Today is my 17th wedding anniversary.
As the clock ticks down the hours to my divorce being final, I am thinking back. I was married on a Friday the 13th.
I am not sad really. Our marriage was over years before we split. He changed drastically after a rough health year. He didn’t want to fight for his family. He was so angry that God sent him back. Back to his family.
He became bitter. Hateful. I tried everything that I knew to break through the walls. But the day that we went to counseling together, I knew. I knew that he had shut me out for good. There was nothing left for me.
The hours that I stood by him, pressed his uniforms, listened intently to the call radio, waited in hospital waiting rooms, prayed over his body in ICU, got blood donated for him, was for nothing. He quit. He quit me. He quit his kids. All because God sent him back.
I think that is my trigger. Quitting.
I don’t love lightly. You can rest assured that if I love you, I will fight. But I can only fight if there is something to fight for.
Now, I fight for my kids. I thought that I was worth fighting for. I thought my kids were worth fighting for. Apparently not.
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