V-Day, D-Day

From the folks over at TheGoodBlogs, comes the inspiration to tell you all the story of Valentine's Day, 2005. If you can top this, or even come close, please let me know. It would be nice to share a bit of horrid Valentine's memories with you all.

February 14, 2005

I was not married to Guy. I didn't even really like Guy that much at the time. He was alright, but I found him to be a little pushy and he liked to hear himself talk. Oooo, how wrong I was. Those are traits I misjudged and love now. That is so not the story for today though.

On Valentine's Day, 2005, I gave my first husband the boot. Pack your bags and hit the road, buddy. I have had enough and I can't take no more.

To a lot of our friends, who remain his friends for this reason, this decision seemed rash and out of the blue. To the ones who remain my friends, let's just say they could see the bigger picture. I use the plural of friends quite liberally there, by the way.

People change. Normal healthy people change. It's usually called growth. Every year, we both got older, and every year, I kept waiting for him to grow. He is a smart guy and a dreamer, but there was absolutely no motivation. No growth. All the therapy and self help books in the world will probably never change that.

Without getting into the boring details and completely defacing my Kind Blog button, I will say this. There was promise after promise made. Plan after plan. Goal after goal. And every time, I ran for the goals, watching as the finish line crept further and further away in the distance. Even after he had a Master's degree and the student loans to show for it, there was no job. Even after the 2 years of taking prerequisites for nursing school, there was no nursing school. Even after the 4 years of trying to start a family, there was no family.

Finally, on Valentine's Day, I broke.

It was harder than I let people know about. I didn't hate him. In fact, I still laugh at things he said or did, and have many more pleasant stories of him than not. What I did hate was my life with him. My father described it as having an anvil tied around my neck while I was trying to swim.

It was harder than people wanted to know about too. My ex is everybody's favorite guy. He is always there when they need him. He is thoughtful and quirky. He remembers your kid's birthday. He remembers your birthday. He listens to your advice and pretends he is going to take it, making you feel smart and worthwhile. He makes a fanfreakingtastic victim.

Which leaves me on the other side.

Anyway, I'm venturing off topic here. Valentine's Day. I'm talking about Valentine's Day.

I had finally decided, (and it was just me, even though I thought it was we) that instead of adopting, we should look at getting a sperm donor. Appointments were made, research was done, and his role was to make sure that I had maternity coverage on our insurance.

One phone call. That was all he had to do.

On Valentine's Day, 2005, I called the insurance company for them to fax over the specifics of our infertility coverage for my appointment later that week. She said she would, but was I aware that I had no maternity coverage?

No. I wasn't.

Can I please add it?

No. You can't. Not until next January.

It was like someone finally turned on the light in the room and I looked around, just noticing that I had been trying to work in the dark all those years. Just one flick of a switch.

The ex had made us dinner reservations at my favorite restaurant for that evening. Which is funny to me since he had no way to pay for it other than a credit card. Which is essentially having no way to pay for it.

First I calmly the restaurant and cancelled our reservations.

Then I got up, shut the door to my office, and dialed my ex. He was his usual bubbly self. He asked about dinner that evening and I told him I cancelled the reservations. He wanted to know why.

Because I don't want to be with you anymore.

That was it. Period. The end of a marriage.

We met for dinner in a week to see if he could move back in, and we could work on things. Unfortunately, that week was the best week of my adult life that far. My mind was made up.

It was time to close that chapter and hope that life had more to offer than disappointment.

Two short years later, I am sitting here typing this entry while Guy is singing "Roxanne" in the style of some Cuban Muppet from the shower upstairs. Disappointments come in the form of illness, miscarriage, and lay off's. Things that just happen in life, not things that you can avoid. And I have Guy to weather them with. A partner and friend. And since it's Valentine's Day, I should throw in that he's a damn good lover.

So was 2005 the worst Valentine's Day ever? Maybe. But I wouldn't change it for the world.

my worst valentine date