I expected that phone call.
The one that woke me up at two am Brian sobbing on the other end.
"I need you, " he said.
"I want us to be a family again."
"I love you."
Words that several months ago I never thought I'd hear. Yet now here I was hearing them. I wasn't suprised by his words. I knew this moment was coming. He had been hinting and building up to this for weeks. And what did I feel when I heard them.
Absolute terror.
Terror because a big part of me wanted nothing more than to hear those words.
Terror because I know those words might not last.
And terror because I know that as hard as it is for me that what Brian most needs right now is to concentrate only on himself. He needs to heal himself from all of the shitty things that happened to him in his past. He needs to worry about getting his life back on track, financially, spiritually and career wise.
I might not ever hear those words again and thinking that makes me wish I would have jumped back in with both feet.... but I just couldn't do it. That wouldn't have been smart and it would have been selfish. What I want most is for Brian to be ok and for me to be ok... together or not together... as long as we are both doing good and we're happy then I think we'll be right where we are supposed to be.
So maybe I just passed up my last chance to be with him. There might not ever be another 2 am phone call asking me to give our marriage another chance. If that's the case then I'll just have to live with it. I'm not ashamed to admit that I will be sort of sad if he doesn't feel the same way in a few months and want to give us one more try. When I said for better or worse I meant it and if given then chance to work on my marriage I would take it. I love Brian and I'll always love Brian. Whether he's a husband or a friend that won't change. But I'm going to be okay either way. I'm going to be there for him either way. And I think that's what real love is. Just someone loving someone enough to simply want them to be happy. Wanting the best for them. Hoping that they find peace. And if you're not their happiness, not the best for them, not the person in which they find their peace that's okay... just them finding it somewhere and in someone is all you could ever really ask for. And as long as Brian finds that peace and happiness for himself that will be enough for me.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
broken hearted???
bloodpressure 158/103
pulse rate over 100
abnormal ekg
(though I think the doctor's exact words were a variant of normal)
echocardiogram recommended
It's times like these
In moment like this
On days like Monday
When I most feel alone.
There's nothing worse that sitting on the doctor's examining table, shivering, half dressed with little sticky electrode things stuck to your chest and missing having that hand to hold. When the only sound you here in that quiet, unreasonably cold room is the ticking of the clock and the rustling of that stupid crinkly exam table paper everytime you swing your feet or move. There's no one to laugh or to break the silence. No one to smile and joke with you about having to give up your beloved soda because you need to lower your sodium intake and caffeine level. No one to reassure you that your heart isn't broken because even if the echocardiogram comes back perfect and it's discovered that your heart pumps blood like a champ, deep down you know that in many ways your heart is indeed slightly cracked. Because you're alone now.
And it's times like these.
In moments like this.
On days like monday.
That I most feel alone and scared.
And wish with all of my possibly broken heart that I felt neither.
pulse rate over 100
abnormal ekg
(though I think the doctor's exact words were a variant of normal)
echocardiogram recommended
It's times like these
In moment like this
On days like Monday
When I most feel alone.
There's nothing worse that sitting on the doctor's examining table, shivering, half dressed with little sticky electrode things stuck to your chest and missing having that hand to hold. When the only sound you here in that quiet, unreasonably cold room is the ticking of the clock and the rustling of that stupid crinkly exam table paper everytime you swing your feet or move. There's no one to laugh or to break the silence. No one to smile and joke with you about having to give up your beloved soda because you need to lower your sodium intake and caffeine level. No one to reassure you that your heart isn't broken because even if the echocardiogram comes back perfect and it's discovered that your heart pumps blood like a champ, deep down you know that in many ways your heart is indeed slightly cracked. Because you're alone now.
And it's times like these.
In moments like this.
On days like monday.
That I most feel alone and scared.
And wish with all of my possibly broken heart that I felt neither.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
eleven hopes for 2010...
Two thousand and nine was by far not the easiest year for me. But with that said I don't neccessarily look back on it and think that it was a bad year. A year full of changes. Fear. Independance. Stress. Triumph. A bit of loss but a lot of gains too. If I could take only one lesson I learned this past year with me into 2010 and even further into the future it would be this...
The other day my roomate Gavin and his dad were moving my dresser and one of my favorite willow tree angels fell off and broke. Many times over the past year I have looked to that angel as inspiration. A little boy holding what appears to be a balloon that spells out the word hope. If anyone collects willow trees they'll know that each angel represents something and when you give someone an angel you are also giving them the gift of whatever the angel represents. Go figure that after what could have been the most trying year of my life my poor little angel of hope is the one that takes a tumble, his arm breaks and his tenious grip on his balloon of hope is lost. Many times last April and May and even periodically since then I've had moments when I lost my grip on hope. I had days when I could have sworn all was lost and I couldn't get past the hopelessness of it all. But here's the funny thing about hope... for me atleast... there may be times when it seems to run and hide... but hope is no good at that childish game of hide and seek. Hope never stays hidden, it always seems to come and find you. It may be small, barely worth grabbing onto, and it may even take some super glue to keep it within your grasp but it finds you nonetheless. I've learned that if you never give up on hope, hope will never give up on you. Hope may let you take a tumble every once and awhile but hope is always more than willing to let you superglue yourself back to it.
The other day my roomate Gavin and his dad were moving my dresser and one of my favorite willow tree angels fell off and broke. Many times over the past year I have looked to that angel as inspiration. A little boy holding what appears to be a balloon that spells out the word hope. If anyone collects willow trees they'll know that each angel represents something and when you give someone an angel you are also giving them the gift of whatever the angel represents. Go figure that after what could have been the most trying year of my life my poor little angel of hope is the one that takes a tumble, his arm breaks and his tenious grip on his balloon of hope is lost. Many times last April and May and even periodically since then I've had moments when I lost my grip on hope. I had days when I could have sworn all was lost and I couldn't get past the hopelessness of it all. But here's the funny thing about hope... for me atleast... there may be times when it seems to run and hide... but hope is no good at that childish game of hide and seek. Hope never stays hidden, it always seems to come and find you. It may be small, barely worth grabbing onto, and it may even take some super glue to keep it within your grasp but it finds you nonetheless. I've learned that if you never give up on hope, hope will never give up on you. Hope may let you take a tumble every once and awhile but hope is always more than willing to let you superglue yourself back to it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)