I overhear two women talking. About their darling, petite friend and her exceedingly tall husband. "Man, that guy loves his wife. It's awesome to watch."
I'm sure it is.
I watch a TV commercial of a father and son on the couch, the son mimicking his dad's every move. Subtly the mom slips a bottle of water into the dad's hand, instead of the sugary orange soda. It's a lesson in modeling, in setting the example, in cutting thousands of calories a year.
It's a father and son. And it makes me nauseous.
"I'm quite sure that Hugh and I would never have reached the relationship we have today if we hadn't made promises. Perhaps we made them youthfully, and blindly, not knowing all that was implied; but the very promises have been our saving grace."
~ Madeleine L'Engle
Robb and I didn't have a perfect marriage, but we had a healthy one. And we were getting better at it. And I miss it.
We were going to be old together. Him before me, naturally.
I must guard my heart if I am to get through the day, let alone this month.
And sometimes that means I must simply walk away.
Read something else. Stop listening. Disengage.
Lest I publicly give into the rage inside me that feels so horribly wronged. So horribly robbed.
In the middle of a party,
I'll just want to go home.
I'm beginning to learn where to find the words
to the song that emptiness sings.
Glory to God, this is how emptiness sings.
This is how emptiness sings.
~ Christa Wells