I loved that song in high school. It's one of my favorite's from the 1980s. Since my last entry was a song title, why not this one?
In actuality, I chose "if you leave" because lately I've been thinking about that very thing. What if my husband leaves?
Two years ago at this time, we were in the process of selling a home and buying another. We were moving across town, and in many ways starting a new chapter in our lives.
I remember the morning. We'd already packed most of our furniture into a POD. We'd boxed nearly everything else. We awoke and my husband announced he'd had enough. He was done. It hit me somewhat out of the blue. It probably shouldn't have, as we'd been through a similar situation on Christmas Eve, just about a month before.
An announcement that our marriage was over. He was headed someplace else. Whether figuratively or literally, I wasn't sure.
Thankfully, both of these instances lasted less than a day. He spoke to someone who helped him see things a bit more clearly. He realized the enormity of what he was thinking about.
But the emotional toll on me was huge. I tend to piece myself together, to move on, to simply be thankful we got through the rough day. And I now find myself wondering if it will happen again. If he will truly leave. Move out, escape, buy a ticket across the world. Find someone else.
Realistically, I know this is a slim possibility. These episodes happened before he was diagnosed as bipolar. We better know what to look for now. He has professionals he can call or meet with. It's not just me and whoever I can get on the phone.
Yet it can be so frightenly difficult, wondering if a morning will begin with normalcy. Or with a, "I'll pack a bag at lunch. I won't be here when you get home from work."
It's not that I constantly dwell on this. I suppose it's mainly the time of year. An anniversary of sorts. Two years removed from the last worst day.
