chichiguita's Journal

I woke up next to you for the last time this morning. 

You have always been the early riser--“Up and at em”—while I preferred to “ease into” the day.  I always appreciated your gusto in the morning. 

My mother always woke me with “good morning Glory, Time to rise and shine”.  I remember the early days of our marriage, when you brought cups of coffee to me in bed.  How I loved being pampered in that way.  Now I look back and wonder—was that why you stopped loving me?  I wish I had known that you would resent me for it.  I would not have accepted the kindness.  I would have pushed the cup aside and marched to the shower.  I thought you were doing it because you loved me.  I felt so cherished.  I wish it had been true. 

This morning, I didn’t struggle to wake up the way I often do.  There is so much to be done.  I have a whole room to pack up and would like to clean the apartment before Richi gets here with the trailer.  I don’t want to leave you with a huge mess to clean up after this exhausting weekend.  I don’t want my friends to have to wade through all this nonsense when they are trying to load my lifetime onto that trailer.  So at 4:30 this morning, my mind was already racing. 

I heard you breathing and the racing stopped.   I was gripped by the reality that this morning marked yet another “last” in the excruciating “parade of lasts” that has become our life.  This will be the last morning I will wake up next to you.  It is such an insignificant thing—most people don’t give it a thought—you probably won’t—but it grabbed me this morning and held me in it’s finality. 

I had to fight the urge to cuddle close to you and smell you one last time.  Oh,  how I love you, my sweet, beautiful dreamer.  I wish you could know.  I tried to tell you yesterday after we signed the papers.  I didn’t tell you because I was hopeful that it would change anything.  I have released you.  I told you because I wanted you to feel it and know that I loved you—even now.  With all that we have been through together—with all we have lost—I love you.  Whether you delivered pizzas, or preached fine sermons, or chased your dreams, or looked at other women, or loaded chickens or served other gods—I have loved you==YOU. 

I know I didn’t do it right—but I have (and still) loved you. 

Oh how I wish that were enough.  I wish my love were what you were “wanting” right now.  I wish I could make it what you need.  I wish I had done it “right” I wish I could make it “acceptable” to you.  I would have never accepted those cups of coffee if I had known…

Oh, but I can exhaust myself with this line of thinking and it will only leave me raw weary—still with a house to pack and good-byes to say and a 14 hour drive ahead. 

So I lay there next to you—willing myself to get up and start my own damn coffee— wanting so badly to savor the last few minutes I had in our bed by your side.  I knew that when I got up—I would be letting go of the last bit of our marriage together.  And isn’t it just like “us”.  Me—marking a milestone.  You—blissfully sleeping. 

I just wanted to savor that last morsel of “us” that I had left.  What an excruciating conundrum. 

Oh Love—it is all so sad.  I am afraid that I am broken now—and for nothing good.  I’m afraid this whole rotten experiment will only end with both of us lonely and trying to cover the lonely with something worth less than our marriage, our family, our dream together was worth.  It was worth so much to me. I cherished it.  I cherished you. 

I am afraid for you, too.  I am afraid that you will be sad and lonely and lost with your “new dream” and it just breaks my heart.  I’m so sad for you, my poor, sweet love.  But I have to release you to it.  And I do.  I release you, my love.  I unclench my fingers and open my hands (finger by white-knuckled finger) and release you to the loving care of Jesus Christ. 

I have slept beside you more nights than I have slept alone in my lifetime.    This is the last morning I will wake up next to you. 

Wake up I must.  It is time for me to rise and shine.