Why being married aint half bad
This is such a strange period in my life; it should be joyous and momentous. We are planning our daughter’s bat mitzvah and aside from being in INVITATION HELL ( I still think I should just do a big ole evite and forget all the stamps and addresses and then attempting to print them out on envelopes- yes we are LIKELY going to be handwriting it all- but I digress.) My father’s passing has been months ago and I still vacillate on a whim between laughing at things my dad would say to weeping that I will never hear him say anything again. While I’m in the throes of experiencing every emotion on the grief continuum life goes on. And that’s the thing about death, that you don’t realize until someone you love passes, while your world seems to come to a screeching halt; life, bills and your kids and their bat mitzvah prep need you to continue.
Oh yes and then there’s that guy I’ve lived with for the last 16 years (we lived together in sin before we married 14 years ago) who has without hesitation picked up the ball where I’ve dropped it so many times. He’s calmly and patiently listened to me go from I don’t want to get out of my bed depressed to explaining to our kids that “mommy needs time to heal” and we’re all in this bubble of sadness together.
He has this quiet strength about him, that while at times has been infuriating ( i.e. when I’ve wished to be the recipient of a bit more effusiveness from him ) during this period has actually been a soothing, soft place for me to fall. In many ways he’s been a touchstone for me- no judgements, no expectations and has set no limits or time table for my grief.
I guess, right now, in this very moment, being married aint half bad.