Falling Away

Friends....

I wrote this post about six weeks ago. I chose, at that time, not to put it up, because my children are not aware of the decision their father and I had made.

Six weeks later, I find myself very confused. A series of events has led Ken to change his mind... And has left me standing, once again, at a crossroads.

Going back is not an option. Turning away from the path, shrugging and saying "Oh, ok, so we decided not to go this way..."

It leaves too many questions unresolved, too many steps untaken. Yet... Does moving forward mean biting the bit and running headlong into an uncertain future? I don't think so. I believe we still have a choice... Paths are still laid out before us... and we must still decide. We have no choice but to move forward... but in what direction? I don't know yet.

I am posting this because... it feels dishonest not to, and holding it back this long has caused me nothing but anxiety, self doubt and pain.

*~*~*

In the fall, the warm days can seem as if the chill will never come.

The leaves know better, though. They start to turn colors long before the first icy frost touches their edges, leaving a misty white lace and changing the landscape from the rich, vibrant greens of summer to the quieter, more sedate browns and golds of fall.

Fall brings change.

Death, decay, sleep, hibernation... the changes Fall brings can seem like an ending. For much of nature, it is an ending, the end of a life cycle for many insects and even animals, the end of a season. The leaves will die and fall away, tumbling to the ground in one grand leap of faith, dancing on the autumn breeze, free of their tether for the first... and last, time. It is an explosion of beauty and color and defiance, because the leaves know. They know winter is coming with its heavy snow. They know they are soon to be buried under the weight of frozen beauty. They know the trees will groan in their sleep as the snow lays heavy on their branches. They know, and so they dance one last time.

Knowing winter is upon them, they choose to dance.

When this journey began, this season of my life, I believed it could last. We grew through the spring, held on through the early storms, and grew rich and green in summer. There was rain, there was wind, there was sun... and we held on through it all. We grew together, and I was certain our tether would never be broken. I was sure we would grow old and brown together, there on our tree.

I was wrong.

Yesterday, Ken told me that he loves me, he respects me, but he can't be married any more. What does that mean? Can't be married anymore? You're married one moment, and then you're just... not? Does it really mean that marriage has become so stifling that he just has to break free, has to run, has to find a new way of living before he suffocates under the weight of frozen beauty? Or does it mean that the season has been spent, that our time together is just... over? The metaphor can only carry so far. Lives are meant to be shared, through many seasons, not just one, or a few. And I am no innocent. Marriage is a "we". Not a "me" and a "you". Sometime, some where, things went wrong. There wasn't enough. There was too much. The sap that nourished us has run dry and the leaves have changed color... and, it seems, the time has come to let go.

I wish I understood. I'm trying.

There is still much to decide, discussions that must take place, a life that must be divided once again into two. Grief, fear, anger... it all threatens to overwhelm me. The thought of my kids, who don't even know yet (and are the reason I can not publish this entry until things are more settled), is breaking me. Their tree is still young and green and their leaves are not ready to fall. It is their parents who have made the mistakes, not them, and we will shield them as much as we can, but I know winter will come.

I wish things were different. I wish we could have worked this out. I wish he hadn't changed his mind. I wish he still loved me. I wish... but the colors have changed, and autumn has come... and so I will let go...

And I will dance.

~*~*~

Introducing Kame

Meet Kame. (Pronounced 'Kah-may')
Handsome little guy, isn't he? Kame is my Eastern Box Turtle. Or rather, I should say, I am his human. We've been cohabiting now for an entire season.

More than through the a passing of Spring to Summer, and entering into the early part of Fall, Kame has accompanied me through a season of life, and has become intertwined with my journey in ways I never expected.

In May 2010, my husband Ken traveled over twenty hours to go on a hunting trip, because the turkeys in the midwest are, by some estimation only understood by avid (obsessive!) turkey hunters, superior to the turkeys here in Upstate New York.

Box turtles are common where Ken was hunting that week. He'd seen several around the lodge before he found Kame bumping along the edge of the door. When he opened it to see who was knocking so insistently, Kame came right in and made himself at home. Knowing how much I adore turtles, Ken decided to make this determined little guy a part of our family.

Ordinarily Ken and I are adamantly against removing an animal from the wild. Wild-caught animals often do poorly in captivity, and it's cruel to take them from the environment they're familiar with because it's difficult to give them everything they're used to in a captive situation. Kame, however, is more than just a "cool animal" that Ken brought me home as a pet. He was a peace offering, a gift of understanding and acceptance from my husband. His entrance into our lives represented a small step on the journey we've been on this past year, toward reconciliation, rebuilding and healing after the near-disintegration of our marriage.

I hope to record, in this blog, some of our story, interspersed and intertwined with tales of my favorite fictional Turtles and snippets of day to day life, with all its messy, chaotic joy.

I once reviewed a book that opened this way:

“I found a pen; another person found a scrap of paper; a third person, the words. “Dead End,” we wrote and left it on the side of the road for the next traveler to find and perhaps turn around in time.” -For Sarah, by Annie Harmon

This year, conversing with friends through various media, I have become convinced that in writing notes for others, we begin to understand our own journeys. Perhaps, through these musings we might travel together for a time, and learn from one another along the way.