Nowhere to go.

"Grief is just love with nowhere to go." 

I've stumbled upon the perfect quote, and I'm thinking of it throughout the day. I ping-pong between moments of rest, and being seized with sadness. For a minute I think I'm going to be okay, and then my heartbreak is debilitating. 

I can't help but feel this is a monstrous waste. A rash, hurried, angry waste. The depths of what this is are unbearable. I do not want this. I do not want this for me. I do not want this for him. I do not want this for our boy. 

My boy no longer lives under the same roof as his mother and father. 

He will never see us kiss. 
He will never bound into our bed, waking us up early on a Christmas morning. 
He will never sit between us on the couch, watching a Disney movie. 
He will not take another family vacation. 
He will not be given a sibling from the two of us. 
He will never hear us tell the other, "I love you." 
He will not remember how hard it got for the two of us, but also how much love was there. 

All time is happening at once. We are speaking our wedding vows, we are watching our son be born, we are divorcing. Divorcing. And what can I do? What was I to do when I was being taunted with the word, divorce, for over a year? What was I to do, but beg and plead and nearly lose my dignity in the process? Don't leave me. What could I do, if I alone was willing to walk through the fires, to the ends of the earth, to fix anything and everything that came our way? 

What if what came our way damaged me emotionally, mentally, and physically in the process? My appetite vanished, my anxiety mounted, and I questioned my self worth. My worth. To feel unworthy is a scary spot to be. 

But what if I still I wanted to fight for us? What happens when one won't stop fighting, and the other won't start? What's to be done when you're desperate to draw someone out of communication shut-down, and they aren't a willing participant? What do you do when you ask for help for him, for you, for your baby, and nobody answers your cries? 

What if, despite it all, you don't want it to end? 

To end without a fight is such a devastating shame. In these moments, where I can't catch my breath, I am sinking. My love with nowhere to go is suffocating. So abrupt. 

I longed to talk about the depths of motherhood. But depth became off limits. Wasn't this just a season of life? Weren't we just getting back to dates? Planning our first getaway early next year for just the two of us? We had just begun. Barely at three years of marriage. I couldn't even have three, and I would have given every single one I had left. I am forever altered by this. 

How could so much be taken from me? This is a low, low grief. 


And when I see him...how will I ever look at him and not see my husband? I will miss him forever. I will love him for always. I move forward off-kilter, housing something broken inside. 

It is gone. It is all gone. 

Maybe this was never mine to keep. This is not the first time my heart has been shattered by my Great Love. The one who left me behind once for eight months. From that I barely recovered. Here we go again. 

My Great Love who talked of our future up until the moment our lives exploded. My Great Love who tried to leave me so many times. It was inevitable. How many times must I be left, or told I'm going to be left, before I believe it, and act on it as well? How many more days can I stay, scared? Physically, mentally, and emotionally declining? Scared of an anger that my Great Love came with, and one that seems to be amplified by life with me. 

Yet my heart still screams: Stop this! Stop all of this! End it now! Fight for this! This is can't be how our story ends! Don't run away! Look ahead! This shattered life is not for us!

Grief is just love with nowhere to go. I've been broken, but my love stayed intact. 

Thank goodness for our son. Our beautiful, magical son. He is a bit of what was, of what I believe should still be, and all the reason in the world to press on. The brightest spot in my life. The boy who I'm said to love too much. To me, there will never be any such thing as too much. 

Thank god for my capacity to love, and my role as his mother. 

This tiny boy has saved my life. 

Three Times the Charm.

I've been proposed to three times.  That's right.  By three different men.  At three different times in my life, the man I was in a relationship with got down on one knee (or not) and asked me to be his wife.  That means I've had three different wedding dresses.  Three different rings.  Is your mind blown yet?

I've been a little more open in talking about my past relationships in this blog with my last post, and now this one.  The older I get, the more authentically I live.  As in, I just want to be, surround myself with, and seek out the real.  I crave it.  I've also realized there is no such thing as pretending big experiences didn't happen.  Burying it is not sustainable, and you can only pretend to forget, or deny.  And why should you want to? That's the big one.  Everything that happens to you, the good and the bad, is your story.  It makes you who you are.  It alters you, it informs you, and you grow from it.  

This isn't to say I feel my life or my past is anybody's business I don't want it to be. And I've learned that I don't owe an explanation to anyone.  Boom! Power back! But there are some things I'm willing to share.  I've done my work to clear out, heal, and I'd like to give it to you as I approach my wedding day. 

Have you seen the movie, Mr. Nobody? There are three timelines in which he makes a choice, propelling him down a path.  Each one is very different.  In each one there is a different wife.  There are variations on each path, as well.  If you don't chose, everything is possible.  But there's no such thing as not choosing anything, because even nothing is something.  In the end the lesson is that there is no wrong choice.  There are just choices (I've blogged about this concept before).  But there are also some things that simply do seem to be part of our destiny.  

We decide what to do in any given situation based on what we know at the time.  How much life experience we have behind us, how we perceive the world, the type of personality we are, who we are genetically, who we think we should be, etc.  

There is no wrong choice. 

The first time a boyfriend got down on a knee, he had no ring.  He was nervous.  He was shaking.  He was on his way to work at the bookstore.  He took the ring I was wearing (a birthday present from my parents) and moved it to my ring finger, saying to wear it there for now.  He went to work.  I was on my way somewhere, stopped at the train tracks when I called my mom to tell her I was engaged.  Silence, followed by, "Oh."  She wasn't happy about it.  Later, we bought our engagement rings and my wedding band. I bought a wedding dress.  We had a downpayment on a reception center.  He called it off.  I thought I would die.  I survived.  It was back on.  We were going to elope.  It was called off again.  It blurs from here, the cycle of on then off.  It was a long time ago.  It was juvenile.  It wasn't real.  It wasn't to be.  It turned out fine. 

The second time I was proposed to, he had a ring.  He'd picked it on his own.  It was enormous.  Gorgeous.  I don't even want to tell you what it cost.  It was a planned proposal.  It was Halloween.  I remember what I was wearing.  I'm not going to tell you all of the details, because they are mine.  I married him.  We eloped.  Little planning is required for eloping.  No way will I share that day with you.  It's mine, all mine.  We were married for six years.  It was real.  It wasn't to be.  I thought I would die.  It turned out fine.  Except when it wasn't.  And then it was fine again, and then it wasn't.  It blurs from here, the cycle of fine, then not.  It wasn't that long ago.  It wasn't juvenile.  

The third time I was proposed to, he had a ring.  We picked it out together.  It's absolutely perfect.  I look down at my left hand now, and with this one there is no sense of playing house, being unprepared, or wearing a symbol of defiance for my parents' sake.  There is no underlying question when I see my ring deep down (so deep) that maybe this ring is too extravagant, and not quite me.  Gone is the most secret of feelings that I tried to deny and never, ever wanted.  The feeling that getting married was what I thought I was supposed to do at that time.  That the ring felt off, because it represented being trapped in the wrong choice.  

The third time feels like the only time.  The real time.  The conscious choice.  The choice I make as a healthy adult who's been through it.  The self-aware choice to embark on a marriage and a life with this person, at this time, knowing what I know now.  Knowing who I am, and what my strengths and faults are in a relationship. Knowing my deal breakers.  Knowing what it feels like to be loved by good guys and not so good guys.  Knowing what I'm looking for.  Now when I look down at this ring, I see the symbol of what fits me, literally and emotionally.  I'm reminded that I was brave as hell and survived the worst of the worst.  I fought! I refused to settle! By god, there is such a thing as finding the love of your life!

There is no wrong choice.  And boy, this is very much my choice.

And I'm so deeply in love with this choice.

This time, I am freed.  I'm empowered.  I'm enhanced.  Whole, home, real.  

xo

Deena Marie