There are moments when I forget that my entire life is unraveling. Moments when things seem almost normal.
This is the new normal.
For now, at least.
I picture being divorced. I picture living in an apartment with my three kids. I imagine my husband would get a studio apartment somewhere, or he might go get a roommate with the one local friend whose friendship he has nurtured over the last several years. I imagine my husband going to sleep at night, missing me, missing our children.
I think, if this comes to divorce, that the kids and I will be fine. I fear that he will not be.
I know how he gets when he’s sad. Depression comes easily to him, and he shuts down. He smokes, and he drinks, and he makes stupid mistakes, and then, during conscious moments, he berates himself for his own stupidity.
There will be no more night time belly giggles from the boy.
No more multiple tuck-ins of the girls.
No more shouts of, “Gia’s home!” [Our son, who cannot say ‘Daddy’, calls him “Gia” from his older sister’s constant shouts of “GEEEEET UP DADDY (GEE-UHH)!”]
I picture him picking the girls up from school like normal and taking them to my new apartment, then keeping them there until I get home. I don’t picture him staying for dinner. I picture us standing awkwardly together, yet physically apart, so familiar with each other’s body and yet unable/unwilling to breech the space.
Does he have any idea what he stands to lose?
“I know what my main problem is,” he texted me. “I need to work on my car, build something, hunt and kill something, etc…”
Thinking of our family, his children, our home, and the outdoor garden he has been working on for three months, I replied, “You have been building something.”
“And being interrupted often,” he answered. “Needing parts, weather, non-completion…”
“Won’t that always be the case?”
We are nearing the end of day 3. He wants to cook out this week, to grill, to have a few beers. We compromised on sweet tea.
Does he realize this could be his last weekend with his family?
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