from the photostream of yoshiko314

“Coffee or tea?”, the handsome British flight attendant asked us.
Guarding my tear stained face best I could, I told him no thank you.

The reality of his question only worsened my pain.  Herb and I were not just talking about separating.  We were talking about separating while on an international flight, heading home after a holiday in the United Kingdom.  If we are being completely honest, I was talking about separating while on an international flight, heading home after a holiday in the United Kingdom.  Herb was listening and trying to figure out what to do.

Nothing happened while we were away.  No secrets uncovered.  No cruel words spoken.  If nothing else, it was the overwhelming sense that our marriage was not what I had wished it would be.  It was too painful to watch how the wounds we inflicted on each other during our first days and months . . . and years . . . of marriage had created a dryness in our partnership that just did not seem to be satiable.

Hearing the question, “Coffee or tea”, in such a flawless, proper accent made me cringe.  It highlighted the sadness of our conversation and left me feeling completely exposed.  There was nothing proper about what was happening in row 36, seats D and F (luckily we had the entire row to ourselves, as we are not above having difficult conversations on airplanes, with strangers sharing our row); and by that time, my eye makeup certainly was not flawless.

But it was more than a reminder that what we were going through that sunny afternoon over the Atlantic was a painful mess - it was a reminder that life goes on even in the midst of our pain.  While I felt like the bottom was dropping out from under me, the sun was still shining, people were still sleeping, and flight attendants were still offering coffee and tea.  I wanted life to stop long enough for us to figure things out.  I wanted to resolve my pain that I hold about this marriage; everything it is and is not.  I wanted to be able to enjoy being asked the question “Coffee or tea?” in a smooth British accent, while flying over the Atlantic, without being distracted by big questions like, “Will my marriage survive?”.

It may sound trivial, but more than anything, the struggles Herb and I face in our marriage can be boiled down to being distractions.  They keep us from living our lives - together and individually - to the fullest.  It is impossible to stop and smell the roses when your damn nose is constantly stuffed up from sobbing uncontrollably.  And while some people would be most horrified that they were sobbing uncontrollably on an international flight, I am mostly sad that those moments of sobbing (and there have been many) have kept me and Herb from enjoying what is right before us.  The moment.  Our lives.  The simple offer for a hot beverage on an international flight home from a lovely visit with friends.

I have either cried or yelled (and often both) in four different countries and several states in the United States.  I have cried and yelled on airplanes, bicycles, pedestrian bridges.  In subway stations and the Caribbean Sea.  Worse yet, I have lost countless chunks of my life crying on my couch, bed, and kitchen floor at home.

I am tired of crying.  So, there I sat on the airplane, telling Herb that I wanted to move out for a while so that we could each heal a little from all the yelling and crying.  So that we could figure out a way to come back together.  But despite his statement of agreement in the moment, I knew he would not go for it in the end.  Not because he would miss me.  But because he knows he might not.  And that always reminds me that I might not miss him.  And so we stay.

Some might think that not missing each other is sign we should clue into: that our marriage does not work.  That one of us should leave.  We agree that it is a wake-up call.  Only instead of viewing it as a reason to hit the road, we view it as a reason to continue on.  We use it is a litmus test as to how healthy our marriage is.  When it comes out looking brown and pukey, we know that our marriage needs more work.  We choose to take this perspective for a few reasons.  Partly because of our commitment to the marriage.  Partly because he knows that if we divorced, I would tailspin into a cycle of shame and I know he would get lost in a spiral of isolation.  But also because we love each other.  Because we know it can work.  We know that so many of the problems we have had are not based on incompatibility or bad chemistry.  We know this because when we are not fighting, we are the best of friends and we have nice chemistry.  No, our problems tend to crop up around our individual, pre-existing wounds and issues; our baggage.  In fact, I would be so bold to say that Herb and I are actually perfect for each other.  In highlighting old wounds, we are able to push each other towards healing and personal growth.  We believe that marriage is intended for companionship and support and intimacy.  But also to shape us and mold us.  To heal us.  And mature us.  Herb helps bring up these needs more than anyone else.  Herb stands by me as I try to sort out these needs.  And so we carry on.

Maybe it sounds ludicrous.
But maybe it is true.