The Girl With the Weight of the World in Her Hands

[believing_isaiah43]

Dude! H commented on my blog; I think he quit reading it a while back, but must have been bored last night while tracking our winter storm online.

Thought I'd share here. Even though our M is in pieces and our R sux for intimacy et al., thought this would encourage all of you still struggling with a spouse in an A to see what he wrote.

The Blog Post:
The Moon
Back in the dark days of the affair, The Husband and she-who-shall-not-be-named had a thing about the moon. Mainly, that they were far apart, but could still see the moon together no matter what. Cue cheesy music, I know, but ouch, man.

So, of course, the day after the "reveal" I've taken the kids to the inlaws to get them away from our personal Ground Zero, and am driving back home at night. The moon is amazing, huge, beautiful - and Dummy Me calls The Husband. He answers and I say "Can you see the moon from where you are?" and he can't even answer me for about ten seconds, because he thinks it's her.

I of course don't know any of that until later email hacking uncovers it. So, of course the moon then turns into something Bigger Than It Is. You know? Another signpost in my life that Reminds Me That SHE Comes First! THEIR Romance! He Loves HER! Even THE MOON is all about her.

And, hello, we live in the mountains: the Moon is always beautifully showcased. "Look at me!" Look at me!" screamed the moon for a few months. (Fcuking moon)

Slowly, that changed.

One night I was driving home, and the moon was pretty and I didn't immediately cringe inside.

Then, another night, I looked up and thought God did not make this moon for those two people alone.

And then, eventually, look, isn't it pretty tonight with no Ick attached to the thought.

It's been a year since the moon mocked me relentlessly. Now it's just a moon again. Things can change. Hope doesn't disappoint.

The Comment:
The Husband said...

The Moon. It is awesome to watch here in the mountains, and it does not mean anything to me other than what it is to everyone else. In fact, nothing of that affair means anything to me. At times, though, I will admit, that any reference in my mind to that affair (moon included) is only an open wound where my remorse stings like alcohol on a cut. Truly, I have no good memories of what I have done. Only pain. There is so much pain in remembering. While an affair may seem wonderful and exciting in the moment, the damage it inflicts, and the residual pain that does not go away for anyone involved, is not worth one minute of any excitement. Trust me.