Mixed Metaphors

It was pretty rough.

There were the initial pleasantries about the weather or recent news or something, I really don’t remember.

He asked about new developments. Brenda sid something about deciding to stay, but I pointed out that she is still calling this other man on the phone.

I reminded them about the details of my ultimatum of the week before and the conversation spun toward the earth like a pilot in a World War I dogfight who had made the fatal error of letting a German Ace get in on his six.

We soon agreed on a divorce.

It was as if a grenade had been thrown into the room and our marriage had been splattered over the walls.

The counselor began to gently pry at the shards of our comments and found a common ground for us.

Neither of us are happy with the results, but the results are what they are.

She promised to stay and work on our marriage (the definition of what that means took some time to reveal), and not see or contact that other fellow, the one who doesn’t mind making love to a woman with a wedding ring on her finger.

She feels she is sacrificing her happiness of the sake of our children.

I agreed to not play detective and be watching to see if she breaks her word. He said that if she does, it would soon be apparent and we can then take the actions we thought appropriate.

We also agreed to give him the authority to advise us on what steps we should take to see if we can stitch together our marriage like some sort of creation of Dr. Viktor Von Frankenstein’s.

He said we were not ready for a marriage retreat. That there is too much work for us to do to place ourselves in such a crucible at this point.

He told us to concentrate on healing our current wounds, perhaps try to have some fun.

It is going to take a lot of work.

We had conferences tonight and I arrived home about 8:30. The bedroom lights were out and she was in bed.

I understand this is hard for her. She feels I am boring, that she is no longer attracted to me, that she wants something else.

But, here we are.

Perhaps this is a place where a miracle can happen.

Perhaps we can heal from these wounds. Perhaps she can find a way to be happy.

Perhaps we can rekindle a love that has been doused by too much nasty water.

A miracle.

Miracles of the heart.

Isn’t that where God works best? Isn’t that where my Lord dwells in His Church?

In my heart. In our hearts.

So... another chapter ends, another begins.

She was to make one more contact with this other guy, to tell him it is over.

I don’t know if she did it tonight or if she is waiting to do it in person, or simply wants more time.

I will try to be patient, understanding.

But my patience is wearing pretty thin.

This was her second affair. Strike two. (Sheesh, I’m mixing a lot of metaphors in this little piece of writing!)

She is in bed. I'll go join her. We'll sleep with our backs to each other, forming the deep canyon where our hurts flow between.

It is all such a mess. A divorce would be cleaner, neater. This future is uncertain.

But I will be patient a little longer yet.