13 Roses

The cold seeps into every pore. It holds me in place so I can’t breathe. My thoughts are frozen. I am a statue, unable to move, as if Medusa’s glaring eyes touched mine.

“Say something.” I barely hear the words. I am dying and he wants me to speak. I don’t know how to make my jaws move.

“I didn’t want to be that person who left you hanging. I’m doing the right thing…”

He’s rambling and I keep moving in and out of reality, as if his words have the power to move me out of this very room. Thirteen years. That’s how long we built this façade I thought was love.

People say it’s better if you speak up. Don’t cheat! Let the other person down easy.

But this isn’t easy. The pain slices through me and I crumble to the floor. My frozen soul shatters across the linoleum and a geyser erupts inside of me. I can’t stop the sobs.

“I still care about you. I just don’t love you like that anymore…”

He reaches to wrap me in his arms, but I shove him away. I find my words.

“Don’t touch me!” I whisper-hiss.

He backs away and falls into stunned silence, but it doesn’t last long.

“The kids will be fine. Statistics show that when parents work together, kids bounce back easily. You know I will be here for them. I just can’t do it with you.”

Anger rises as I stand up and look him in the eye. I want him to freeze. I want him to feel something, but he just grabs his suitcases and steps through the open door.

“To be fair, you never really loved me. You loved the ‘idea’ of me. We haven’t been in love for years…”

“Get out!” I shout.

“Look, I will be staying with Mom and Dad. When you’re ready, we can talk.”

With that, he is gone and I pull out the mop and bucket to clean up the broken, melted ice shards of what I thought was me.

***

The silence in the house is overwhelming.

The kids are in bed. Lauren and Kate are sleeping in my room. Chris is downstairs, in his basement gaming paradise.

That’s when I see the wedding album. Anger and sorrow mix together as I grab it and sit down on the sofa. I can’t open it. Every memory calls from the cellophane pages, begging me to set them free.

So I do.

I cry out in anguish and open the book, but I can’t see anything through my tears.

A raging dragon takes control of my hands. I rip and slash until every lie held within that book lies in a pile of tiny pieces. I hurl the book at the wall and it falls to the floor.

“Mom.”

Chris is standing by the living room entrance.

“Are you okay?”

That is when I realize he heard it all. Shame threatens to reel me in and tether me. So I drop to the sofa. I am shaking, but I try to smile.

“Yeah, I think so,” I say.

He comes into the room and stands by the sofa, staring down at the mess of broken memories.

“Are those the pictures of you and Dad?”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

But I’m not sorry. I don’t regret the destruction and I will never miss the pictures.

My only regret lies in the face of my son who calmly sets his hand on my shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay. You have us.” He is fourteen. This is too much for him to handle. He shouldn’t have to comfort me.

“I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll clean this up. I’m sorry…”

I am not sure what to say. I’m sorry for the years ahead. I’m sorry you have to see me shattered. I’m sorry I didn’t love your dad enough…

With that last thought, the tears start again. Wave after wave, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. The sorrow rolls out, but the waves bring it back.

Chris sees that I am struggling, so he goes into the kitchen. He pours a glass of sweet tea for himself and for me. He returns and places my glass on the coffee table and he sits in the arm chair.

“It’s going to be okay, Mom,” he says. “You have us. I will never go away. I promise.”

His words warm my heart as I sip the tea.

When he is sure I am calm, he stands.

“Can I stay up a little longer?”

It’s a school night and it’s late, but I don’t want him to worry about this mess.

“Go ahead,” I say.

I pull the love of my children around me like a warm blanket. I can’t forget that they are here too.

***

The next day…Our anniversary…shines brightly. It burns me with its brightness. How can a day step forward so full of light when everything around me feels so dark? I send the kids off to school.

I call in to work. “I’m not feeling well,” I say. I am not sure if I have a good excuse, but I can’t face anyone right now. They will know something is wrong and I can’t make my vocal cords form the sound to move the words into existence. The tightness in my throat makes me feel like if I cry one more time, I won’t be able to breathe at all.

The clock above the desk in the living room ticks in the silence. I try music, the tv, YouTube. Seeing life move across the screen, or hearing music flowing into the room might as well be keys run across metal.

I look out the window and two women walk together, laughing. Across the street, a man waits as his dog does her business. Life goes on, but mine has stopped cold.

Waves come and go. I can’t sit still, so I take a shower and dress.

He took the car, so I walk down the street. I stop at the iron bench by the #21 stop, but don’t sit. I need to walk.

The birds sing loudly. The sound ricochets as if I am standing at the bottom of a well. The cars speed past. Their sound drowning out the birds. I feel a headache starting as I reach the Kroger’s parking lot.

As I walk the familiar aisles, vertigo makes me sway along almost drunk with the cacophony of emotions filling the store and mingling with my own.

A man marches down an aisle and nearly runs me over.

“Watch where you’re going!” He says.

A woman restocks the soup shelves as I try to escape the noise and frantic shoppers filling their carts. I thought everyone would be at work, but I was wrong. Maybe there are twenty people in every aisle. Maybe there is just one and I am imagining it all.

I don’t like shopping on a good day, so I don’t know why I came.

“Can I help you find anything?” The woman from the soup aisle smiles broadly.

I shake my head, and hurry past her, heading toward the door.

I continue to wander around the store. I have no idea what to buy. I should buy something. After all I walked here.

But I want to go. I want to leave this place and never look back. The glares of other shoppers fall around me like a circle of swords driving into the ground.

That is when I stop.

I scan the store, but no one is actually looking my way. The words of a wise friend remind me that no one has time to worry about what I’m doing. They have their own drama to face.

There are fresh roses set out in a bucket near the floral department. I count them out.

Exactly 13.

For 13 years, I was faithful to someone who didn’t love me. I loved him. I think I did. Now, I’m not sure.

I take the roses and grab a crystal vase. It’s too much, but I buy them anyway.

For 13 years, he never bought me flowers on our anniversary.

Today, I bought 13 roses for me.

I am celebrating my life that I gave up for someone who just walked away.

***

Time favors the broken hearted.

I spent my life believing I had everything I wanted. I had a loving husband, a good job, beautiful kids and love.

I never once questioned love.

I spoke ‘love’ to him, but he chose not to hear it. Maybe it wasn’t authentic enough.

Even when it felt like the old car we were driving together lost its wheels and the rims were threatening to break, I kept going.

But life doesn’t follow a script.

I can only determine where I go and how I move forward each step of the way.

I didn’t shatter into a million shards of ice on the floor. I am not broken in any way. What broke that day had nothing to do with who I am.

Instead, the chrysalis broke as it was meant to do. Today, I emerge.

I hear laughter outside and my heart sings. I love to be alive. I love hearing life move forward.

I move my jaw to speak…I look in the mirror and see that there is no such thing as Medusa’s stare.

My life lies ahead and he can walk his own way because I am strong enough to be exactly who I am…not an ‘idea’ that will never hold up to any standard.