Thursday, February 13, 2014

Are We There Yet?

Wow, did I have a great night last night, if by "great night" you mean "horrible night that reached a superlative of suckiness." Which is, in fact, what I mean.
I spent yesterday afternoon doing some research into family history. I've never been overly curious before, but it is part of my church's doctrine that it is necessary work, and in the process I found a few things that I hadn't known before and that whet my curiosity for more.

I thought that I had never met any of my great-grandparents, but it turns out, my mom's grandmother on her father's side died when I was three. There is almost no chance that I didn't meet her, I just don't remember it, like I don't remember meeting my dad's father, but know that I did. It's a little strange, but comforting in a way. At least to me.

I saw the draft card of my mom's dad's father (when there are four or eight or sixteen, you start having to have to refer to them that way), from the First World War. In his own handwriting.

I found my dad's dad's father on the 1940 Census, with record of his immigration from east central Europe. His wife immigrated in the same year, 1890, and they were married in 1894.

It's a strange feeling, knowing that the actions of all these strangers led to me sitting where I am right now. That's the egocentric way to look at it, anyway. I really look at it as how many people are in the world right now, doing whatever they are doing, because these people made the choices they did when they did. It's humbling. You can look backward that way, then extrapolate forward, wondering how many people there will be, doing whatever they may be doing, 125 years in the future, because of choices we make today.

Speaking of choices, I made the choice to tell my wife about my afternoon. I chose poorly. She immediately wanted to turn it unto a discussion on doctrine, rather than a conversation about the cool things I'd learned.

I say, "discussion on doctrine," but what I really mean is her telling me that I'm wrong and that it's stupid and berating me and my church in general. The few words I got in were brushed aside. I cited Scripture, but she doesn't care whether it's in the Bible or not, she knows what's right, and what's right isn't what I believe.

So, after she stomped off to bed, I stayed up for a while. I did what I normally do when I'm upset and played solitaire for an hour or so. When I finally went up to bed, the kids were, as is their habit, strewn out all over my side of the bed. It happens almost every night. So, I went to carry them to their own beds, but their rooms were both so messy I couldn't get them to their beds safely.

I am so sick of this.

I pulled my C-PAP and alarm clock off the night stand, swept all the stuffed animals off of my sons bed (after climbing over the mountain of junk on the floor) and slept there.

It's only the second time in nearly twenty years I have chosen to sleep elsewhere because I was angry.

I knew last year at this time that my marriage was ending. I lied to everyone. I lied to myself. I thought I couldn't leave because it would look like I was trying to "trade up," if you will, to leave her for someone better. I also thought if I fought hard enough, long enough, that there was a chance that things would turn around. But they haven't. They've gotten worse. I honestly don't know that there's anything left anymore.

I should have left a year ago, darn the appearance, and let the chips fall where they may. Would I have been happier now? I don't know. But I couldn't be any worse off.

Sometimes the road not taken is the one we should have followed.

Are we there yet? Is my marriage over?

It's getting close. For the first time today, I researched the legalities of ending a marriage in this state. I never thought I would have to do that. And yet I should have done it a year ago.

She and I are on the road to different forevers. I think that very soon, our paths will diverge and we will only see each other across a great, unspannable divide.

I should have left a year ago, and I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused by overstaying my welcome.

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