All That I Have Written Is Straw. . .

Meanderings of a Catholic Devout

Tonight is My Last Night as a ___!

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Tonight I remain still married, but tomorrow morning I no longer will be.  When my husband told me about this, I held my tears back, but sobbed violently when he left.  I wish I could have cried before him, but I don’t know why I wish that.

Tomorrow a new adventure begins.  I have spent the last couple of months reflecting on what it will be like to be single again.  Single. Humpfh.  The word seems to have sex associated with its connotation, but I assure you, sex is the farthest thought from my mind.  The idea of being with another. . .just doesn’t fit for the moment.

I recollect a moment when the priest was speaking about marriage again.  He said something about how the journey of watching your partner grow and develop their faith was more intimate than sex.  I couldn’t agree more, and I know I am the fool for marrying someone who didn’t share my faith.  The Church warned me, but because it isn’t an institution of unfree will, she silently let me have my way, before the altar.  I thought I was doing the right thing, but I didn’t realize that I was just trying to have it my way.  God probably laughed as I nervously attested my vows: the start of a hard-learned lesson.  In hindsight, I know I was just being the romantic that I am.  I wanted love to be enough.  But the love I was thinking of wasn’t really love and it definitely wasn’t enough.  Love is what is sparing me from an unhappy life.

As I grew in my faith in my marriage, I found myself sad because I was doing it alone.  Sharing the sign of peace at Mass was (and is still) hard, because I have to wait for other couples and families to finish their hugs and kisses before they notice me standing beside them.  I found myself wishing my husband would be there with me.  Something—someone—was missing.  And each time I waited for the handshakes, I squeezed my wedding ring, gently nudging it as if I expected the genie himself to magically appear next to me.  God, this can’t be happiness. . .

Why was I growing and he wasn’t?  I realized, deep inside, that my husband mocked me for my beliefs, even though he was respectful in his words.  For a while, I quit going to Masses altogether, not even for Easter or Christmas.  The Easter Vigil, my favorite Mass of the entire year, was out of the question.  How silly of me to abandon God when He wasn’t abandoning me!

In the last year of my marriage, my faith was renewed two-fold.  I can’t explain why, but I felt a strong urge to return, with or without my husband.

When my father passed away a few years earlier, before A— and I were married, my husband asked me in the depth of my mourning, “Do you still believe in God?”

I was absolutely astounded, because how could he doubt in God?  How could he not see the mercy in death?

“No, I believe in Him even more,” I told him quietly.  It was as if he wanted me to put someone or something else before God.  And I am guilty of indulging him for a while, but this last year, I think he was resentful a bit to have lost that war.

So tonight is my last night as an indulger and as a wedded woman.  My husband is a good man and will find good things in his life.  I can’t say bad things about him, at least not without exposing my own flaws.  I continue to pray for his conversion.  Because I think he could be great if he found his faith.

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Written by Written Straw

February 8, 2010 at 6:49 pm

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