Over the summer, the years long question of whether our marriage could be sustainable was answered. This is not a subject that is conducive to an audience and this explains my absence.
I suppose people will wonder why... or maybe they won't. I think our innate curiosity makes us wonder, "What happened? What went wrong?" The next response is usually that of condolences. Yes, it sucks. Clearly, if we had been able to figure out a way make it work we would be doing that instead of this because this is sh*tty. However, when it gets to that point then it would be deleterious to stay in a relationship that is no longer healthy.
So, here we are. Here I am.
I've been holding down the fort at our house as we've prepared it to sell and, thankfully, that process is coming to a close. The house is more than just a place to live: It is a symbol of the marriage, the family, and the relationship. It is often the largest physical manifestation of a life together. There are parts of our home I will miss. The antique clock above the fireplace. The mantle. The Dogwood that is beautiful in any season. The heat of the gas stove on a cold day. The sweetness of the girls' room. The little "step" that both of my living daughters have plunked themselves down on and made their own little spot.
There are parts of the house that I will certainly not miss. The myriad of little things that we never could fix. A crack in the bathroom floor. A yard that was ultimately too big to maintain with small children. Funky plumbing. A one-person bathroom when you need to fit two or more. I am, however, not leaving empty-handed. I couldn't leave behind the antique door that came from the Morning Oregonian building. I'm taking the door, dammit! That and the picture that was so meaningful when we first viewed the house; a picture that became more significant as time went by.
My Grandma Doris, when expecting her third child, saw "The Fairy Tale" in a department store. She vowed that if the child was a girl, she would go back and purchase the picture. Low and behold, my Aunt Cindy joined my Mother and Aunt Grace as the third daughter. The picture has hung in my Grandma's house since and many in the family have their own copies. When I saw the picture hanging in the house during our tour, I viewed it as a "sign." I loved the house anyway, and this sealed the deal. Later, after losing Claire, I viewed the picture as hope that I would have three children. When I look at the picture, I try to figure out which girl represents each of my daughters. It depends on the day who I see in each of their faces.
In all of its perfect imperfections, life "goes on." The house that was our home is filled with beauty and ugliness, strength and weakness, light and darkness. People are composed of such things. Relationships. Ultimately, life continues. The ups and downs that compose our day-to-day lives. The longer battles we fight within ourselves that remain unseen. Those we love, those we mourn, and those we cherish. It's all wrapped up in us. Those that choose to "move on" deny the very nature of life, or at least pretend to. We live with it.
Today I saw a doctor to have my shoulder examined... as she was running through my history she said something like, "And then there was the baby incident..." I am stupefied in the moment. Claire... an incident? My daughter and her life reduced to an incident? I continue to be blindsided by these unexpected moments... and right now I don't feel like I have the wherewithal or "strength" to even begin to confront it. Can I control what she said? Could I have somehow changed her behavior? I know that I cannot control the actions of others... only my reactions to them. As someone dear to me has said, "Let the feelings wash over you and then recede like waves. Feel deeply and let them come and go." I cannot control something so large as the ocean and its temperament- ruled by forces even larger than itself. For now, I will try to keep my head above water and let it take me where it will... knowing that I have so many who are helping me keep my little boat from sinking.
"That's what momma always says. She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up."
In gratitude,
Laura
