A question

I asked you a question a few months ago. A question that was posed to me from an outsider.  The question I asked you was “what does taking care of me look like to you”.  I did not push you to answer. I asked occasionally if you had thought about it or if you had an answer for me.  It took a month for you to answer me and even then, it was because I was seeing the outsider and I don’t think you wanted to look “bad”.  Your answer was, “Difficult to answer, not sure how to answer.  Is it because I never did actually take care of you? Or never really thought about it. To take the time for your wants and needs.  Flowers to brighten your day, a card, a phone message to say I love you.  More decision making on my end to help end your stress.  To have answers for questions (not, I don’t know).” 

What has changed, in your opinion?  I would love to hear that answer from you.  From your lips, not written on a piece of paper or sent in an email or text.  Could you answer?  Would you answer?  

I started therapy, for me.  When I told you that I finally made an appointment you asked me, “Should I be worried?”  I would have to assume if you asked me that question, you were already worried.  Right?  You felt me changing.  You felt the distance that was created between us.  You had to.  People around us saw it and felt it.  Is it easy to ignore that feeling?  I can’t ignore it any longer. 

I fill my days being busy to keep the real from creeping in.  To fill the voids and the gaps with something, anything.  You have to realize that.   You have to see that.  The busier I am the less time for the awkward silence to ooze into all the empty spaces

You will always be a person that will hold a very special place in my heart and in my world. I will always love you, no matter how fucked up that sounds. I don’t want to replace all the memories we have. I want to keep those memories. I want to keep them safe, keep them happy, not destroy them with words of hate and feelings of…discontent, unhappiness, and loneliness.

Our house. Do I love it? Fuck yes, I love it. After almost 20 years, it has become what I had always hoped for. Our kids are comfortable coming and going, even as adults. Our grandkids know where to find their snacks and their favorite toys. That is what rips me apart the most. What about them? I see the way you look at each one of them. Your love shines through your eyes. I worry if we are no longer “us”, your relationship with them will change. That destroys me. But I can’t control that. I can’t control you or your actions.

If I ask you the same question today, “what does taking care of me look like to you”, what would your answer be?