There have been a whole lot of truths since I met Bob in 2007.
Some I kind of knew but needed to be sure.
Others, I never thought possible.
And then there are those that I thought were real, but . . . not so much.
A few have changed my life in really positive ways.
I hadn’t believed in so much before I knew him. Such happiness, comfort, love and peace. . .
Soulmate was the word he used.
Now . . .I live other realities that I never could have imagined. . .
Shock, grief, betrayal and depression . . .
I miss him.
I can still feel him sometimes. I sense his presence in this house. I trace the spaces where his hands touched. I kiss his pillow. I stand at our bedroom window and I stare into the backyard.
Sometimes, he’d be outside walking our dog, and I would just watch them. He never knew it. It just made me smile.
When he was doing yard work, ear buds in and do-rag on, shirtless and in the zone, I’d just be happy when he’d catch me in his sight, grin and thank me for making sure he stopped long enough for lunch.
When I’m getting ready for work in the morning, I remember how he would get out of the shower and shake his butt. I would laugh and he would call me a “cheeky monkey”.
I’d walk toward him, sad-faced with arms bent and out in front, in a sort of Frankenstein fashion, and he would know that’s the signal to hug me. And as a bonus, crack my back.😆
I miss the stray chest hairs, the grey (gray) patch in his hair, the ways he leaned on me for haircut advice, seeing him clean his ears after showering, reminding him of the differences between ibuprofen and acetaminophen, watching him make a half-dozen cups of tea nightly, putting on his glasses first thing every morning, choosing his shirt and tie (and shoes, pants and socks) for /with him, hearing him complain about his cat driving him crazy, watching him eat five or six (or more) french fries at a time, rather than just one or two, screwing up song lyrics (mostly on purpose), commenting every time the police cars drove over a bridge, sirens ablaze on CSI Miami, and seeing the Infiniti pull into its parking spot every nite so we could have dinner together.
I think of him when I’m driving home at night after work. Sometimes I still think of what he might like to have for dinner.( And Goddamn . . .that’s like an uber-sensitive time of day. I cried for . . .well . . yeah . . .)
He’d act really silly in the market and in Marshalls, and we’d laugh and keep a running list of the stores we were likely to get thrown out of.
He’d drop me off for a mani-pedi and chill in Barnes & Noble, then pick me back up for Home Depot or Target or TJ Maxx or just home. Just home. How much he always remarked that he loved our home.
We’d sit together in the living room or the sunroom and read, relax, reflect, listen to music . . . totally my favorites. The Sunday papers with a cup of coffee and cats around us. I fucking loved us.
We did a ton of road trips and he would turn and look at me and smile the biggest smile ever and tell me how much he loved having me alongside. We’d crank the tunes and sing along. He used to look at me and apologize, turn the music up even louder, and sing really loud.
Even after 6 years, I still don’t think he understood the difference between Smashing Pumpkins and Nine Inch Nails.
He always told me he was so proud to walk in a room with me. He always thanked me for taking good care of him, our family and our pets. He would always tell me how soft and smooth my skin was, and thank me for doing my hair and my makeup, and always caring about how I looked.
He always remarked on how carefully I shopped for groceries, for clothing, things for the house… He was always so excited to see how much money I would save with coupons, always looking at the receipt and noted the percentage that I had saved our family.
He used to tell me that I was smart, sexy, beautiful, kind and wonderful.
“Hello love!” “Hey hon?” “I love you so much baby!” “Hey Ri?”
And of course, I really miss the intimacy. It’s the worst thing when I can just remember everything about him: his body, his voice, his touch, and the way that we made love. It was never dull. It was always amazing. I’ll just never forget how he always used to say “I just can’t get enough of you!” “You are incredible!”
The next day, he’d tell me he was having aftershocks.
All he would have to do is touch me in just the right place or kiss my neck or say the right words and I was a goner.
Truth is? I believed him every time he whispered into my ear I was never going to get rid of him.
I thought about this the other day, and it just made me cry for hours:
I remember in the middle of one of our extremely intimate moments, I whispered to him that he was going to be the last man inside of me. It’s probably going to be the truth , but that’s not what I meant.
I just have to wonder, if he knew all along that would be the truth. Again, not for the reasons that I was thinking . . .
You know? I can’t even say “for the reasons I was hoping.” because I was absolutely certain that we were going to live the rest of our lives out together. I was so positive he always told me the truth. I mean, how can he have told me that thousands of times and not wanted me to take him seriously? Was I supposed to know there was an unspoken maybe in that statement? That plea? That announcement? That promise?
I could go on and on and on but I won’t.
Because you know what? I guess he did get enough of me after all. That was something I didn’t think was possible.
I had been married for more than 20 years before I met Bob. But I don’t think I ever really knew what true love was. The truth is, I found that with Bob.
So, one truth that I learned? I had the love of my life.
Another truth that I learned? I have lost the love of my life.
Whether you just found this blog or whether you’ve been reading it for as long as I’ve been writing it or anywhere in between, no matter what I’ve said, you know that I loved that man with all my heart. And you know, if you really knew me, you’d know that I still do.
Knowing that even after the thousands of times he told me I was the love of his life, he doesn’t feel the same way. . .sad truth. God . . . a truly horrific and numbing realization.
He had an affair. He lied to me. He stopped caring about me. He gave up on us. He lives with his new soulmate. He tells another woman that she is the love of his life. He has a new family – a new wife.
And I think above everything else, that’s the coldest, hardest, truth of all.