Finding Forty, Day 152; How, What, When?

Where in the world to begin?  I lapsed in my writing but the roller coaster continues to surge, lurch, and breeze into the station, jerking to a halt.    The amusement park isn't crowded, so I get to stay strapped in, only for the ride to thrust me forward again.

This past weekend, we visited A's parents.   Today is his mom's 70th birthday and we were in town for her party.   Saturday was an adults only dinner, followed by a small, family gathering Sunday afternoon.  At the dinner, toasts were given and I was reminded that A's parents have been together for 51 years.  I can't even imagine.   I used to think that was how we'd be, but not anymore.  Part of me isn't even sure I'd want that.   Although, admittedly, the idea of it sounds lovely and nostalgic.

We got home late on Sunday evening and as we laid in bed, again we talked about how we just weren't working out.  Between us exists a wall and although we chip at it or step back to take a running attempt at leaping over it, we just can't surmount this obstacle.   The talk was one of our cool, calm, collected ones.  I like those.  They make breathing easy.     It was decided or reconfirmed or wait, established, that I would indeed move in with my co-worker.

The next day, with the sun barely emerging in the Eastern sky, I received a barrage of text messages from A.   He  told me he was hurt and angry and needed me to know that he would only consider a separation because I wanted it, but that he believes we should move straight to divorce.   He doesn't feel safe with me, can't trust me, and has recurring images of me with S.   We are out of sync, never being able to give one another what they need at the right time.   And at this point, he's not even sure he wants to try anymore.   Everything in his life is a failure and everything he touches turns to shit.  I tried to point out to him that I was shit before he ever came near me.  My problems were mine from the very beginning.  I'm not sure those truths were duly noted by him.

The words were gut wrenching, but in some small way, I was happy he was finally saying them.   I didn't phone him, but let him continue on, getting as much out as he needed.   I know I deserve everything he says, plus some, and I want to give him any chance he needs to tell me how he feels.

That evening, when he got home from work, I was afraid to see his face.  I don't want to be afraid to see A.  In the few days since then, nothing more has really been said.

Yesterday, our dog ran away in a very busy part of town and he was unable to get her.  I know how special she is to him, so I left work early and loaded the boys into the car, "lost dog" signs in tow, to try to find her.   Before we reached the spot where she was last seen, he called to tell us the pound had her.  Some kind soul had brought her in.

Helping him made me feel good.  I felt a soft spot for him developing and wondered what was so wrong with me that I felt willing to walk away from such a sweet, good man and the father of my children.

But, do I confuse love with friendship?  Or do I expect too much from my primary relationship in my life?  I have no idea.

We've talked on the phone today a few times, mostly about parenting things.  I can very much see us being excellent co parents.

Tonight, I hope to get him alone so that we can continue talking about the separation.  There are a ton of logistics to figure out with number one being....how, what, and when do we tell the boys?   Talk about being left unable to breath.

Except, in my strong moments, I see me moving out to give us some space as a gift to the boys.   The gift of two parents who are not faking it has got to count for something.

I used to love roller coasters, now they just give me a feeling of dread and worry.