UNCONDITIONAL

Expectations

      Of course, she thought she had finally given too much and received nothing but pain in return. So she gave up on him and her dreams. She thought a forever pain and discomfort for their children was the acceptable cost to protect her heart and future, that starting again and bringing her brokenness and pain to a new person would somehow fix it.

        She knew in her head that as he tried to fix it, she would constantly be thinking about her first big love,  wondering if he was ok, and taking his meds? Was he still trying? Did he still love her in the prison she had created for him? She was broken because the separation moved one child's heart away and maybe brought another back in confusion to her.

        She would always question the choice, because the result was not the joy and freedom and protection she desired. Oh, she was now protected from a good man and father to her children that still loved her. She was not, however, protected from the judgement and rejection in dating new men at an age where desperation and security took precedence over love and happiness. That is what it had been at 19, with him, pure unadulterated love and happiness.

        She wasn't protected from much really. You have to take huge leaps of faith when you can barely put one foot in front of the other. Trying on suits to see if they can accommodate you're scars and insecurities. There may be some who look past your hurt because all they see is your bed. That might make you feel good for a minute, like a drug, until you realized that you had become what you despised, weak and craving what misdirected use and affection you could hold.

      You gave that up, and started searching for the next love. So few remained, and they have all been used and scarred and reused, so you match scars until you find someone that can be at least nice and decent and hold your hand when you think about 05' 06' and their magic, but you lie and say the tears are happy because he is here. And maybe he'll be soft, kind, and quiet. The kids that remain will call him James, or Adam, or Mike only with a whispered Mr. in front of it. Why? Because, their dad was amazing, he could do anything, and loved them like no other man could.

       It could go a thousand ways, who can tell. I can only tell you I know exactly how my path will go. With or without you it will steadily rise and I will constantly love. But not other women. I will watch the one I love from over here as she does her courtship dance and they take off certain pieces of themselves to accommodate each other's fears and past hurts. Not a healing so much, as a cold denial  of your history. A puzzle of emotions; I have no happiness, may I have some of yours? Yes, but my trust was stolen, may I have yours? Instead of completing the puzzle you just miss different pieces.

       He won't step in, not even when the crazy nights on the town lead to a bedroom and you wake up feeling less and unfulfilled. Because you thought you needed that. You really just needed to borrow him for an evening, because he knew how she needed it, and where to go, and how quickly, and she could then sleep. It was a process. And life beat on, and she wished the next 30 years would hurry because she had given away far more happiness and hope than the disappointment and loneliness she received in exchange.

         It would be sad if it weren't comical. She had become the old him in her reckless search for love, taking risks, trying new and absurd hobbies, programs to try to find life and meaning. She was always Forgetting half of what she was doing because it went to fast and held no importance. Then she would be depressed like he used to be and she realized, it was in fact, a dream differed.

       She had given any true happiness a fond release, leaving her with insecurities and children to repair that wanted their dad, but were legally bound to stay at home. "Maybe you can call him on the phone. This paper I have says you can love him the weekend after next. Unless you play ball then it will be 4 weeks." So call him and fight through the awkward minutes until you can say I love you with cursory repetition. And you will have talked of nothing. Of grades and tests and the game and upcoming vacation, but you didn't feel close enough to tell him of the new boy you kissed Friday, or the way your sister holds her mouth like an Otter when she eats peanuts or the new guy that came the other night with mom and stayed a night, or the secret names of the new fish you got, because you don't see him that much. He wouldn't understand. By the time we get through with awkward introductions the call is boarder line scripted for the safety of our secrets and hurts. It's just a dad I used to know well. Don't really see him much now with ball and the new guy and just busy. But I'll get him a card for Father's Day for certain. He loves her dearly, but understands that absence is the thief of intimacy. So they are lovingly polite. Sounds about par, and the required cost of love drops like a forced quarter echoing dully in the glass cavern that now serves as his heart. Could be a bit better for you if you hit a rich guy, but then again, you can't fix broken hearts with cold hard cash.