I sit here staring at this blank page and wonder where to begin. How to I put into words the emotions that rip through my heart and battle with my mind? I am caught between two very different creatures on my shoulders, one says, “What’s the point in this?” The other says, “Write. It will be therapeutic.” The first one is easier by far, but it is the second to whom I will listen.
Statistics show that third marriages have a divorce rate of approximately 73%. I was blessed to be in the 27% that succeed. I was Jim’s second and he was my ‘the third one’s the charm’. Although back then I fought him tooth and nail, telling myself he wasn’t my type. Until one day a voice in my head said, “Oh, but what’s been your type?”. Well let’s see, #1 was a mentally abusive controlling guy and #2 was an alcoholic. Jim on the other hand, possessed none of those endearing qualities. So, after that eye-opening chat with myself, I decided maybe I should give this guy a chance.
Some months later we married and became our own version of The Brady Bunch. Between the two of us we have seven amazing children (his three sons, my two of each) and we were – and are – so good together. Imagine that. Looking back, of course we had our ups and downs, but nothing so serious we as a family could not overcome. So many tales I could tell. Maybe later.
I have been blessed ever since.
In our years together Jim and I never raised our voices in anger. Sure we had disagreements, but shouting at one another is such a waste of energy. I have often wondered how that man put up with me. While Jim rarely let little things irritate him, I was quick to say “Stop that!” Stop tapping your feet, stop fidgeting, stop putting the toilet paper on the roller that way, stop letting your mustache grow so long, stop… stop…stop! He was a whistler and would often blow the same tune. I did not tell him to stop that, instead I said he was making my eyeballs twitch. The whistling stopped for the most part. Only once, in twenty-two years, did he tell me something I did that got on his nerves. I don’t remember what that one thing was now, but I’m pretty sure I stopped doing it.
Jim always thanked me for everything I did for him. Every meal I prepared, cup of coffee I made, shirt I ironed, trimming his hair, restocking his toiletries… the list is endless. We were just that way with each other. Even the smallest gesture was recognized and appreciated.
We were so good together, my husband and I. What I would give to hear him whistle once more and sit with him (without complaint) as he watches those stupid alien shows. To once again feel his strong hand gently holding mine as we walk together.