A lot can happen in one month’s time. This date last month marked the impromptu follow-up talk to the big discussion I referred to as The Snap here. It came at the end of an erratic week for both my wife and I, together and apart. As we lay awake in bed that Saturday morning, I asked if she wanted to talk about the week that was and halfway expecting to go spelunking through her diversions for a substantial response, her blunt delivery shocked me.
She agreed with what I had said.
She acknowledged that we’re different people. Very different. Incompatibly different. This didn’t mean that either of us had intentionally executed any malicious actions towards the other, or the marriage itself, but that in learning about each other and ourselves, we saw marriage, and more importantly, our individual futures overall, as nowhere near the other’s path.
We agreed that divorce was the most rational, mature next step for us in order for each of us to be happy in the future.
And then she really started being honest with me. How she felt about many things: moving, my family, wanting to be near her family, children, the wedding, and more.
That’s when I started to feel my insides ice over. All at once I felt victoriously intuitive, intelligently aware, and wisely clear-sighted, all while feeling duped, slapped, stabbed, choked, fooled, and lifted off the ground to punctuate it with a body slam.
It was at this time that she, for the first time in I don’t know how long, maybe since we had met, sounded as calm as I get before I’m about to snap. But she didn’t snap. She spoke. And she breathed. And all of my apprehensions and concerns were ignited. I was unfortunately correct about the state of my marriage. I have never felt more disgusted at being correct in my life.
Looking back at this moment, it can be likened to shoving a boulder off the peak of a hill–or at least what looks like a hill from my perspective behind it. A few short weeks after I assisted in my own choke slam, I’m glad it happened.
But as it was happening, and with the nonchalance she treated the day after we had talked, I was beginning to bubble up to boil. In the same indifferent manner she got me that six pack, she asked if we could (finally) go see Frozen.
You know, that blockbuster film about the sisters where one of them shuts out the entire world and doesn’t open up to anyone? Yeah, that one.
I’ve never felt more nauseous watching a Disney film in my life. Afterwards I wasn’t sure if seeing it with her would affirm our discussions, or fuel a final call to action to save our marriage, but I had a feeling in which direction it would sway in.
It isn’t always a good feeling when you’re right.