me as much as someone who looks like Mother Goose can glare at you, but I ignore her. His eyes drop down and we look at each other; we look into each other, finally.
“I don’t want to be married to you anymore. I’m going to file for divorce.”
His head drops into his hands like a bowling ball and Jane quietly places a cube of Kleenex next to him on the sofa. I watch his fingers shake on his forehead and imagine all the things he must be telling himself:
You’re a failure.
You’re not a Christian.
You’re giving up.
You’re just like your dad.
I wonder if Jack knows that those stories aren’t true, that they never have been.
There’s a big, long, silent thinking that happens, and then I speak.
“Jane, will you leave us?”
She touches Jack’s shoulder. “Is that okay?”
He nods. It feels strange when she asks for his permission, but I understand. She rises from her chair, straightens her shawl, and walks outside.
I have never been able to love Jack, not really, not the way he needed me to. When I walked toward him in that low-backed $250 bridesmaid’s dress, I carried with me the promise of partnership, family, respite, and support, but what life delivered to us was so different from what we expected. There was no partnership. I was the ward and he was the keeper. I was the patient and he was the caretaker. I was a puzzle with too many missing pieces that for years he refused to put down. He was sick—probably the whole time—but my sickness dwarfed his. My life dwarfed our life. My desire to be a mother swallowed my desire to be his wife. I treated him like a sperm donor. Even still, through what had to be misery and anger, he showed up for me, he loved me as best he could for as long as he could. Today, in this room, where for months we’ve invited our anger to speak for us, it’s just me and him, two people who will always know each other a little bit, who will be twisted together by memories, deep love and deep sorrow. For the very first and very last time, I love him the way I never could before.
I move from my chair to sit next to him and I pull his warm, weeping body into mine. I rock him and shush him like the child we never had together and I love him like the woman I hope he’ll find one day. He melts into me and his hot-water tears drip down over my shoulders, I’ve been closer to him before, but I’ve never seen him so clearly as I do right now. I see all the goodness in him and all the grief; I see somebody who deserves healing and hope. I see so much beauty in him and I smile, it’s a real smile.
“Jack, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t show up for you the way you showed up for me. I didn’t know how to give you the love you needed. I didn’t even know how to love myself. You’re such a good man and I feel so lucky that it was you. I’m so happy that you were the one who was there for me. You’re going to be an amazing husband to someone and an amazing dad. Everything’s going to be okay.”
I’m holding him up. His big body begins to bob and shake, and both of us wobble. The love seat groans under us like an old bed frame—it might tip over.
“You’re so good, you’re so kind, and you’re so loved. I will never, ever speak ill of you. I’m so thankful for everything you’ve done.”
I can hear Jane’s shoes scraping across the drive outside. There’s one more thing I need him to know.
“Jack, you’re not your dad.”
He pulls his bloated red face back from my chest and looks at me. He’s so beautiful, so pure, and so loved. God is written all over him.
“I’m sorry too. You’ll be a great mom one day and I hope you find somebody who can love you fully.”
I just keep holding on to him and the tender ending of us until we run out of time.
* * *
Moving forward is peaceful but sad. I don’t miss being married to Jack but I mourn the loss of him. We’re getting divorced. The knowledge is hefty to lug around. He won’t see our niece, Kitty, graduate high school and I’ll never learn to