I had no memory of it. I couldn’t confirm or deny
it. I could only sit with the weight of it and speak
from the heart.
I softened. I saw his eyes and how much pain they
held. I went into nurturing mode. I told him how
sad I was that he’d been carrying this for so long,
how sorry I was that our relationship had been
shaped by something unspoken and unresolved. I
told him, with everything in me, that he didn’t have
to carry it anymore. I begged him to release it. For
his peace. For our healing.
In that moment, I saw his body relax. His shoulders
dropped. The energy shifted. Something inside him
let go.
That night, everything changed. The doors
between us swung wide open.
From then on, we talked about everything.
Marriage. Divorce. Grief. Childhood. Mistakes.
Triumphs. We started sharing our scars, not just
our stories.
And the more we shared, the more I saw the magic.
Whenever we watched a sunset, he would ask us to
describe it. I used to find that so annoying. Why do
I have to describe the clouds? But now I
understand the beauty of it. He was teaching us
presence. Appreciation. The power of putting
words to the sacred.
He’s an analyzer—always dissecting, always
thinking deeply. As a teenager and into my early
adulthood, it drove me nuts. I was all emotion and
intuition. But now I understand the balance. We
need both. Emotion and logic. Intuition and
analysis. Sometimes one leads, sometimes the
other. But together, they create wholeness.
Now, I understand why he pushed me so hard with
the water skiing.. Growth doesn’t happen in our
comfort zones. That moment taught me that being
pushed isn’t always cruelty—sometimes it’s belief.
He believed I could do hard things. He was
teaching me perseverance, even when I couldn’t
see it.
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