Grace, most of the time I feel like I am backsliding on the ol' LBS forward-journey, but one thing I have noticed in the past month or so is that I no longer ever think about what I want to say to my H. I keep reading posts by folks who are imagining what they want to say to the MLCer, especially some of the more active newbies, and I am able to see very clearly how totally pointless that is. Lately I had noticed that I even carry this realization to other relationships in my life -- e.g., an irrational customer. Maybe it is a form of detachment, but I almost never at this point think that I could say anything to my H that he would be able to hear or understand as it was intended, let alone as the truth.
So when I read your comments of what you would like to say to your H, I just want to give you a big hug.
That said, last night on my last night at my favorite place, on an island, I felt a calling from the Holy Spirit to go down to the beach at 2 am (I was still up) because there was a huge moon, and I wanted to see the ocean lit up in the moonlight. And when I got there, I had it out with God. I was literally kneeling on the sand all lit up silver, yelling at God that everything had gone wrong and i just cried and yelled about everything that has happening and is happening and how I did not want any of the possible futures I imagined could happen, and that I did not want any of this to keep happening to my children or affecting them in the way that it is. It was kind of like Jacob wrestling with the angel except that there was no conclusion, no new name and promised future beckoning, just me turning back still crying, and the moon disappearing behind an endless black cloud. But I definitely felt God's presence. Just inscrutably.
Point is, I am struggling, believe me, but I am glad to tell you that a day will come when you won't picture what you would like to say to H anymore.
I believe I will see the bounty of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord with courage. Be stouthearted, and wait for the Lord.