Watermelon

I turned 55 today. He gave me a watermelon for my birthday. Given, its a "pure heart" melon, known to be ubber sweet. I guess some would consider it cute and romantic. But after 32 years together, I was hoping he knew me better.

As birthdays go, this one ranks right up there with my 40th - by myself on travel, watching a spectacular lighting storm at the Huston Airport hotel. Dad had just died and I felt so alone.... but then my brother called and it was all better. At least my husband had flowers sent to me at the hotel that year.

In a way I'm glad he didn't do anything super fancy. I'm pretty sure we are on our last legs and I'll be walking away soon. At least this way there is a little less guilt...

Why in the hell do I feel any guilt anyway? He's not a monster, but the last few years have taken their toll. He's been so angry so often, so free with his condemnation of all I hold dear. And since I won't go with him into his new religion, he is very free with his assessment of what he views as my sin, my wickedness or (in his softer moments), my deception and rebellion. I disgust him, I am cursed, I am deliberately trying to drive him out of his own home, I refuse sex (a big sin in his book), I won't submit to his God-given authority to lead his family.... those are a few I remember off the top of my head. And yet, I'm the one who feel guilty.

Getting angry again won't solve anything. I'm so tired of fighting back. It only brings out his dominance, the stiff rod of his right-ness, his sword of hurt. There is nothing left in me to fight with. The hurt is even numbing these days. It still hurts, but not as much. I get surprised sometimes - a watermelon for my 55th birthday for example.

So, I'll watch tv alone tonight while he works and the girls are at their own place. I bought myself some chocolate cake and peppermint ice cream. Mom took me to lunch. My church family gave me a card with notes from a dozen friends. Melody gave me coupons for a dozen chores. And I have very sweet watermelon to eat.

When all is stripped away, I am held in the arms of the Papa who gives me breath, who planned my birth and celebrates each day that I exist. I am not alone, I am not disgusting, I am not a failure even if my marriage is. Happy Birthday to me....