Regarding Yet Another Fading Memory

I cannot exactly recall the real reasons anymore. I tossed and turned that night, mulling over whether the details of yet another argument. When morning came, a faint sense of understanding settled. I recognized, once and for all, that my husband and I have given up on each other.

As I exchange angry words with my estranged husband, my mind searches for the fellow that I fell in love with a long time ago. The face of this man before me resembled that of the figure in many of our treasured family pictures --- either smiling or wearing a goofy expression, with arms around my daughter and me.

Regret now comes whenever I think about every hurtful expression that both of us could have taken back, about how one more day of patience and longsuffering could have prevented our relationship from failing.

My mind is on aimless overdrive, focusing on nothing but a dull black. I do not know which words to utter when praying. I do not know whether there is any more cause for believing. I cannot lash out at God, for I know there are others who suffer worse. I just know that there’s more suffering to come. Pain lingers like a worsening migraine or heartburn, sometimes overpowering the desire to eat or sleep.

Hard to think of long-term solutions as it is, I am able to manage on a few mundane decisions at the very least, such as rearranging the furniture at home or deciding on a new hairstyle that I could try. In time, I would know exactly just how I could rearrange my life or decide on letting the court mandate on the legalities of our separation.

These days, as sadness hovers over me like a heavy cloud, I am straining to see whatever light remains along its edges. Hope illuminates in the support and understanding of friends and loved ones. The moments spent with them over coffee gives me that sense of unburdening, only to be replaced by this awareness that I had revealed the details of my problems far too much for my comfort.

I am surrounded by a houseful of reminders of a shared life: wedding gifts, framed photos, favorite home movies, and so on. On the other hand, the sights and sounds outside of home set off flashes of memories: our family wandering at the malls, dining, trips out of town, activities in school, etc., etc. If there is no way for a neurosurgeon to find a “Delete” button or press “Restart”, then I would gladly accept a prescription pill to suppress all those ill memories.

Two months ago marked our 12 years of marriage. I had some scant hope that after all the anger has worn down, we’d slowly find a way to reconcile and rebuild our family.

And then that moment changed when I heard him on the phone mutter “I love you, honey.”

It wasn’t me that he was talking to.

.