63 days since my last booze. I don’t miss the booze. I miss my wife. Last Tuesday she sat beside me, and I fluttered at her side grazing mine.
We sleep separately. She sleeps in our big queen bed. Behind the closed white door. I sleep in the playroom. On a fold-up mat, on the floor.
We talk. I like when we talk. We laugh sometimes, once even we laughed really hard—more than we have in what might be years. It felt different.
We eat together—with the kids. We don’t ever spend time together alone accept for the rare moment in the kitchen talking about the day or the kids. I like it. I like the way she thinks.
For my birthday, she gave me two small gifts. I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t think gifting was on the table. A wallet, and a dopp kit. Neither were things I would have purchased—but they are perfect. They are good for me. They feel like me. She thought of me, and bought them. She is what makes them perfect. That’s new for me. I was hard to shop for. I hope, not anymore. If it’s from her, it’s wonderful.
Then she gave me a card. A silly card about Mr Potatohead missing the necessary parts to pee when he needed it most. But the gift inside the card is a treasure.
This has been a shitty valley, but I want you to know I love you and I’m committed to fighting the insanely painful fight to see us as a healthier, more whole couple.
Now I pray I will use that treasure to be free and keep running hard after God. I want to be able to love free of need. I want to be able to give free of need. I want to be able to listen free of needing to be heard. I want to be able to support, free of needing to be supported. Only in my God can I have this, can I do this, can I receive this.