The Honeymoon Period

Short, but oh so sweet!

I was welcomed home by an exuberant and enthusiastic spouse. . .so much so that I questioned who he was and what he had done with my husband! The house was sparkling, the dogs were groomed, and Mo was attentive, solicitious, and sweet.

He claims that this is the "new and improved" model and that he has indeed turned over a new leaf. I am hesitant to jump right on board this train, but am pleased with what I've seen this week anyway. Together we have maintained a much more equal status than before my trip, with division of household duties, expenses, etc. falling onto his shoulders to a greater extent than ever before. He's been cheerful about all of it -- which makes the skeptical me wonder how long before the other shoe drops.

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On another note, today was THE DAY that I've been dreading for a while. Today marks one year since Mo lost his father, and I expected it to be an emotional and exhausting day. While it turned out much more pleasant than I anticipated, I can't help but reflect on the grieving process we've all been through the past twelve months. Mo's grief has, I believe, been the catalyst for his bad behavior -- though it is no excuse. On the surface Mo seems to be in a much better place emotionally than he was 10, 8, or even 6 months ago. I'm not stupid, though -- I realize that I may never understand the depth of his grief, or how long it may take for him to emerge from it. I know enough from reading blogs about loss to know that he will never be the same, that the pain he feels will be with him every single day for the rest of his life. That somehow the best I can hope for is for him to mend, and to reach some understanding that he is irreversibly broken, yet still whole.

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And so the shoe dropped. He was, of course, invited to play poker with some friends tonight. He did, of course, hem and haw about going. He said he wanted to stay in, that he wanted to spend time with me, that he wanted to be good. He said he knew I'd only been home four or five days and that he needed to build my trust more, to convince me that he was indeed a "new man." And then what? You know this drill -- he left anyway.

It's the same story all over again -- except it's not. This time, I'm not raging, I'm not bawling, and I'm not stressing. Because here is one thing I learned from going back to my mother's house: I will be okay. I am strong, I am capable, and I am loved. If Mo doesn't realize what a catch I am by now, then that's his loss. I did tell him (via phone) that this game really doesn't work for me any more. I told him that a relationship was a two way street that had to work for both people. His need to go out "with the boys" is not a scene I am really interested in anymore. I have grown up -- something I see that he clearly has not yet done.

And so we wait. We wait and see exactly how "improved" my Mo has really become. Will he come home by 1:00 a.m. as he claims? Will he make it in the morning to the church tutoring session as he promised our youth pastor? Will this be just one night -- or one of many?

I don't know, and in the past that would have made me crazy. But something in me has changed. I am finally learning to let go, and to be willing to wait and see what happens. I can't control the outcome anyway, so what's the use in stressing about it?

I've rambled on for too long now; I am tired and headed to bed. I didn't even get to share my AWESOME news (not baby-related, so don't panic). I'll leave you with that cliffhanger, and once again thank my bloggy friends for all of your support as I struggle and ramble through trying to make sense of this thing called life.

Hugs to you all.