We've Come Undone. Again.

For a while, I've been entertaining ridiculous thoughts. Ridiculous even for me. My angry husband (yes, after all these months, we are still officially married, for those of you who haven't kept up) had seemingly morphed into a patient, happy-go-lucky person who was genuinely enjoying my company, and I was starting to think we could make a go of things. Or at least try.

My friends were silent but clearly skeptical; my therapist was cautioning me ever so gently to not misread the situation. My children seemed genuinely panicked as they watched what they know to be a toxic relationship start to blossom again. But, rarely one to pay much attention to reason, I began to fantasize about a life that had become unglued being glued back together, the two of us actually building upon all the hurt and betrayal to glide happily into our golden years as a wise and contented couple.

It was like being jolted awake in the middle of a good dream the other day, wanting so much to recapture unconsciousness -- just for a moment -- so I could watch my happiness unfold. No such luck. He appeared at my front door, unannounced, to tell me that he wasn't really serious when he said he could stay with our daughter this weekend so I could visit my broken mother. It would, after all, be impossible to be in Europe with ones girlfriend and in deep dark suburbia with ones child at the same time. And if a plan was to be altered to solve the dilemma, well, we all know it wasn't going to be the romantic getaway in southern Italy.

He explained that he has realized he could never make me happy, which may be true, but I have learned over the course of the last year and a half that no other person can be in charge of my happiness. That is solely up to me. I think what he really meant was that he has realized I could never make him happy. True enough. At the very least, other obligations (like offspring) make me unavailable for regular trips abroad and leisurely adult dinners and spur of the moment weekend jaunts. And the truth is, I was probably never a really a good wife, if being a good wife means always putting your husband's needs first. Even before all the nastiness and the outright betrayals, I never took care of him the way I took care of my children. I suppose I always thought he could take care of himself. My bad.

People don't change. We may both be wiser, and we certainly both have a clearer understanding of why things came undone. Unlike the hurts from our marriage, the hurts from these past weeks will fade quickly, because we no longer owe each other the kind of forthrightness and devotion we should have had before. And our friendship will no doubt resume, because, on a certain level, we both enjoy the other's company.