spring, again

living, breathing models just outside the window

Dear Ones,

I’m writing to you from my new desk, an unexpected hand me down from a kind neighbor that I hauled up my steps solo in a fit of over confidence earlier this month.

Behold, my broken back victory stance:

I placed it in front of my large kitchen window, which has a perfect view of the deck and quiet woods line behind my home.

From here, I can see Spring blooming any time I lift my gaze. It’s cliche, but it really does offer me buds of hope for the months that lie ahead.

You see, Mama’s got a quick weekend trip booked to visit her bestie from the westie in a few weeks. It’s been a long time coming, almost 3 years exactly from my last attempt to take this trip, actually. And, it’s stirring up a memory that has me swimming in the deep end of reflection.

(If you’re familiar with my work you’ll know that there’s no such thing as short stories with me. Long stories long, all the way, baby…)

It had been years since I’d traveled anywhere solo, certainly not since becoming pregnant with my daughter. Meanwhile, my then-husband had easily taken more than a dozen trips to various places with friends and family - the classic male golf weekends, bachelor parties, skiing excursions, “dudes” reunions, etc.

In the days leading up to my departure flight his drinking had become a hot topic again, and I was deeply anxious about leaving the kids alone with their dad for the first time (ever) for more than just a few hours.

The day before my trip I happened to see him through open front room blinds walking into our garage with a paper bag tucked under his arm. All of my spidey-senses went off and I ended up finding a hidden bottle of Fireball whiskey in that bag, and the maddening loop I’d come to know so well sparked again: We argued, he insisted it was a moment of weakness brought on by my “trying to control him”, and he dumped it down the drain on video later that night, texting me “evidence” it was gone. I touched base with his parents, who at that time had only just started coming around to the idea of him being an alcoholic, desperate for support or guidance of some kind, and was met with mild sympathy, at best.

Understanding untreated addiction in the ways I do now, I cringe thinking about this next naiveté, but: I wanted a break so badly, I chose to believe his remorse and that he could pull it together for two nights.

I flew to Charlotte, ecstatic to be reunited with my friend. Later that evening I sat in the guest room of her home and dialed in to FaceTime my kids to say goodnight.

I was met with chaos.