“He thinks I’m asleep. I wish I was…” she thought to herself. “I wish I was sound asleep and not living in this nightmare.”
“But, here I am wide-awake…eyes closed, just laying on my side feeling a throbbing numbness. My job is waiting. The day is waiting…”
“His alarm clock would wake anyone up,” she thought with frustration building inside. “Why does he use that silly clanging alarm ring on his phone? I’ve asked him to switch to a buzzing sound for his alarm so many times. But no, he keeps forgetting. I hope the kids didn’t hear that loud noise. They certainly need their sleep. They’re all working so hard…and soon they’ll be gone…soon they’ll be out of the house and off to college. And…we’ll be alone together…”
“My goodness, did they hear us last night? Oh my goodness, I hope they didn’t hear us,” she laid there worrying. “What if they did? They grew up so fast. Will they only remember us as the ‘the parents who always argued?’. Will they only remember me as the ‘mom who was always on edge’? Will they ever want to come home once they leave for college? Will they think we’re a failure? Is our home a safe place…a fun place…a happy place for them? I wish I could have controlled my anger more when they were younger. I wish I wasn’t so harsh with them when all they wanted to do was have fun. I’ve failed them. I’ve failed my husband, she bitterly resigned herself to negative thoughts.
The negativity just continued to flood her mind…
“His back has been hurting him for months and I haven’t cared for him as I know I should. I’m a failure as a wife. I know I should be more kind and understanding. Why can’t I do a better job? I am trying… I really do try. I wish I would be more affectionate to him.”
“He says he has needs. I know what those needs are, but I just don’t have energy to meet them. I’m so tired. Working at my job takes so much out of me. I get home. The dinner needs to be cooked. The kids need to be reminded and prodded to finish their school work. And he has needs that need to be met. I’m pulled and tugged and torn between so many needs! So many needs…so many demands!”
“Oh how I just wish I would serve them all better. I wish I was stronger. But I’m so weak. I’m so tired. I haven’t slept through an entire night in years…”
“What I want is what we used to have…what we dreamed about having when we were first married…”
Hoping. Longing. Wishing for the better times and closeness they used to share. She weakly whimpered inside. Her face was turned away from his side of the bed. And her eyes began to burn. Her heart sank. A pit in her stomach formed and settled deep within. Then her eyes slowly clinched tightly together–she was fighting back with all her might the tears that were raging inside. She wanted to burst out and sob as hard and as loud as she could. She wanted him to come over to her and grab her up in his arms and wipe away every tear that would fall. She wanted him to hold her and rock her in his lap and let her cry and weep and sob and cry out loud and moan and sob and weep all there on his shoulder. Without saying a word. Just hold her, she wanted him so badly to just hold her. Not to analyze. Not to solve. Not to critique. Not to remind her of her failures or things she could do to improve her circumstances or situations. No, just hold her while she cried and poured herself out to him. He hadn’t held her–really held her–in so long. She wanted to feel his touch. To feel his strength. To be reassured of their love–their covenant love. What she really wanted was what he promised her…so many times.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he said to her on one of their dates walking through a park. “You are more lovely than any woman in the world or more beautiful than any other person that has ever lived. You are so kind. You are so caring. You are so sweet. You serve others without regard for yourself. You don’t ask or seek attention or praise. You give just like Christ. I am inspired by you and your love, and I will always love you and honor you and cherish you,” he had said.
Just then, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t hold back a tear that had formed and slowly began to trickle down her tired cheek as she remembered the first time they had held hands.
They had just finished a reassuring talk about life together. They were on the verge of their first talk about marriage. And she remembered so clearly sharing with him a poem that she had written as a young high school girl waiting and saving herself for the man she would marry–that she would give herself to. Just before writing that poem, she had committed her life to Christ and had felt the forgiveness that only He could give–something she desperately felt and needed.
And so, she remembered how he listened so intently to her as she read the poem to him. Up to that point that hadn’t held hands. To her, holding hands meant that she was committing herself to him. “Holding hands,” she went on to tell him, “…was like writing a poem.” She remembered that he sat down in amazement after she read that poem and just smiled. It made her feel so good. She felt like she was walking on clouds. He affirmed her with his smile. He reassured her that she was heard with his kind eyes. He listened to her so well. And so, she extended her hand and reached for his, and he smiled gently and lifted his hand up to hers. She picked him up off the side of the walking path, and–slowly–she joined her fingers into his fingers. Their palms met each others palms, and she looked deep into his eyes with a smile she had saved for that moment. She even remembered so clearly what he was wearing that day. Jeans, boots, a gray shirt, and a hat. Nothing could have been more special to her. Without saying any words, she was saying I am yours. Care for me. Love me. Support me. Don’t hurt me. Be gentle with me. Hold me when I cry. Wipe away my tears when they fall. Listen to me. Hear me. Protect me. Fight for me. Be there for me when I am weak. Don’t neglect me. Love me.
And, on that day, she thought to herself, “…a poem was written.”
The cold air of the morning brought her back to their current situation. To the pain of last night’s hurtful argument. To the pit in her stomach.
She sighed inside. “He’s over there in pain,” she thought. She knew that his back was hurting him. He had only briefly talked about it, but she could tell it was causing him a lot of pain. She told him that he should go to the doctor, but he dismissed it. He had said, “…doctors are for the sick, and I’m doing just fine.”
But then she heard him groan lightly again. He had already tried once to get up from the bed, but he had slumped back down. And then finally he got up on his feet. He was walking slowly…gingerly. She thought to herself, “Will he come over to me? Please come over to me! Please…I need you…”
She laid there…longing for him to do what he used to do every morning when he woke up before her. He would quietly (thinking she was asleep) come over to her side of the bed and gently and sweetly kiss her on her forehead before he left. But, he hadn’t done that in so long. “So long,” she thought.
She longed for him to do it this morning. Oh, she really needed that kiss this morning now more than she had ever needed it before.
Last night he said things that he had never said before. He brought up issues that he never should have brought up. Things she thought they had dealt with years ago, but are now resurfacing in ways she never dreamed. She felt so far from him–so distant. It was like he was living on a different planet from her. She was crying out and he couldn’t hear her cries–or he didn’t care. Both–to her–brought pain, but it didn’t take away her desire.
And so, on that cold winter morning she longed for him to reach down and reassure her of his love for her. She longed to connect with him. Soul-to-soul. Heart-to-heart.
But he didn’t. He didn’t come over to her side of the bed. He didn’t come and kiss her with his sweet kiss.
Instead, he walked to the bathroom, took a shower, got dressed, and walked out of the house. The car started, the garage door closed, and he drove away from them. He left–once again–without giving her the gift of his reassuring, accepting, and sweet kiss.
That was like a nail in the coffin, and it was all it took for her to release the pent up pain and tears that she had been barely keeping at bay. She sobbed. She wept. She cried.
She longingly thought to herself, “Will my husband ever accept me?” “Will he ever love me for me?”
She curled her knees into her chest and wept. The bed shook with her cries of heartache and pain. She felt empty…numb…alone.
But then, lights reappeared down the drive way. The garage door reopened. She heard the backdoor quietly close, and she heard footsteps making their way down the hallway. The door slowly opened. She wiped away the tears from her eyes and sat up in their bed–their bed that was given to them 22 years ago as a wedding gift.
He was walking toward her. The early morning light was beginning to show itself through the window. She couldn’t fully see his face, but she saw his eyes.
She saw his gentle eyes. His kind eyes were coming closer and closer to her…
— May 10, 2019