I've been trying to write for some time now about my separation from Patrick, but I'm just not in a place where I can do it yet. I was married for just a few months to a man I love and adore. I thought everything was fine. I awoke that morning to the same "I love you's" as every other day, but by that evening he was gone. The finality of his decision was firm. I asked him to come home. He said he was never coming home. The man I loved for his loyalty, kindness, solidarity, and sense of humor was leaving me without a backward glance and with no explanation other than "I can't be married". My daughter whom he befriended and cared for didn't even get a goodbye. Two days later, on Christmas Day, Lydia and I were on the road to Illinois. We lost so much and this new reality of ours is one we're still trying to accept. I don't awake to sunrises in my beloved Tennessee. Lydia doesn't walk through the doors of her school to be greeted by friends she has known and loved for years. Daily life here in Illinois is difficult both emotionally and physically. The cold is brutal. So many things I have held dear and shared with you on this blog no longer exist. The quality of our lives as tanked. We traded a good school, good job, and a lifestyle we loved for a crappy school, crappy job, and a frozen tundra just so we could be closer to family. Was it a good move? Will it ruin my child? The fear that comes with parenthood is a real bitch.
and yet...
We go on. We trudge through each day. We find new beginnings. New hope. New disappointments. At some point I'm sure this hot, raw, and lost feeling will give way to something happier.
Actually, I'm not sure of that at all, but that's what I'm told from people who have been there.
