I’m not a poet. I sure wish I were. I’ve had a poem floating around in my head for several years now. Well, the beginning and the end.
It would begin, simply, I thought I stood at the brink of Hell... and then it would twist and turn in those solar-plexus-hitting ways that good poetry has, in memories of the hard times, the abject fear that wrenched me as we were separating, the fear that the contempt was grounded in reality, etc., etc., etc….
but it would end, But it was Purgatory. Purgatory – that place Catholics believe in -more a state of being, perhaps than a geographical location in the Cosmos – where we are purged of our sins and selfish-self-love and cleaned of our love for worldly things that have meant more to us than God.
Being married to a homosexual is one of those things I would not wish on my worst enemy. It’s also one of those things I wouldn’t take a million bucks for (not in today’s economy, by any means!) for what I learned about myself in the process:
I am strong. I am resilient. I have good instincts. I am not stupid, or unrealistic, or irrational, or boring, or undesirable; I am intelligent, and perceptive and so often I was right about the values and ideals that he couldn’t face up to… and (straight) men love to talk to me about all sorts of things and even now I rebuff advances (blush) —
and THIS is what I want this blog to be about, ultimately. NOT about disparaging my ex- or other gays. Yes, understanding what goes on behind the scenes is important to our finding our balance after such an event, but we mustn’t wallow in our grief and sense of loss!
Life is beautiful – and so are we.