A huge part of me is tempted not to blog right now. My emotions are so mutable–it seems that if I write about what I’m feeling at this moment, in another few minutes I’ll feel radically different…
As I sat in front of our rainbow bookshelves this morning and passed my eyes over each title, I said good-bye to our home and what it’s been to us for all of these years. By the time I return to our place, the books will be separated and sorted. And I doubt that I’ll ever have the desire to have rainbow bookshelves again.
But other than a moment of wistfulness, I was okay with leaving. There’s a part of me that’s looking forward to the new experiences that lie ahead, even if there’s occasionally a heavy aching in my ribcage that makes me wish this wasn’t happening. I don’t want John back (given all the hurt he’s sent my way these past few days, I’m quite ready to let him go), but I still feel some longing for what we had as a family, and of the sweetness we had in our home before he was so unhappy.
12 comments
I’m so sorry for the pain you must be in. I wish there were something I could do. Please know that I am thinking of you and that I love both of you so much.
When my family broke up I was able to look back a recall that there was a moment when I thought I had it all. Love of a man, wonderful children, satisfaction at my job, wonderful loving friends. It all fell apart. But as I looked back I felt grateful that yes, for a moment I did have it all. It made me think of goethe’s faust. He hopes for the moment when life is so perfect you don’t want the moment to pass. In goethe’s story, faust never really reaches that moment and so doesn’t have to give his soul to the devil. But maybe the life lesson is that the moment, if you are lucky enough to have it, is fleeting. Sweet, but perishable. Sorry for your pain. It is part of mourning the loss and repairing the damage. Hugs.
As happy as I was to let go of my first marriage, I still to this day ache for the family we once were, or could have been. I can never look at my children the same. As happy as I think they are now, there is still a painful mourning that they feel. It is like a death, and it needs to be properly mourned. I am a little weepy as I write this, and words are not sufficient to share with you right now. Pain is pain, I don’t understand all you are going through, but I lived through it, and you will too. Light and love your way.
I’m glad you left the comments open. Although I don’t know you personally, this tugs at my heartstrings for you and your children and even your husband. That is the wonderful part of blogging, the support you get from friends you never even knew you had. Peace. (Literally.)
I’m so sorry for the difficulties all of you are facing – but I am glad for you that you can also see the opportunity and the potential in change – I hope you, all of you, find good things beyond the rainbow.
Jana,
I discovered your blog a few years ago and read it faithfully, even though I never comment. My heart hurts for you and your family. Many years ago, I faced a similar situation as the child in the family, please give your kids an extra squeeze from someone who knows how they feel..and then have them give you one as well.
Hope you get to paddle soon, the water always brings solace.
All my best wishes for peace during this time.
Stephanie
Yes, yes, you’ve captured it exactly–it’s the loss of *family* that hurts the most. I’m so sorry for your pain. Know that I’m here in spirit.
Unlurking to express my sympathies, and my appreciation for your frank and open blogging on this and many other topics.
Another blog reader and first-time poster. Your postings are always thought-provoking and beautiful, regardless of topic. Peace to you and your family during this time of transition.
I just wanted to let you know you and your family are in my thoughts.
Jana,
You are an amazing women. Your writting is beautiful. Stay strong.
Thank you for sharing this part of yourself with us out here reading. I am sending you support vibes here from my screen.