stilllearning2b

Growing Apart in Marriage

Posted on September 4, 2018March 10, 2019 by stilllearning2b

We were inseparable for the better part of ten years.

We met at the age of four at a Mother’s Day Out group at our church. I remember being drawn to her pigtails, her white-blond cornsilk hair reminded me of one of my dolls and stood in contrast to my much wilder and darker mane. By the time we were in first grade, we had graduated to official “best friend” status, proudly advertised on our silver James Avery half-heart charms worn on matching chains around our necks.

We did everything together. Completed each other’s sentences and knew the other’s every wish. The other kids seemed to understand that we were a package deal – make one friend and get another one free. Our friendship navigated the transition to middle school where afternoons spent catching toads were replaced with evenings endlessly dissecting interactions with the boys. Even as we took our first shaky steps into relationships with the opposite sex, we would always return to each other to seek advice and approval.

But then high school happened and those small differences that has always existed between us were suddenly magnified. My preference for Metallica drew me towards an older crowd and her love of the stage pulled her into theater. Our classes, which had rarely ever been together, were suddenly on opposite halls and our lockers were assigned in different buildings. Over the span of a semester, we went from being inseparable to being casual friends who largely moved in separate circles.

There was some sadness. I would see her under the lights on stage, those cornsilk pigtails now released into a shining wave down her back, and remember how familiar she once was to me. There were moments when I would see her name in its first-place position on my speed dial and would mourn for the connection that we shared.

Yet even with the pinch of grief that would tag along with my memories, I understood that this transition was natural.

We had simply grown apart.

Our interests, our goals and eventually, our experiences, meant that we no longer occupied the same space. And even though it was sad, it was okay. We each had our own path to take and we could remember with fondness those years when our paths converged.

Why is it that we treat marriage so differently than other relationships? We acknowledge that friendships grow and recede, changing over time, yet we fear our marriages being anything but static, constant. When we sense that our partners are growing away from us and we catch a glimpse of diverging paths, we respond with panic or a quiet denial instead of acceptance.

We accuse them of no longer being the person that we married, beg them to stay the same as they were. We project our own discomfort with change onto their shoulders, penalizing them for wanting to change direction.

It’s sad when two people who were once so compatible begin to grow in opposite directions. It’s painful to be presented with the choice of following your heart and moving in a new direction or silencing your heart in order to preserve a relationship. You may secretly crave a reason to end the relationship, struggling to acknowledge that it has outlived its usefulness when there is nothing identifiably wrong with it.

You fear breaking hearts, yet your heart is breaking every time you feel like you have to make a choice between your partner and your purpose.

There are no easy choices when a couple has grown apart. Choose to stay and you and your partner risk feeling diminished and stifled. Attempt to renegotiate the marriage and you may find that the terms are not agreeable or that they are not sufficient to mitigate the growing distance. Walk away and you invite loneliness and regret even as you move towards your light.

This is not to say that marriage should be discarded as easily as a shirt once fashion changes. There is a commitment. A promise. Ideally, core values and goals are still in alignment and individual growth can occur within the supportive structure of the marriage.

But that is not always possible. The couple that met through faith and always held religion as the cornerstone of their union will be rocked if one partner disavows their church. Or, if two people came together with the express wish of starting a family and one later decides to remain childless, the bedrock has been fractured. You can fight the situation, but your protests will only go so far.

I often learn about acceptance through nature. My backyard is comprised of a small oval of grass surrounded by trees and shrubs. Most of them happily grow together towards the sun, leaning against each other for support and generously sharing the sunnier spaces. Or, they renegotiate, sharing the same soil yet bending their stems in different directions in order to both have their needs met.

Some become bullies, so concerned about their own needs that they shade out those around them. Others allow themselves to be shaded, giving up their own potential for growth with barely a whimper. I rarely intervene, but when I see a plant failing to reach its potential because of its location, I feel obligated to step in and either move the limbs that are blocking the light or replant the stifled one in a more favorable location. I don’t brand this intervention as “failure,” it doesn’t indicate a problem with the individual plantings. It’s simply something that needs to happen for growth to continue.

Yet marriage is more important than a bunch of flowers looking for their own stream of sunlight. We build lives together, share dreams and fears as we layer years of shared experiences. There is a vision of a shared future, moving forward along the same trajectory that was envisioned from the beginning.

And yet…

Change is inevitable. And sometimes endings are as well. There are times when the kindest action is to honor when your paths converged and allow them to continue along their own course.

Taking the Long View

Posted on September 2, 2018March 10, 2019 by stilllearning2b

Yesterday was a big day for me.

After two decades of carrying the burden, I finally paid off the last of my student loans.

I have to say, I was a little disappointed in Discover’s response to the zero balance. I wasn’t expecting anything too major, maybe just some balloons dropping down from the ceiling, applause coming through the speakers on my computer and a moderately-sized parade in front of the house. As it was, I had to make do with a sentence sandwiched between the ads for a credit card and a personal loan: “Congratulations. The balance on your student loan account is now zero.”

It’s been a long journey getting to this point. Much longer than planned-for or anticipated.

Life is funny that way.

And in so many ways, this slog back to financial health mirrored the emotional healing from divorce.

I don’t know what my credit score was on the day my world exploded. I refused to look. The last time I had checked, it was just above the 800 mark. But that was before my then-husband maxed out my credit cards, stopped paying my student loans and took out additional credit lines in my name.

I considered bankruptcy. The financial counseling session that I was required to complete as part of the pre-qualitification for the process left such a sour taste in my mouth. The advisor kept questioning my claims about my budget, unable to understand how I ended up in such a mess with a relatively frugal spending pattern. No matter how many times I explained what my husband had done, she didn’t seem to get it.

She blamed me. And I blamed me too.

Not for spending the money, but for being so stupid as to allow it happen without my notice.

So I hung up and took out a pad of paper to work out how I could pay back the money on my teacher salary without resorting to filing for bankruptcy.

I had to be strategic, although I wanted nothing more than for all of those debts to be instantly reduced to zero (and for my checking account to rise above sea level since he had left me with a negative balance). Silently, I yearned for my credit score to again be solid, instead of the shamefully low number that I knew I carried as a virtual scarlet letter, branding me as someone who didn’t have it together.

Over the next five years, I slowly and steadily paid off his parting gifts – a sum total of $80,000, if you include the legal fees that he was ordered to pay and never did. Three years after he left, I finally summoned the nerve to check my credit score. It wasn’t good, but I knew it was better than it had been.

I understood that this wasn’t a quick fix. It may have been destroyed in an instant, but rebuilding was a long game.

But even then, with the bulk of the debt resolved, it wasn’t over. The foreclosure (yet another gift from my ex and a legal system ill equipped to deal with manipulators), still pulled down my credit score, an anchor to the past. And the student loans, which were supposed to be paid off (according to the financial plan I had with my then-husband) in 2012, had instead been relegated to minimum payments in order to focus on the accounts with higher interest rates first.

Last year, the foreclosure dropped off my record, instantly catapulting my credit score almost 70 points. And then yesterday, I wiped out the student loans, which should bring me back up to my starting place of just over 800.

It’s taken 9 years and 51 days to get here (But who’s counting?). There were certainly improvements along the way, some major and some so small that they were barely noticeable. But until yesterday, I didn’t feel as though it was “done.”

And that’s how the emotional work felt as well. I wanted it to be resolved quickly. I told myself that once the legal process was over, I would refrain from looking back.

Yet just as the foreclosure pulled down my credit score, the divorce still weighed down my heart.

It was a long, slow climb back to emotional health and stability. Some days brought great improvement. Most heralded imperceptible improvements. And still others sent me tumbling backwards, leaving me bruised and fearful that I would never make the climb.

Yet, at some point, it happened. Unlike with the financial health, I don’t have a single event that I can point to where I was informed, “Congratulations. The balance on your emotional trauma has now reached zero.” But I can look back at my writing and see a difference. In 2016, there were still posts where I was struggling with trust and abandonment and vulnerability. In 2017, those are absent. And that continues. That doesn’t mean that life is always easy, but it does indicate that I am no longer responding to the events from the past.

Healing from anything requires taking the long view. It demands patience and persistence, especially in those times when progress feels sluggish and uncertain.

Keep at it. One day you’ll be able to look back and realize that it’s no longer a reality, simply a memory.

The (Unspoken) Truth About Marriage

Posted on September 1, 2018March 8, 2024 by stilllearning2b

When asked about the state of their union, people often feel like they have to defer to one of two responses:

“It’s all good,” or, “It’s over.”

Yet the reality is that most marriages spend much of their time between these two extremes. Where some things are good, some areas are taut with tension and loving thoughts are interspersed with feelings of frustration or even disengagement. And by neglecting to talk about the reality of marriage, we leave those in completely-normal-and-not-always-ideal marriages feeling unsure and isolated.

Even the best marriages have bad days.

Or weeks. Even months. Whether from external pressures or changes prompted by internal struggles, there will be times when things are not good. There may be spans of silence, a lingering sense of tension in the air after a difficult conversation or nights spent lonely in separate beds.

When these bad days occur, it can be easy to catastrophize. To assume that a bad day indicates a bad marriage and that this is a sign that the end is near. One partner may be more prone towards panicking, attempting to grasp on in a desperate attempt to stop the imagined slide downhill. This often has the opposite effect, as the one who is latched upon feels increasingly trapped and becomes desperate for escape.

Some bad days pass on their own, especially if their cause is largely centered outside the marriage. Others are a cry for help, a sign that the marriage needs some attention and perhaps modification. And others are just part of the natural ebb and flow of life, expansion followed by contraction. This is one of the reasons that the first year of marriage is often deemed to be one of the most challenging – it follows after the excitement of wedding planning and establishing the relationship. The day-to-day of normal marriage simply can’t live up to that level of expectation.

Even the closest couples need time apart.

In the beginning of a relationship, the excitement and novelty leave you counting the minutes until you can be with your newfound love again. It seems impossible that there will ever be a day where you look forward to a trip that takes them out of the home for a few days. But it will happen.

I hear whispered confessions from friends, deeming me a safe receptacle for their secrets, admit to feeling guilty when they let out a little cheer when their spouse pulls out the driveway for a few days of absence. “That’s totally normal,” I reassure them and the relief is palpable.

Too much of anything – or anyone – can easily become too much. With overexposure, appreciation is easily replaced by irritation and small problems begin to accumulate. I like to relate it to ice cream. The stuff is amazing. You maybe even want some every day. But if you have a gallon of it in one sitting, your body is going to rebel. That doesn’t mean that there is anything wrong with you or the refreshing treat; it simply means that you need a break before you can enjoy it again.

Even the most compatible couples can struggle to find connection.

When my now-husband and I were first dating, we lived across town from each other. And in the Atlanta metro area, that’s quite the commute. Since we couldn’t see each other more than once or twice a week, we would spend evenings on the phone, chattering on about anything and everything.

It was easy to find things to talk about – not only did we live our days in largely separate worlds, we were still in the process of learning about the other person. Now, eight years later and sharing the same bedroom on most nights, we can go days without a meaningful conversation. The reasons are multifold. Our lives are more overlapping so there is less to share about the day-to-day. At this point, we’ve divulged and discussed our pasts, our passions and our perspectives and since we’re not yet old enough to be forgetful, there simply isn’t a need to cover the same material again. And we’re busy. The activities that were pushed to the side in those early months of the relationship have again found their place, leaving us with little time to connect during an average week.

As a result, there are times when we can feel disconnected. Like we’re crawling in bed with a virtual stranger, who both knows everything about us and yet we have nothing to talk about. And then, we carve out some time to do something new together, even if it’s as simple as dinner at an untried restaurant. The new environment inevitably sends a current through the relationship, reigniting the spark of connection.

Even the most agreeable people will have differences of opinion.

I love my husband, but there are times I think he must be a visitor from another planet. After all, surely no reasonable adult human could actually think that??? In my first marriage, I let those differences of opinion bother me. I would either take it personally (seeing an attack on my viewpoint as an attack on me), allow my mind to be changed or feel threatened by the disparate stances.

It no longer bothers me so much (Unless it’s about school; I get pretty sensitive when people who are not in the academic sphere try to tell me about modern-day school issues.) when we have opposing viewpoints. In fact, I’m more likely to find it interesting (Why do you think that way?) or humorous than threatening. I have learned that it is possible to both love and support someone even while disagreeing with them.

There are some things that are so important that dissent is a sign of trouble, but for most everything else, a difference of opinion is simply a sign that you are two different people. And that’s a good thing.

Even the strongest marriages have periods of renegotiation and transition.

There is an immense about of negotiation and compromise that occurs when a relationship first becomes serious. The amount of togetherness is determined, acceptable interactions with the opposite sex are established and relationship patterns are initiated. That period is widely accepted as a precarious one. Some relationships emerge on the other side, stronger and established, while others fail to effectively negotiate a path.

What is less discussed are the inevitable transitions that occur throughout a marriage. As children come and go, job responsibilities shift and health crises seemingly come out of nowhere, the established roles and routines may longer be appropriate. And because we’re creatures of habit and we universally fear loss, these renegotiations are often even more difficult than the initial shift into commitment.

These times of transition are stressful and we often struggle to find the words to describe them adequately. We are uncomfortable with change and with making space for the unknown, especially when our most intimate relationship is threatened. Yet those same uncertain times that scare us also provide us with the most opportunity for growth.

Even the most reasonable parters will sometime respond irrationally.

I am normally a very rational, even analytical, woman. Unless I’m poised at the top of a hill. At which point, I turn into a blubbering child. My husband knows this about me, and so he lovingly becomes extra-patient with me in those moments. My thoughts on a hilltop are not rational, but they are real. At least to me and in that moment.

Most people aren’t as afraid of downhills as I am (thank goodness, or whole industries would be wiped out), but we all have our particular triggers that cause us to behave irrationally and emotionally. And when you’re married to that overreacting person, it’s hard to suppress the urge to declare, “Just what in the hell is wrong with you?” and to respond instead with a combination of compassion and encouragement.

And here’s the hard part – unless we share the same emotional triggers as someone else, it is difficult (if not impossible) to understand where that person is coming from. And when that person is your spouse, that is a frustrating pill to swallow.

Even the most loving unions will have times where love is dormant.

Love is more about action than feeling. There will be times when you don’t feel an overwhelming sense of love or affection for your partner. Some days, irritation and annoyance speak so loudly that they drown out the soft utterances of fondness. The love isn’t gone, but it’s quiet.

It’s important how couples respond to each other in these difficult times. There can be respect even without understanding. Kindness even in the absence of fondness. Tolerance when cooperation is lacking. And above all, a willingness to listen for the sleeping love and the patience to wait for it to stir once again.

Why I Don’t Want a Perfect Marriage

A Growth Mindset in Marriage

A Facebook Marriage: Keep the Smile On Or Else

Five Strategies to Cope With a Lack of Motivation During Divorce

Posted on August 20, 2018March 8, 2024 by stilllearning2b

At first, it was a fight for survival that kept me going. That was soon replaced with a desire for justice. Then, some excitement for new possibilities provided a slight trickle of motivation to keep going.

Eventually, all of that ran out. The well of inspiration to keep slogging through the debris of divorce dried up, leaving me tired. No, scratch that. Leaving me exhausted and defeated, unable to summon the energy to keep going and unwilling to see past the frustration about being forced to start over.

The task felt too big to accomplish and my bones felt too weary for the burden. Thankfully, my stubbornness was greater than my lack of motivation and I soon incorporated these five strategies to keep me moving forward on the days where I just wanted to hide under the covers.

Motivation Builder 1 – Implement Structure and Rules

We are all creatures of habit and when left to our devices, we tend to slide towards the path of least resistance, AKA the sofa and the mindless use of technology. We easily feel both too busy because we’re doing something and feel too tired because we’re not doing enough. Interestingly, we even begin to resist those activities that bring us joy or a sense of accomplishment because the barrier to begin simply feels too high.

One of the first strategies to implement when you’re feeling unmotivated is to build some structure into your days and weeks. Start by drafting a list of those things that you want – or need – to incorporate on a regular basis. Then, decide how often you want to implement them and think about how you can place these on a digital or physical calendar. Finally, set reminders to nag you to get it done and that you’ll feel better once you put in the effort.

For me, I like to have some flexibility within my structure. So when I needed to do this, I spent some time crafting a spreadsheet divided into several sections: exercise (actually three sections here: cardio, strength, flexibility), mindfulness, social, divorce-related business and play. Within each section, I created a goal for a minimum number of times per week I wanted to participate and I brainstormed a list of ways that I could meet that need (this way it was difficult to come up with an excuse that none of the ideas would work). I printed out a new sheet every Sunday and marked my progress throughout the week.

Motivation Builder 2 – Stage Rewards

If everything in your life right now feels like a slog, it’s no wonder you’re feeling unmotivated. It’s easy to put your life on hold when you’re in a period of transition, especially if the adjustment was unwanted. Yet waiting to live also becomes a habit.

Buy those concert tickets. Say “Yes!” to that invitation. Take that walk around the neighborhood on a beautiful day, even if you have to force the first step. Go somewhere where you’re not known and pretend for just a few hours that your world hasn’t unraveled. Make scheduling smiles a priority.

Sometimes, we feel guilty for smiling when the world tells us we should be crying. And even more often, we fear that we have forgotten how to smile, that the tears have permanently weighed down the corners of our mouths. You haven’t forgotten. You’re just out of practice. So give it a try. It will feel awkward at first, foreign and forced. The body remembers how to laugh. Allow it to share that gift with you.

Motivation Builder 3 – Surround Yourself With the Right People

Motivating people is a tricky thing. Push too softly and their inertia resists the efforts; push too hard and shut-down ensues. Find and surround yourself with people who will kick you when you need it, yet who will do it kindly enough that you’ll listen.

Seek those that have your interests at heart instead of pushing their own agenda into your lap. Sometimes, they may say something that you don’t like hearing. They may challenge your assumptions, try to shift your perspectives. If they are coming from a place of love and concern, consider their advice.

If you do not have anyone that you trust is both looking out for you and will be firm with you, it may be time to look into hiring a professional that can help motivate you. This can be a counselor, a coach or even someone specific to a particular area of your life.

Motivation Builder 4 – Pair “Have To’s” With “Want To’s”

I have used this trick in so many areas of my life. At times, I splurged on fancy shampoo that I would only allow myself to use after a workout in the gym shower. I save my favorite podcasts for my early morning walks with the pup. Whenever I feel grumbly and unmotivated about grading, I relocate the activity to a cozy coffeeshop or a blanket spread out in a park.

Find those tasks that you procrastinate with the most and brainstorm what sugar you can sprinkle on them to make them a little more palatable. I managed to make it through the gargantuan feat of completing the paperwork for Innocent Spouse Relief with a lot of heavy metal, scheduled pool breaks and a few pints of vanilla ice cream with fresh peaches from the farmer’s market. It still wasn’t easy, but those additions helped me get through it.

Motivation Builder 5 – Celebrate Successes No Matter How Small

It’s easy to be motivated when you can see the finish line. It’s rather more difficult when you don’t know where the finish line is (and on many days, you even doubt its very existence). Yet even when you don’t know where or when you’ll reach the end of the aftereffects of divorce, you can mark the progress you’re making along the way.

You only cried three times this week and four is your usual? Awesome! You stopped yourself from sending an angry text to your ex? Kudos on reining in your frustrations! You got out of bed today? You beast!

Aim to celebrate some little accomplishment each day. It serves as an incentive to do some little thing each and every day that moves you just a little closer to where you want to be. And once you start acknowledging the results, it’s easier to find the motivation to keep going.

How We Act When We’re Afraid of Losing Someone

Posted on August 13, 2018March 10, 2019 by stilllearning2b

I remember that day vividly.

My then-husband was in Brazil, supposedly on a work trip. I was at home and unable to reach him when he failed to return to Atlanta at the anticipated time. As the panic rose, I alternated between frantically looking for information on the internet (Was there a plane crash? A tourist attacked in San Paulo? A car crash leaving the Atlanta airport?) and uselessly pacing the upstairs hallway.

I called his employer and received a non-answer. It was only later that I learned that they thought he was still in Atlanta since he wasn’t dispatched on a job.

I saved the number for U.S. Embassy in Brazil, telling myself to hold off until the next day before I made that call.

I contemplated driving to the airport, where at least I would be little closer to any news.

At some point, the anxiety and powerlessness reached untenable levels and I set out for a run, the brick of my flip phone clutched in my hand. I uttered desperate pleas for information as I hit the pavement, the movement a poor substitute for meaningful action.

He came home the next day.

He left for good three months later.

That wasn’t the first time that I was afraid of losing him. In fact, from the moment I “had” him, I worried about the loss of him.

There was the time when we first started dating that he showed interest in another girl and I pretended that it wasn’t happening until the situation resolved itself. Then, there was the 1969 Ford truck whose headlights had a propensity to cut out while he driving the back roads in the Texas Hill Country. I pleaded with him not to drive that vehicle, convincing myself that he was safe as long as he operated another car. There was a cross-country move while I still remained in Texas for the semester with the unknowns inherent in a long-distance relationship. I compensated that time by planning for our upcoming wedding; surely talk of our futures would keep the plan on track. That was followed by a car accident where his small car ended up underneath an eighteen wheeler. Up until that moment, that was the closest that I had knowingly come to losing him. I responded by breaking down in the living room of my apartment, our pug nervously burrowing into my neck which was wet with tears. Interestingly enough, the fears I should have heeded never even crossed my mind.

Over the course of our sixteen years together, I carried a fear of losing him. And in so many ways, that fear kept me from actually seeing him. I allowed fear to be my chauffeur.

That’s the thing when we’re afraid of losing someone – we take a rational fear (after all, death and divorce are a part of life) and we respond to it in irrational ways –

Fear of losing someone can present as: Denial

Apparently this was my favored approach during my first marriage (although I would have denied it vehemently at the time). Even while my general sense of anxiety built, I refused to examine the little inconsistencies that hinted at something going on behind my back. I was worried about losing him to death (especially as his hypertension continued to worsen); I never imaged that he would leave.

We all have a propensity to shove the unthinkable out of our minds as though if we don’t allow it mental space, it cannot manifest into existence. “It is impossible,” we declare. “They would never…” we insist. “It just can’t happen,” we recite, until we believe it to be true.

I’ve learned since to look more closely whenever I have strong feelings of dismissal arise. It may be that there is something hiding behind those feelings.

Fear of losing someone can present as: Bargaining

We know of bargaining as one of the “stages” of grief. What we don’t often consider is that the bargaining begins well before the loss. This often takes the form of, “If you stay, I’ll change.”

Bargaining can feel like a rational approach with its exchange of services. Yet underneath the transaction is an overwhelming aversion to loss, which means the promises made may be too big to deliver and the promises looked for in exchange may not be kept.

Fear of losing someone can present as: Control

Sometimes, the attempt at control is overt – the partner that keeps tabs on their spouses whereabouts in an attempt to prevent them from straying. Others are more subtle, operating with a clinginess that limits movement. “I love yous” turned into bindings.

Rarely does this method work. Not only are many things outside of our control, but there is no surer way to push someone away than to tell them they’re not allowed to go.

Fear of losing someone can present as: Indulging

I see this one sometimes as a teacher. When I encounter children that are overindulged and encouraged to remain needy, I often learn about a history of miscarriages or infertility or even the death of an older child. The parents, understandably so, are so afraid of losing this child that they hold them in a childlike state even as they grow.

A variation of this presents in adult relationships. The one who is afraid of loss tries to fulfill every need of the other in an attempt to make themselves invaluable. “If you need me, you can’t leave me,” the inner voice insists as they continue to turn themselves inside out to carry out even the unspoken requests.

I found myself starting to do this towards the end of my marriage. It was a subconscious, yet desperate attempt, to keep him with me.

Fear of losing someone can present as: Begging

“Please don’t do this this way,” my initial email to my absent husband begged. I still had the fantasy that if only I could talk to him, I could somehow change his mind (this was before I knew the extent of the betrayals).

I felt increasing powerless as my pleas were ignored. The reality is that I had no hope of changing his decision. As an independent creature, he had every right and ability to act as he saw fit.

Begging is the brain’s way of delaying the inevitable. It’s a stall tactic, and nothing more.

Fear of losing someone can present as: Panic

This is the most irrational of them all and also the most powerful. This is the death grip on the rope, the worst of the “what ifs” manifested all at once. Sometimes this can be triggered by an event and sometimes it can arise solely from internal worries. Once we’re in this state, it’s difficult to return to reality.

Tiger, the world’s best pit bull, taught me so many things. Not the least of which was how to say goodbye without fear. We loved that dog and were devastated to learn suddenly that he had a fatal bleed from a tumor on his heart. He was only eight.

As the day progressed after the initial veterinary appointment, the news grew worse. We accepted the truth – the end was imminent. My husband and I took him home for a few hours of loving attention before we laid him down on the floor at the vet’s and surrounded him with our bodies.

We weren’t ready to say goodbye. But it was his time to go. Any attempt to keep him with us would have not only been ineffective, it would have cruel and selfish. All we could do is thank him for the time we shared.

Loss is an inevitable part of life. Fearing it does not stop it. Resisting it only serves to make the release that much harder. We rarely get to decide when the end comes. We’re not often offered a choice in the nature or circumstances of the loss.

Author: stilllearning2b

Growing Apart in Marriage