I’m not. I know the alternative to aging is hardly appealing, but the idea of getting old just never occurred to me before I turned 45. You would think that in six years I’d have grown more comfortable with the idea, but obviously I still have some issues. I guess it’s because it feels like my adult life had just begun at 45. Before I almost lost my husband, I took things pretty much for granted, and was apparently content to just go through the motions of living. The affair ended that.
Looking back on it now, it was inevitable that my husband would have an affair. One of us had to shake things up. At the time, though, I thought everything was fine. Not perfect, but we were making it, sort of. I knew from the moment it began, but pretended not to know. Even after he admitted to it and we openly discussed it. I pretended it was nothing, that it wasn’t happening. And it continued, and I continued to live like a roommate. I suspect it had more to do with continuing with the illusion. I was pretty skilled at hanging out in a fantasy land. I was raised a Catholic.
Nothing prepares you for the day you have to consider divorce. I’m sure I’m not alone in wondering what I did wrong, and how was I going to make it right again? Would it ever be right again. Not only do you examine your marriage for all the signs you missed, you chastise yourself for missing them. You wonder why you got married in the first place, why you had children, or not. What you’re going to do when you find yourself alone for the first time in your life at 45.
Seems my life was on hold from about 1980, while I took care of spouse and child, and house, and car, and held a full time job and volunteered at school, and did everything for all people except myself. Now I feel I missed out on a lot and I hate that I feel that way. Many women do exactly as I have done, and don’t regret it. I wanted to be a good mother and so I was always available to my son and his school. I wanted to be a good wife, and do everything my man asked. No one held me back except me. My husband supported me in everything. In fact he was my only constant. My sole support. My pillar. I’d be alone.
Somewhere during our 25 year marriage I had lost myself. I spent the first two years trying to decide if I wanted to stay married. The rest of the time I’ve been cultivating me, and growing more honest with each other. I’ve had to be really honest with myself and admit that things weren’t all his fault.
I scan photos and remember when, sad to see that time had passed when I wasn’t looking. I know how lucky I am. The medicines available to me now, the fact I have a home and health insurance. I have a family who loves me and supports me. Why is that not enough? Why do I want more? I suppose I feel a little ripped off. My generation did get stuck with Disco. Still I haven’t had it rougher than many, and all in all I’ve been pretty damn lucky, and I try and be a good Buddhist and live my life moment by moment, but sometimes I hear a sexy song and remember dancing to it, only to realize I haven’t danced in over 25 years, and the reality of aging hits me in the face like a wet fish.