My husband teased me yesterday and I laughed.
He started the teasing and I started poking and teasing him back. He dodged my fingers and grabbed me pulling me into him laughing. I was still giggling as he hugged me close and kissed the top of my head.
“I love hearing you laugh,” he whispered into my hair sadly.
How’s that for sad, when even in the happy moments,in the ‘used’ to be normal moments between us there is a sadness. He finds regrets in my laughter, my giggles remind him of what he lost. I wish my happiness wasn’t a trigger for him, but it is. I have triggers which I battle every single day, but his triggers are real too. My tears, my laughter, words spoken by our children…they all trigger in him regret and sadness…and I can’t control them for him.
I shouldn’t feel bad, he knew what he was doing when he made his choices. He knew what he could lose. He knew he was putting his family on the line, when he crossed it, and had an affair. I don’t think he ever thought I would stay, I would give him a second chance, he would be given the opportunity to rebuild his family…I think he was counting on not having to see the damage up close. Yet here he is standing in the shattered remains of his home, and he is having to clean up the mess. It’s like my teenage sons having a party…an all out 100 kegs, 1000 guests, stripper poles in each corner, baseball bats taken to my dishes, spray paint to the walls, burning the couch in the front yard, pissing off my porch party.
My boys say as it gets out of control “Screw it were dead anyway, moms gonna kill us and then kick us out, so we might as well blow up the house and party like it’s our last night!!” My first reaction? To kill the little shits as I’m seeing the cuss words in purple paint on my walls, and smell the scent of burning stuffing, urine and puke which has engulfed my house. I walk through dodging shards of glass and trash. My home is destroyed and laying on the floor, drunk and passed out are my sons. They see the anger and hurt in my eyes and are ready to leave the shattered remains of our family home. Instead? They are given the chore to clean up the mess, to scrub down the floors, repaint the walls, buy a new couch. Leaving? That would be too easy, and would let them imagine the work being done, and in time they would remember it as having not been ‘so bad’. They would tell themselves I overreacted, what’s a little puke?
It sucks for my husband, having to rebuild what he broke, having to live in the damaged family. At some point my laughter won’t hurt him, and my tears will fade. He won’t ever forget having to work everyday to clean up his mess. He will never think my hurt, my pain wasn’t real, he will never think it exaggerated.
He will always appreciate my laughter and giggles.