Marching On

I want to say February has been a rotten month. But rotten isn’t right. February has offered up one hardship after another and I’m tired. If I offer the month in review, could it just be March now, do you think?

There were the big things. My ex-husband was out of town most of the month with his sick father, who passed away last week. I can only describe my losses here because I can’t imagine what Mike must be going through. The first was tangible in that my son didn’t have time with his father and I didn’t have much time to myself. Then there was the loss of my place in this huge milestone in my ex-husband’s life. I thought it would be my shoulder he’d cry on, my hand he’d hold. Finally, there was the loss of the relationship I hoped Cavanaugh would have with his granddad. I had heard so many stories about Dale coaching, mowing the lawn, having supportive talks with Mike and imagined what kind of grandfather he would be to my son. They won’t have that opportunity now.

Next, Cavanaugh got RSV, which he’s had for twelve days: snot, croupy cough, fever, eye gunk, and for the last three days, hives in patches all over his body. That meant a week out of school when his dad was out of town. It meant that Cavanaugh was tender and needed attention when my reserves were empty.

Then there was Valentine’s Day. Then the anniversary of my ex saying he had been lying to me, having an affair, leaving me. That was the 22nd. Yesterday of last year, I was on the phone to anyone I could think of who might call Mike and tell him he was making a horrible mistake. I asked them to remind him of our vows, that we loved each other, that we’d made it through tough times before. It was snowing outside, huge butterfly-like snowflakes and my son wanted to play because it almost never snows in Austin, but all I could do was cry and dial the phone. I called his nanny to pick him up so I’d have time for my desperate attempts to save my marriage.

A year ago today, I went to the doctor for a breast exam because I was worried about a lump and my grandmother had died of breast cancer. The doctor ordered a mammogram, then prescribed some sleeping pills when I told her about the divorce. I got home and agreed to stop fighting for our marriage.

Today, I have been mostly fine. I ate a whole bag of red licorice and will have cinnamon toast for dinner. I almost tackled a man in the produce section at the grocery store, because he had his toddler son in the cart and was on the phone with his wife asking if he should get the white mushrooms in the largest package. My ex-husband was at home in my living room playing with our son and I don’t have him to grocery shop with or for anymore. Next week, he’s getting his own place, though he moved out of here 10 months ago. Then I expect my seeing him will be reserved only for child hand-offs.

I had big hopes for this month, and a lot of them came to fruition. I have remembered love, not just that from my ended marriage, but I have co-hosted a Blessingway for my friend Gray whose son Nicholas was born today.  I hosted an I Am My Own Valentine Tea Party. I am going through photos to print, frame, and put up in our living room so Cavanaugh and I can be surrounded by those we love. Cavanaugh and I made a miniature snowman. Yes, it snowed again this year and even though Cavanaugh didn’t get to see it falling, he rode a sled, built a snowman, threw snowballs, and we played. I’ve also made a collage/vision board, a memory board, some curtains and I’ve been working on my new website (look for that next week).

I’ve also been comfort-eating, having bad dreams, not exercising, not writing much. I had to walk out of a meeting for the parenting chapter I lead because the subject was on parenting and partnership and I couldn’t stop crying. I thought I had a kidney infection, but it was all in my head. I had a mental status exam to review my disability benefits and haven’t heard confirmation that they’ll be continued–though I pray they will be. I put up curtains in the kitchen because, for some reason, I end up sobbing late at night downstairs and my windows were bare and whatever neighbors were driving or walking by could gaze in at that deep grief that’s still knotted in me.

So, the curtains are up. By the end of February, the photos will be hanging on the walls. My new website will launch. There is evidence all around me that life is good. It is so much better than it was a year ago, and (excuse the pun) I will continue marching into my bright happy future. This month, however, has felt like slogging through deep mud.

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