Wait, I'm 33?

T and I were walking out of a local restaurant recently, and I thought I recognized an old friend from high school.

"Dave?" I said.
"No, Tom," Tom responded.
"Oh, sorry. You look just like an old friend of mine."
"No problem," Tom said.

T turned to me and asked who I had thought Tom was.

"Oh, just an old friend from high school," I said.
"B, that guy was 20 or 21 years old. How could he have been a friend of yours from high school?"
"But, but, but that's what Dave looked like last time I saw him," I protested.
"How long ago was that, B?'
"Um, maybe 10, 11 years ago?"
"Exactly my point, B."

When did my friends stop looking 20 or 21? And how did I get to be 33? I still feel like I'm 17. Honestly.

-b

Bridge Collapse

Since becoming a widow, I react to tragedies such as the Minneapolis bridge collapse in a different way than I would have before. I feel such a sense of empathy for those husbands and wives who will never see their partners alive again. I picture the children who will never again be tucked in by their mom or dad. I can feel in my heart, and in my gut, the anxiety of those waiting to hear if their loved one made it.

I also have a different reaction to those that survived. Watching tv this morning while on the elliptical machine, I began to sob. In public I was sobbing, and I didn't care. I was watching the survivors sharing their incredible survival stories, and their stories of being reunited with their families. And I was beyond happy for them, I really was. But I also felt for those newly widows and widowers. I know that they must be wondering why their spouses weren't spared. And I started wondering why certain people die, and others survive.

None of it seems fair. None of it.

-b

Allow Me To Explain
(If that's even possible)

disclaimer: I am about to put down someone who is dead. I know I'm not supposed to do that, but even the dead aren't perfect. If you feel like you will be offended, please don't read.

The person that I was when I was married to Joe is no longer the person that I am today. So many of you have commented on this blog about how strong I am. It hasn't always been that way. I loved Joe. You all know that I loved Joe. But I don't love who I was with Joe. Remember the title of this blog? I was ALWAYS on relaxed alert. I could never fully relax, and I never stood up for what I believed in when it came to my marriage.

This wasn't Joe's fault. It just was what it was. My childhood was less than ideal, and I met Joe when I was 15 and vulnerable. He took care of me, and I fell in love with him for that reason. But Joe always ruled our marriage. He was never abusive, he never mistreated me really. But I never told him what was really on my mind. I never said, "no" to anything. I mean, I had a whole freaking room of my small house dedicated to cigars! Who allows that?

Was Joe a perfect husband? No. Not in the least. Was I a perfect wife? No. Not in the least. We both did our best with the baggage that we both brought to our marriage. When I was unhappy with Joe's behavior, instead of confronting what was bothering me, I looked the other way. When he was upset with my behavior, he took off, and drank.

I can count on one hand the number of fights we had during our 14 years together. I don't think that's a good thing. I was always scared to fight. Not because Joe would hurt me, but because I was afraid he would leave. This was not the behavior of someone who was strong.

After Joe died I became someone new. I gained a strength that I never knew I had. I stand up for myself. I speak my mind. I don't stay in relationships that aren't healthy for me. I fight with T when I feel a fight is warranted. I don't take crap from people.

And so, when I went into the attic after three years, and found remnants of Joe's past that I wish I hadn't found, I got angry. Angry at Joe for lying to me. Angry at Joe for keeping secrets from me. Angry at Joe for being so selfish. But mostly angry that my new strong self, will never have the chance to confront Joe with what I found. Because the new me would love to confront the old him.

-b

Secrets

I hate secrets
I hate keeping them
I hate telling them
I hate finding out
that the person I loved
that the person I knew
(or thought I knew)
kept so many
fucking
secrets
I think he even
kept secrets from
himself
Sometimes I hate him
How's that for a secret?

-b