Saturday, January 23, 2016
The big guy and I ordered new bedroom furniture last fall and it arrived this past week. Mission style, hand made, beautiful. My old set was the original set I had; it was the one my ex-husband and I picked out just before we were married. When I say my ex-husband and I picked it out, I mean he picked it out and I agreed. That's how he built consensus. Anyway, he picked it out and I had never liked it. Now I have the bedroom suite I always wanted and I love it.
In the process of moving everything in and out of the bedroom I came across many old bits and pieces of writing and mail that I had tucked away and saved over the years. One was a letter from my ex-husband going over our marriage. I reread it and then tore it up and threw it away. I'm done with him. In his letter he told me how afraid he was of me and my anger and how he felt bullied by me. To be fair I was often angry. I was overwhelmed, sad, depressed and isolated with three children, one of those children with a severe disability. It's strange because my takeaway from my marriage is that I was mentally abused by my ex. Two sides to every story.
This past year I have gotten rid of everything that my ex-husband picked out for the house. The dishes he picked out, the cutlery, the bedroom suite; there is nothing of him left in my life, other than my children and that feels good.
I can still remember the first time we visited a divorce mediator together and he spent about thirty minutes arguing about the date of our separation. He was arguing about one day. When that was all done he was very happy and said we had come to a consensus. In reality, I had said, I don't care. What difference does it make? He beat the point to death, by himself. At that point the lawyer turned to me and asked me if I had been abused. She wanted to know before we continued. Everything with my ex-husband felt like, beaten to death. I felt beaten to death by the time I was done. I had nothing left and he wonders why I left.
Going over the old letters stirred up my grief again. Grief is a funny thing. It gets smaller but it never really goes away. It's also easy to stir up and when it resurfaces it can feel fresh and painful all over again. I am so thankful I had the strength to leave him.
I am also thankful that I met a lovely man named Bill, aka the big guy. He's kind and compassionate. He's also fierce and loyal. He calls me on my bullshit and he accepts me as I am, tears and all. He makes me laugh and I make him laugh. He hugs me everyday. He knows me and I know him. Who knew I would find such a love so late in life.