Reason to Believe

Woke up this morning after a long, dream-filled sleep with a realization. Something that I've probably known for quite a while, but not really fully admitted: that I lied to myself during my last relationship. Not just about trivial things, but about things that are important to the core of my being.

Pondering this, the song that came to me was this one, made famous by the one and only Rod Stewart:

If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe

Not because he ever really lied to me. I don't think he did. I think he honestly didn't know whether he'd be able to embrace living in the Midwest and get excited about getting married again so soon after he'd signed the papers finalizing his divorce. I don't think he knew whether having kids was something that would pull him out of what had been an almost entirely self-focused existence and take him somewhere he wanted to be, with demands on his time and attention other than his own needs.

That the end result was that none of those questions were answered in the affirmative is precisely why his departure has been so tough on all of us. That, even when I knew that was the case, I embraced him every last chance I had (as did my kids) before he left has everything to do with what Rod is singing about:

Someone like you makes it hard to live without
somebody else
Someone like you makes it easy to give
never think about myself

If I gave you time to change my mind
I'd find a way just to leave the past behind
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe

I didn't have to look hard to find a reason to believe. It was more like I had to look pretty hard to find a reason not to believe, and I wasn't inclined to look at that. I loved being in his orbit, as did my kids. I loved being the one who went to bed with him, and woke up next to him, and talked to him after his work or play day. I wanted so badly to stay in that orbit, I denied that there were things about my own that I was neglecting. Things like dreams, and shared values about what makes for a life well-lived.

We talked on the phone this morning, and as usual, he provided both an ear and wisdom about my kids that I don't get from anyone else:

If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe

But he also said how glad he was that he didn't have to be the one to deal directly with some of the challenges that parenting inevitably brings. And, no longer looking for a reason to believe otherwise, I heard that. It's hard, facing up to the fact that this person of whom we're all so fond is making choices about his life that don't include us, but it is so we might as well get used to it.

Someone like you makes it hard to live without
somebody else
Someone like you makes it easy to give
never think about myself

That's what it feels like my home life, especially my without-kids home life, is about right now.  I feel like I'm out of the stage where the bulk of my time is directly devoted to grieving, but I'm not on to the next step either. I'm in between.

And I reckon I'll be here until I get to the point where I'm ready to fall in love again, this time with someone with the desire and ability to give more, on a daily basis, both to me and to my kids...