Mighty Mighty Bahston

The night before we left I sobbed profusely over independence lost, overspending to fill some void I could not name, my sense of failure at being the best mom, wife, employee, friend imaginable and the guilt that came from feeling any one of these things. My brain felt like a coiled mess of insecurities, sadness of being away from home, drama over my perception of aloneness and who exactly I was supposed to be and this tugging feeling that no matter how hard I tried I would never be able to uncoil this self inflicted mess.

We were up until after 1. We woke up to leave at 7. My eyes ached from the crying. We both walked like zombies to the airport pushing through the sludgey remnants of the previous nights discussions. Neither of us quite sure how to fill the huge void that my professions had left between us.

I think we left it all behind at some point along the Charles River somewhere between Cambridge and Y@wkey Way. It was the silent dance of forgiveness and togetherness that I needed for myself and we needed for each other.

SP would never speak of any struggle, it is not in his nature and I would only speak of it after the fact. It's too real to speak of it while living it and too personal to lay out there until the wound is healing. And it's healing, thanks to Boston.

More to come...