(I am drunk on homemade wine, otherwise i would not be posing this.)
My wife of fifteen years has (in a phone call to Panama) told me she wants to end our relationship. Well, I guess you cannot make someone love you. I respect her and I respect her decision. I will not make it more difficult for her than it already is.
She is under a lot of pressure, her Dad is ill with Altzimer’s (I would spell it right, but I am drunk) Disease and is cursed with longevity. She faces many more years of being locked in taking care of him as is required by her (Central American) culture.
I am here, and will remain here for years to come. It is, as I said, tough for her. The business with my possible son (see my ‘So, I have a Son’ series) was also stressful foe all concerned.
Now my heart is broken; and I fear it will never heal. I am still, two weeks after The Call, numb. I feel as though I have been slapped in the face with a fresh halibut. It is no fun.
I listen to Country & Western music and I understand it. That is not good.
I am a pigheaded man. I have the tenacity of a terrier, but with a bit more determination. I feel as though I want to freeze my life at this point and go to my grave loving only Her. (I mean going to my grave at a ripe old age, not to worry folks.)
I have been listening to ‘He Stopped Loving Her Today’ and could see me carrying this torch for the rest of my life. Half out of love, half out of spite. ("I’ll show her, I will never move on.’)
I am staring forty-six in the face next week, and I would like to call it a mid-life crises, but cannot as I see so few ninety-two year-olds. My hydraulics are shot (I am a man, think it over, hydraulics…) due to a number of reasons. I doubt I will ever find another love.
So is this it? Will I retire to Mexico (instead of Panama) a very rich, bitter old man? Will my heart ever mend?
(I am, as I said, quite drunk, at 18.30 my time. I think an early bedtime is called for. I will check on this thread latter. Thank you for letting me sob in a most unmanly way.)