I told my husband I was leaving, so he gave me a ladder.
When my husband and I tied the knot three years ago, a Phoenician princess / Viking fusion occurred. The cross-cultural union was not without controversy which made it all the more magical in my rebellious eyes. My Viking is not a prince charming and we never mastered the art of the happily ever after.
For me, it was love at first sight. The sky was unusually blue and captivating, there were some yellow level thunderstorms, and it all escalated very quickly to a full blown category 3 “I love you & want an eternity with you” affair.
Despite not buying into the “forever” illusion, my husband is still like no other. He always defends me especially when I’m on both sides of the argument. He is patient with a capital P. He brings me coffee to bed every morning. He is kind. He never falls off his chair with laughter when I mispronounce words like “laboratory” or “hereditary”. He has old school mannerism, yet he is so young at heart. He is secretly jealous when I rave about Jamie Oliver despite being the confident mature successful grown-up one in our marriage. He speaks with actions that reinforce his love and commitment to our marriage. He appreciates that I have a whole other life, in a whole other country far and away from here. He takes me as I am. Literally. Flaws. Imperfections. And all. And last, he never gives in to the urge, however strong it may be, to walk out on me.
In his arms, I have been empowered elevated loved drowned crushed mended looked after & twirled. In his arms, my feet never actually touched the ground. He lifted me towards the stars and made me want to fly.
Two weeks ago, when I told him I was planning to jump, he lifted me one more time and pushed the ladder beneath my feet so I could reach the sky. He never asked me why, said we only lived once, and that he knew I would fly.
In 6 weeks, I will be standing on the cliff. With the ladder. And for the first time in a long time, I will be completely outside of his embrace.
Tic Toc Tic Toc