For the love of men

I listened as the old man, spoke to the young boy beside him...he looked like maybe he was in his late 50's . He spoke about life, marriage and sex.

I don't know what caught my attention at first...I think I recognised the tone before I heard the words. He had loved her, but she didn't love him.

They were high school sweethearts. They got pregnant, got married and had three children before the age of 25. They were both broken and thought the other could save them. Raped and molested, beaten and abused - they ran away together in hopes of finding their happily ever after...but the damage was to great to overcome and the love they had, withered away over the years - they fought about everything. The children, the discipline, the money and the men. She loved men. I leaned closer to hear as he spoke of how she would do anything for these men...he listed them off one hand and as he did, his voice grew gruffer.

I am sure that he wasn't an innocent in all of it and he had done his fair share of betrayal - but his regret stained voice got me thinking that maybe he was like me...betrayed and bereft

I wanted to tell him that maybe she was addicted to the love she thought they gave her. What is it about broken people, that the genuine love of someone isn't as good as the shallow make believe infatuation of strangers?

In his voice I heard old pain...the kind that couldn't quite heal even after all these years. He said that maybe if he had been more vicious with her she would have changed, maybe if he had put his foot down things would be different - but he chose to be soft with her and even now years later, he still wasn't sure that she loved him...not anymore at least.

All they do is fight...still. Decades upon decades of screaming tantrums and constant rejection...

Resigned to the choices he has made, he sighed and told the boy - my son, don't ever be like your father. You want something in life you go after it. You don't allow people to run your life for you. You can't change anybody who doesn't want to change...he spoke of how he tried and tried, but it was never good enough.

Now looking back at his intact failed marriage, I wondered how many of us carry the same fate?  When a crises threatens to tear apart your family, do you choose to stay or do you choose to let go? Its an impossible choice, and we make it with the best information we have at the time - but what if you make the wrong one? Do you stand there, grey and aged wishing that if you had more chance you would choose a different kind of life for yourself...

I try to not let the overwhelming unknown push me into a decision that I couldn't live with, but its hard. If it ever came down to it, I really would prefer to be on my own - but its a decision made of out fear and right now I am trying so desperately to be brave. Brave for me, my son and my husband...

I was late for work and I had to leave, but I couldn't help but glance up at the man one more time...his mouth turned down at the corners, head bowed as the weight of his regret crowded him...I wanted to tell him, that he had no way of knowing how things would have turned out and if he left he would have always wondered why he didn't try harder.

sigh...

Maybe the next life will be kinder to the brokenhearted...