Shoes to Fill

We are enemies, he and I.

When he was a 40 something year old man, and I a 19 year old girl, we became each other's nemesis. 

He is a selfish, vindictive, pitiful and small man, who would rather hold on to his feeble pride than humble himself before the ones he has hurt so deeply. He caused a lifetime of pain to people I hold dear. They still suffer the scars of what he has done and have had to actively heal from his actions. He's a narcissistic, sociopathic, apathetic bully who hides behind a false god and false character and false strength. He's a weakling and a coward who manipulates and abuses people to feel powerful, who abdicates all responsibility for what he's done and blames others for his troubles. He steals innocence under the guise of being a loving and doting father. He's a poison and a sickness and until very recently I was sure I would never despise another human being as much as I despise that man. 

But then, the son.

I don't know when it happened exactly. Perhaps it was when he called me lazy and entitled. Or maybe when he said he didn't know why any man would want to be with me. It could have been when he told me I caused him to be the worst version of himself. Perhaps it was when he went out of his way to belittle my intelligence, insult my friends, and hint at the new woman (or women) in his life. Maybe it was when I cried and asked why he was so cruel and he told me, "You made me this way." Maybe it was when he complained about not seeing his kids whenever he wanted and I reminded him that he walked away from them. 

"Not them." He replied. "You. And I didn't walk away. You pushed me away." 

In the end, perhaps it was less of what he said and more of my response that caused me to realize what we had become. Because everything I said about his father, I think it about him. Some of it I've even said aloud. Sharp words that pierce like a sword; that's a weapon I know how to yield. And each time I draw blood with the sting of my words, I take momentary pleasure at the hatred I see in his eyes for me. 

Good. At least he feels something. 

I feel immeasurable sadness at what has become of us, two people who swore to love each other until the day we died. 

We are enemies, he and I.  

The New Normal

There's no getting around the fact that I have completely rethought everything I ever I knew about relationships, and how to behave in a relationship.

I am coming to the realization that I have no concept of what a "normal" romantic/spousal relationship looks like. 

Don't sit there and think that there is "no normal." There is. I've glimpsed it. It's shimmering on the edge of my periphery. I'm afraid to look directly at it for fear that it will merely be an apparition that will disappear when I turn my full gaze on it.

Normal looks like nothing that would catch my attention. It's not covered in heartache and daddy issues. It's not living with the dead. It's not the raging current under the calm veneer. 

It's eye contact, and smiles, and an open heart. 

It's not blaming people for its circumstances. It's accepting of its own limitations. 

It's not hateful, even in the face of painful events. It's kind and pleasant, and being in its presence feels peaceful and safe. 

Normal doesn't pull away when you reach for it. Normal reaches back.  

Normal doesn't hold you to impossible standards. Normal simply lets you be. 

Normal doesn't despise you for who you are. Normal accepts you as you are.

Maybe you're right. Maybe there is "no normal" after all. 

Because normal seems extraordinary to me. 

Bitterness, Gasoline, and God's Laughter

He comes jogging up, just finishing his two and a half hour gym session, I'm guessing.

I'm sitting on the lawn, attempting to figure out why the mower keeps cutting out. I'm two hours into yard work and I'm nowhere near finished.

His free time to go to the gym is sponsored by walking out on the yard, the house, the wife and the kids.

My free time to mow the lawn is sponsored by a napping baby and the kindness of a cousin to keep watch over the boy child while I do outside work.

"Does it have gas in it?" He asks. The gas can is next to me, and I calmly reply yes, it does, but it can't seem to stay running.

"Huh." He says. "Well it was working fine the last time I used it." With that, he puts his earbuds back in and jogs away.

I start the mower, finish the side yard and call it good for today. Walking into the house, cousin asks me, "You get it all done?"

"No," I reply, "but I need a shower. I smell like gasoline and bitterness."

As I strip off my grass stained shoes, my dusty pants, my long sleeved shirt required for lawn mowing, my thoughts begin to spiral. It must be nice, I think, to have the time to go jogging and weight lifting. To not be responsible for anything except yourself. To not think of anyone except yourself. To take time to care for your body first, instead of meeting the needs of three little ones before you can begin to think about your own. 

I'm happy to say those thoughts were only for a moment, because as I stepped into the shower I began to think of a different matter, and a different man, altogether. As the hot water beat down on me, I was sure I could hear God laughing at me for my prior thoughts. Laughing because I have nothing to be bitter about.

Each time we pull into the driveway, the smallest one says, "Daddy!" She's sure he will be there when we open the door. Only he's not there to hear her call his name, or walk with her arms outstretched toward empty space.

Each time it happens, I can't help but think how much love he's missing out on. I'm not bitter about him leaving; I pity him for what he gave up.

I haven't lost anything in this situation. I've gained. I'm surrounded by the three greatest gifts I could ever ask for, I have family who loves me, friends who support me, a church to belong to, and the possibility of a future greater than I could have hoped for.

It's not always going to be easy. But it's always going to be worth it.

And that knowledge is sweet as honey.