This beautiful post was shared by a Ginger at “Poly Nirvana”, and I have to share it too. It’s achingly true.
THAT is what I had. THAT is what I lost. THAT is why I took so very very long to walk away and why me, a girl who would never tolerate such things, sucked up abuse for almost a year. I kept thinking any day that he would turn back into himself. And he didn’t.
THAT was the person who was so cruel. I’d made him the backbone of my family. I’d made my life there. We’d loved each other through every thick and every thin and I STILL loved kissing him. I thought he was getting more and more handsome with the passing years and I loved the silver in his hair. I loved his weird sense of humor and the silly things we’d do. I loved him with every thing I knew about him and he loved me that way too. He was there in the darkest most awful moments of my life and celebrated so many joys it would take me years to list them.
Some moments stick. We sat together in a room with our dead baby in a big dixie cup feet from us on a tray. We looked in it together and saw the same bloody bulbous head and tissue. We saw another child of ours on the ultrasound twitching and looking like a turtle in a big dark pool of shadow that was my blood filling up my insides, and held each other when the morphine didn’t stop the pain. We walked that arduous path to a new peace and happiness together and it took a lot of time and work, but we did it. We weathered that and so very much more. And even with all of that, our years were more light than dark and we still cracked each other up. We were silly and we were fun. Even more than lovers, we were honestly each others best friend. We’d moved so much and had only each other so many times. Even now I miss his friendship and wish I could call him sometimes. I still want to know what he’d say about this or that thing. He’s been my confidant so long and knows all the things that others won’t ever understand, even with the long version of the back story.
I’m doing better these days, happy in the life I’m building and accepting my path. I’m happy most of the time and I’m lucky to be so loved and supported. But… there are still those things I don’t know what to do with sometimes. I read this post and felt hallowed out. I want to believe that someday it won’t hurt so much when I really think of what I lost. I never imagined it could get as bad as it did and I don’t know what to do with the pulverized pieces of what we were. It took me so many years to trust him like that. I was utterly without defense. Why would I have needed one?
I loved this post because it was so true and it’s so bittersweet for me to read it. Truth resonates, you know? And it’s moments like this that help me grow. I teared up reading that post and writing this one but I didn’t cry. I guess that’s a little progress. It hurts, but the pain is getting less sharp. I was lucky to have been there and I’m lucky to be here now.
So I write it out on a blog post as I sit here surrounded by my travel bags on the blanket and sheets from last night. Traveler and I had a date before I head off to Portland tonight. We met and had dinner and watched the Browns at a local joint, because he loves them and has reawakened my love of my childhood dawgs. It’s a marvel to me that I find myself craving football. It doesn’t hurt that they won again either. We finally planned the week/weekend of our long awaited trip and talked about a few hundred little things, as we do. We were serious and silly in turns. We came back to my house and he took a shower and I attacked his sweet damp body, carried away as I loved him, never breaking his gaze as I moved, feeling together, coming with him so damn quickly but so deeply and fully. And after, petting, I shyly asked him if we could play a little WoW so we could finish some daily quests. I loved how eagerly he agreed, and we played for a bit, stealing kisses and touches and smiles as we quested. I fell asleep profoundly sated, curled to his warm back and smelling his skin. It was so marvelous, just our everyday little weekday date, that I texted him a quick kiss and praise.
And now, any moment, Cleveland will pull up and we’ll ride off to Portland. He’s late, but I really don’t care. We have tonight and tomorrow and Sunday. What a gift of time. We’ll sit in traffic tonight, a Friday at rush hour made worse because we’re leaving so late, and we’ll have more time to talk and share music and do that magic thing that happens on road trips where you are captive with each other. I’m looking forward to the kinky things we packed and the adventures at the club, but I’m looking forward even more to just having time. I’ll get to sleep with him, touching his fuzzy chest. I’ll get to talk to him and explore the city and just have fun. It’s our first trip and I’m excited for all those breakfasts and walks and discoveries.
None of this replaces that long miraculous love and it never will. I could never replace Cleveland or Traveler either. But life does march on with or without us and I won’t pretend that the love and joy of these men in my heart isn’t a comfort or that it doesn’t give me bliss and hope. I’m not looking too far forward, on purpose, but I do from time to time like to daydream. The years I spent with Hubby are over but not erased. I still have those 13 years, or well…12 good ones. I don’t know how long or how well I’ll get to know Traveler or Cleveland, but I have hope it could be very well over a very long time. I like the silver coming into Traveler’s hair too and I laugh so hard at the old crotchety man he plays and that I know he will become. I think Cleveland will get even weirder and have even more strange hobbies and I hope I get to learn about them too. Old love is a miracle. I hope I get there again some day.