Mostly I like to disagree with my therapist so I can continue my quest to stay un-evolved and victimized by bad therapy but this time, HE GOT ME. "You don't like to have any needs in a relationship, do you?" He's right. So I threw a $20 bill at him and walked out. CURED. And by that I mean I got teary eyed and nodded my head in agreement.
I never wanted to be like some of my friends who would be outraged at their boyfriends because, instead putting the roses in a vase LIKE A HUMAN, they had simply laid the roses -- still in their wrapper -- on the table and said "I got you some flowers".
"Is that the end of the story?" I'd have to ask them. "Are you sure you didn't skip the part where he spit on you and made you eat the flowers?"
Acting un-needy has been, for most of my nine-year relationship with David, a grand "act AS IF" or "fake it until you make it" attempt at trying to will myself into being unconcerned over tiny, unimportant things.
But there is one area of NEED that I don't have to fake and that I am totally at peace with. I do not need for my husband to tell me that I'm the love of his life. Which sounds like some dirty hippy swinger talk. But it's not. It's being married to a widower talk.
My husband's first wife, Hannah, died over 12 years ago. She was beautiful, kind and talented. And I'm not just saying that because you can't say things like "she was bearded, mean and caustic" about the deceased. (Though I'm sure there will be a few of my closest friends summing me up with, "She did go on and on... and my GOD the anger" after I'm gone.) Hannah was an amazing woman and her and David were together for over 10 years and had a son.
When I first moved in with David and his son, I spent most of my free time wandering around the apartment comparing myself with Hannah. Which was tough because that woman was not capable of taking a bad photo. Even her goofy pictures looked like a gorgeous woman putting on a goofy face. All my photos looked to me like a goofy woman putting on a gorgeous face.
These memories of David and my early years together -- and my snooping and obsessing and trying to smash my body into Hannah's tiny pants that I dug up in storage -- are not my proudest moments.
But it was the moment my obsession reached its pinnacle that it finally ended. It happened on a day where I'd been wandering the streets of Santa Monica thinking about how getting married and having a baby and being a family was something you had to work hard to avoid, yet (unless you're gay and living in America but that's another blog) I'd chosen the one situation where I was never going to be allowed IN.
The words "WIFE" and "MOTHER" were off limits to me. They were TAKEN. And it's not David's fault because I had aggressively advertised myself as a woman who wanted no promises. I'd gone through a divorce and I hated promises. The Fed Ex guy couldn't even tell me that my package would arrive by 4pm without me pleading... "Please... no. Don't say that. What happens happens. Let's just be okay with the mystery." But I was living with David and Jack and I was a part of their daily lives. I wanted to know where David placed me in his heart.
So I cornered him the bedroom one day while he was putting away his socks. His back was to me as I casually asked him, "Isn't it odd that if we end up staying together that you'll go down in history as the love of my life?" He stopped putting his socks away and turned around and stared at me with what looked like sadness in his eyes and said "Awwww. That's so nice". He had said it to me like he pitied me. Like he'd turned around and found a little baby bird with hearing aids lying on his bed. At that moment I realized that he couldn't say it back to me and I was devastated. It took me months to stop telling every friend and taxi driver how I was with a man who would never be able to tell me that I'm the love of his life.
That was over five years ago and now I can see how complicated and unfair that question was. I don't want or need to be NUMBER ONE wife. Unless I'm in a polygamous marriage, and even then the whole ranking thing would stress me.
How did I end up marrying a man that I knew would never be able to tell me that I'm the love of his life? Because we were two very messed up, untrusting folks easing our way back into the idea of making a family when both of our ideas of FAMILY had been destroyed. And it took us years and years of battling it through, but now it simply is. Without dramatic fights or teary promises... we are with each other. And we trust each other. Even though as I wrote that last sentence I thought "What the hell am I talking about -- watch us break-up by the end of the month". Who knows. But for me, I'm willing to just do like the alcoholics and drink a shit load of coffee while we take day by day.
You would never ask someone to forget a deceased parent/sibling/child/friend, would you? You would never compare the love they had for that person to the love they have for you, would you? It is equally unfair to expect that of someone who lost their spouse. A divorcee still pining over their ex, I can see the jealousy. But to be jealous of someone who is no longer living sounds like you have bigger issues than what is wrong in your relationship.
To ask that of anyone isn't fair. It's one of those Catch 22 tests that some of us use to create drama/distance in relationships b/c we have insecurities and issues we can't/won't recognize or deal with.
My husband had 27 years and two kids with his late wife. I would never ask him to betray that. I know he loves me and I know I am the most important person in his life. He shows me in a hundred different ways daily. Actions are what count. Not some overwrought teenage romantic catchphrase.
I understand walking onto the stage of another woman's life, but whether you make the part your own or remain the understudy is a choice you make.
I am a widow. My husband was the love of my life - we were so perfect together. When he died I couldn't imagine ever loving someone like I loved him.
My boyfriend's fiance died before they could get married. He learned not to take marriage lightly so I can only imagine she was teh love of his life.
I find myself wondering how I compare to his fiance. But then, I know how I felt about my husband and how those feelings compare to how I feel about my BF. It's different, and without taking anything away from my husband, I can say my BF is the love of my life. My husband was A love of my life....
My advantage? My BF was my first love. I was his first girlfriend in Jr. High - his first love. I always told my husband he fit perfectly in my heart. It was my BF who shaped my heart 35 years ago. I know I am his true love, as he is mine.
He can't tell you you're the love of his life because it feels like a betrayal to his late wife. But that doesn't mean his feelings aren't as strong. He may not express it in the exact words you think you want to hear - but he loves you - so live and find joy in the love you share.
Move along stop whining..
Be lucky that you did not get a man who tells
you sweet things and treats you like trash !