I hope you are having a wonderful time visiting your children in Virginia. When you called tonight, you mentioned how relaxed I sounded. We both know it's your code for "I had a drink". A silly code because I don't drink alcohol very often. I have too much to do and too many demands - especially since you have entered my household. But when I do imbibe this past year, you suddenly become a self-righteous teetotaler.
So, yes, I didn't had a drink flowing through my system when you called. Instead, it was the first time in several weeks that you weren't here. In a way, you were correct. I was feeling very relaxed - no worries from listening to your situation, no Spanish inquisition about what I haven't done according to your agenda, no aggravation about my son's stay in MY home. I was able to concentrate on vital projects for my future (and perhaps ours). For the first time in a long while, I was ... happy.
This realization scared me. What if I tell you that you are no longer the soul mate that lovers need? Would you have become vindictive because of spurned affection? Would you then destroy my home that I have opened to you? Would I need to get a restraining order during the next time you are away?
Our lives shouldn't be this complicated. For a woman of 56 and two failed marriages under her belt, you know what I have to offer. Perhaps I'm the trusting fool that should not have let us reach this stage.
I don't know what to do at this moment. I do know that love doesn't exist when fear abounds.
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