration with the long commute and his intolerable disposition when he came home grumpy.  It was not fair to our children.  I was thrilled that he would be able to win hours back by not commuting a few nights a week and have the added bonus to hang out with friends.  Not once, did I doubt the honesty of his request.  He has an older male friend with a studio that would let him crash. It was ideal.)

During the conversation on our walk, he begins to mention that he wants to talk to someone about some of his work issues: anxiety, lack of confidence, nerves.  I didn’t realize these issues were affecting his day to day.  I was caught off guard that he wanted to see a professional. He insinuated that the issues might be coming from his childhood.  The new information shocked me, but I want him to be happy, so of course I said I would support him.  He began getting very defensive about his time in the big-city, like a child afraid his video game is about to be shut down.  I reminded him several times that I was in complete support of his nights in the city, but it was too late.  His unnecessary defensiveness had planted a seed that could not be removed.  

I am an avid reader.  I enjoy reading.  I love holding a book.  Characters become my friends: I grieve with them, I laugh with them, I smile at their good fortune, and I feel their pain.  Or so I thought. 

For years I truly believed I empathized with characters. Their worries, concerns, fears, needs, feelings became mine as I read their stories. The most skilled writers were able to keep their characters’ stories resonating in my mind well after I turned the last page. 

And then he said to me, “I am not sure about us.” There were no previous signs that I may have ignored. No indication that he would ever utter these words.  Just those words, one night in bed, after making love. And my heart stopped. It broke into a tiny million pieces and has not found its natural rhythm since.