One day I was swept into a new reality. I discovered that my husband, the father of our nine and seven year old children was gay. We had built a life in a community and it all started to crumble. But as with every disaster, there are blessings as well as some crazy funny shit that happens. I’ll ride the tide out till it’s time to swim to shore.
Now at 40-something, I am discovering wonderful friends, excelling at my career all while trying to negotiate the divorce scene and the dating scene.
Life is…. ironic, funny, a bitch, unpredictable and no one gets out alive. So, I want to be positive and try and make the best of it and listen to the musings of all those people who say, “it could be worse” or “look on the bright side” or “at least you don’t blah, blah, blah….” You get the idea. There is always going to be someone, somewhere who has something happening to them that by definition will be worse that what I am going through. BUT, I am self centered, snarky and at times feel like I the universe truly does revolve around me and that my ire of the day is The most important thing. EVER. But then, the guilt comes in and then I start to think, seriously about all the people who are doing without, or are in war torn areas fighting or being attacked. I think of the mother whose child is dying or whose husband died while at war. Then I do start to feel humbled, and guilty and small.
So, now that I got that out of the way, I feel somewhat absolved of the guilt I feel for feeling so self absorbed and with this need to write about my life. This is unscripted and uncensored but to protect the innocent, all names have been changed or given nicknames. The father of my children is simply GH. as in Gay Husband. At some point he will be my GXH. I anxiously anticipate the X.