Loved and lost

I’ve been thinking deeply these last few months about the old proverb, “It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”  I have to be honest and tell you that I really struggle with this notion.  When I look back over my life, I can say whole-heartedly…Yes, I have loved much and loved completely.  I have felt the joy that only arises from true love, the anticipation of spending every waking moment with that other person, and ultimately, the abject bliss of sharing the promise of spending the rest of your lives together.  However, having been through marriage twice now (I am so thrilled to admit), I honestly feel that marriage in and of itself is just that:  a promise.  It is a promise that you will love the other person utterly and completely with everything you are, respect them even when they aren’t at the top of your ‘likeable’ list, take care of them when they are sick and unable to care for themselves, and help shoulder the burden when your family of two falls on difficult times.  Above all, it is a promise of partnership; a vow that you will always contribute everything you can to the other person, your life together, and to your future.

My point with this elementary explanation is that if I am totally honest with myself, I’ve never experienced marriage as it should be.  In both instances, I gave more than I received, loved more than I was loved, and held on to that promise with more zeal and respect than the other partner involved.  So, by the most basic definition, I have loved and lost.  Many people I know often comment that I’m just ‘jaded’ by my experiences and that it isn’t like this for everyone.  Believe me, I know it isn’t.  I have family members who have sustained happy and fulfilling marriages longer than I have been on this earth.  Is there some great secret that they are aware of that I was never told?  Are they that much better judges of character than I am when it comes to choosing their life partner?  Or, did they just get ‘lucky?’  I think it’s probably a combination of these things and quite frankly, the idea of marriage for my generation is much different that it is/was for the generations before me.  Marriage wasn’t viewed as a potentially temporary situation where one party could bail if they got bored with the other person, thought they could get a younger and hipper model, or just simply got tired of being around them.  They realized that they were making a lifetime commitment to the other person and it was the most sacred covenant they could possibly ever make, perhaps other than parenthood.  But today, in our easy-come easy-go society, people are disposable and promises are made simply to be broken.  Nothing guts me more than this behavior.

I know many of you are thinking, “Wait a second, Mozzie, isn’t that what you are doing by divorcing your husband?  Aren’t you breaking your promise to him?”  I suppose on the surface, yes, I am.  But, it is so much deeper and more involved than that.  When I look back on my marriages, it wasn’t me who broke the promises.  It wasn’t me that vowed to be one way when we said “I do,” but ended up acting and living a life contrary to that.  I was the one who gave everything and sacrificed all that I was.  I was the one who fought tooth and nail to make the marriages work and for the other person to see what needed to be rectified in the relationship in order to have a happy life together.  I did all the praying, made all the counseling appointments, initiated all the talks, and pleaded for understanding from the other person.  And in both marriages, nothing was gained from my efforts but loss and heartbreak.  In both instances, I loved completely, and ultimately, lost everything.

So, is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?  I really can’t say at this point in my life.  Perhaps in ten years, I will feel differently and be able to answer unequivocally ‘yes.’  But right now, with so much loss consuming me, I simply don’t feel that it is.  Jaded?  Maybe.  Or maybe I just allowed myself to fall so deeply that I wasn’t able to see the whites of their lies.

And today, only one song will do…

Driving your girlfriend home

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.”

 

10am:  Mom phones me to ask when I’m going to see them this week.  Sleep deprivation and the need to pound the unemployment pavement is never a reason not to put the parental units first.  I reply, “Let me see how my afternoon goes and I’ll give you a call later. Maybe we could meet for supper?”  I realize the whistle has just sounded on the ‘Mom’s Guilt Trip Express,’ for which I have accumulated a lifetime of frequent traveler miles.  I’ve been riding the train first class since I was fifteen and remarkably, it never reaches a destination.  It just goes ‘round and ‘round the same clattering track.  Toot toot!  All aboard!  (Don’t get mad, Ma.  You know I love you.)

 

1pm:  The husband is once again engrossed with the intricacies of our failing economy and realizes that not only am I unaware of this, but that I also require a daily dissertation from the peanut gallery.  He explains, “Damn, babe.  We are in for some real trouble in this country. We’re all gonna be eatin’ road kill soon.  Man, I sure am glad I bought all that rice a few months ago so we won’t go hungry.  You know, I have that huge tent that has like four rooms in it.  We could definitely fit all of your furniture in there if we have to.  Don’t forget to see if we can get food stamps today when you’re not too busy.  It would be good to have something to go with all that rice.”   

 

5:30pm:  I meet the parental units for dinner and sit with baited breath as I listen to the 465 health ailments in which they and the other family members are currently suffering.  Since I work part-time as a physician, psychiatrist, financial planner, marriage counselor and psychic, I am more than equipped to immediately offer a variety of solutions.

 

Mom shares a truly hilarious story from her day.  Apparently, the parental units have some contractors working on their home for some routine maintenance, carpentry and painting.  Mom specifically tells Dad before the contractors arrive that she will be in the shower and to “Please make sure the bathroom and bedroom doors are closed.”  Since Dad has always kept step to the music of his own drummer, he somehow overlooks this request.  When Mom emerges from the shower wearing only her underoos and birthday suit, she makes her way into the bedroom to dress and notices that not only are all the doors wide open, but Dad has also raised all of the bedroom window blinds and windows in order for the contractors to work on some window repairs.  Mom immediately lets out a blood curdling scream and high-tails it back into the bathroom.  Luckily, no one was around to witness her debut as a stripper except Dad.  Hey Ma, maybe you could become the one and only “Golden Girl” at The Gold Club…reckon they are hiring?

 

7:30pm:  After dinner, I return to my car for the ride home and submerge myself in Morrissey’s lyrical genius, mouthing the words to his song, “Driving your girlfriend home.”

 

“I’m driving your girlfriend home
And she’s saying how she never chose you

‘Turn left,’ she says
I turn left and she says
‘So how did I end up so deeply involved in the very existence I planned on avoiding?’
And I can’t answer

I’m driving your girlfriend home
And she’s laughing to stop herself crying
‘Drive on,’ she says
I drive on and she says
‘So how did I end up attached to this person when his sense of humour gets gradually worser?’
And I can’t tell her

I’m parking outside her home and we’re shaking hands
Goodnight, so politely…”

10pm:  I decide it’s time for a laugh and a break from reality so I pop in ‘The Best of The Young Ones’ DVD and within minutes I am uncontrollably snorting and cackling.  To no surprise, the husband doesn’t even chuckle a single time.  I realize that British humor is quite different from American comedy, but seriously…how could anyone not find this hysterically funny?  So, I will adjourn because Captain Crunch with Crunchberries is calling my name from the cupboard.  I will leave you all with several of my favorite clips from ‘The Young Ones.’  Enjoy and keep shining!

 

Brilliant Quote of the day:

 

“Oh! What a tangled web we weave

When first we practice to deceive!”

 

– Sir Walter Scott (from Marmion, 1808)

 

Chapter 23: The Countess of Wedgewood

10am:  It’s Saturday morning and I am preparing for a much needed ‘Girls day out’ with my Mom and favorite aunt, ‘The Countess of Wedgewood.’  She was crowned with this title years ago when I realized how much fun it was to surprise her with a wedgie or two when she was completely unsuspecting.  I don’t know how it still manages to be so funny after so many years, but it’s always sufficiently hilarious.

 

1pm:  The husband phones me to request if I can pick him up some lunch since “I am already out and about, you know?”  His car parked in the driveway can only be operated in conjunction with his grueling work schedule of four days per week.  I firmly stand my ground and tell him that he’s on his own for the afternoon and he’ll have to remove his fanny from the recliner and make his way into the kitchen.

 

4pm:  ‘The Countess’ and I are shopping for shoes and comparing notes and styles.  Given that I am blessed with grace and coordination, I back into an enormous display of stacked shoe boxes.  Inevitably, they all come crashing down in a thunderous display and I work quickly to cover my tracks.  Other shoppers are staring out of curiosity as to what caused the calamity, so I turn to ‘The Countess’ and say, “Good grief!  I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”  Being the sweet Southern belle that she is, it takes her a second to realize that I am pinning my clumsy behavior on her.  She starts to blush (as I often do) from other shoppers gazing her way.  Thankfully, she has always appreciated my sense of humor and we both begin to giggle uncontrollably.  Not a bad way to spend an afternoon…chuckling and teasing someone who is so close to your heart.  She has always held a top spot on my list.

 

11pm:  I arrive home after my full day off with my bed beckoning from upstairs. I head upstairs and complete my nightly routine: shower, scrub my pearly whites and change into an old t-shirt and floppy, cotton shorts.  I slide into the bed, snuggle up with my snaggle-toothed puppy and submerge myself in Morrissey’s lyrical genius, “Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep, I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”  The husband has exceeded the recommended dosage of Tylenol PM tonight, so it’s looking like a real possibility for me.  I say my prayers and tell the Big JC, “Thanks.  I owe you one.”