Next weekend, my husband of 11 years is getting remarried. I learned of this two weeks ago in a conversation regarding the kid's schedules. It went something like, "the boys don't have camp next week; will Kinsey be around on Thursday? Oh, B and I are getting married next month; do you know where Bailey's phone charger is?".
Three weeks is not a lot of time to process it all, but I think I'm doing... OK. It's very surreal. From what I can tell, she's a nice person. The kids love her. I want him to be happy (except when I don't). I hope they won't have to fight the same dragon that burned down our fairy tale.
Of course I've been playing all the memories over; usually when everyone else is sleeping. We had a lot of good. In fact, outside of that one beast, we were pretty great. I held on to that greatness whenever it got dark. I kept thinking if I just hung in there, kept fighting... loving...
I held on until I couldn't anymore. I lost my grip. I lost myself. Lost hope.
So here I am, completely disillusioned about love and the institution of marriage. Wondering why I've been so unsuccessful in it. Sometimes it feels I've got my nose pushed up against the glass of the 'Love and Marriage' shop with my pet, Bitterness, sitting at my feet.
If I hear another well-meaning, "You, know, marriage takes work...", I'll... well, I don't know what I'll do. I know what I'd like to do, but I'll probably just nod and say, "yes, it does."
I think, however, that sometimes, deciding to let it go is the brave thing to do. I assure you, it is not the easy way out. It is not immediately rewarded with acceptance and understanding from others. It required me to trust myself. That inner voice that I hid from for such a long time. The one that blurred away when he shined. I had to listen to her, and do still.
So, as he takes that proverbial stroll down the aisle, away from me, I'm forced to ask myself, "Do I feel at peace, as he goes? Do I accept this road I chose?" I have to say...