Saturday Morning

I have spent a lot of time over the past couple of days thinking about my ex and the genesis of the problems between us, ultimately ending with our divorce when Captain Knuckle was only five months old. It’s been an interesting experience to say the least.

This morning, I lay in bed next to my husband, listening to him breathe as I stared at the ceiling.  I inhaled deeply and then let out a long, drawn out sigh as I asked him, “Would you have married me if I had kept Ms. Feverfew?”

“Woman, you ask the silliest questions.” Then he paused for a long time.

My heart caught in my throat, even though I *knew* what he would say next. Yes – he would have because we were meant to be together. I know it is a silly question because it is one I have asked of him before and I know his answer by heart. I just needed to hear him say it again. When he paused, I wondered if this was the time he would say, “No.”

As if. After nearly a decade of asking him, his response has never changed.

“Of course I would have married you because we were meant to be together.”

And I know he truly feels that way. I have put this man through hell as I have struggled to overcome the abuse and lies from my childhood. He has held me for countless hours as I have cried myself to sleep because of you. I have tested him time and time and time again, daring him to prove himself capable of withstanding my anger, my awful and terrible fury as I rage against the injustices in my life.

He has come through for me every time. His love for me is as old as the eternities and is solid as anything known to mankind and his courage is boundless. I know I can ask him that question a thousand more times and he will answer me the same – yes, I would have married you because we were meant to be together. I would have raised her and loved her as my own.

I know he speaks the truth because that is what he has done – is doing – with Captain Knuckle. He loves my son because my son is part of my heart. He loves you the same because you are part of my heart.

I never dared ask my ex that question because I feared what his answer would be. I think I knew in my gut he would have said: No, I would not have married you if you had kept your daughter.  

In a nutshell, that was the trouble between us. I was tainted goods and by marrying me, he was marrying far beneath what he “deserved” (yes, his lovely mother said that to me). Our marriage was doomed before we even knelt across the altar from each other and made those sacred vows. It died and withered on the vine before it even had a chance to take root because he didn’t love all of me. He loved the idea of me and the parts that showed on the surface – the tall, exotic beauty with the tiny waist and smooth latte skin. He didn’t love the inward broken parts of my heart and he certainly didn’t love my will to overcome the challenges in my life.

All the rest of it is details. Who did what and who said what to whom. None of it really mattered. Our marriage was slated to end before it even began because he simply wasn’t man enough to deal with all of me.

Even with that realization,  I still think he had pretty craptastic timing in telling me he wanted a divorce. Did he really have to do it days after listening to me testify in court about the abuse from my biological father? It would have been nice to have been afforded a week or two of recovery from that harrowing ordeal before being told my marriage was over, too.

Much love,


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