Breakfast With Jane

We started with coffee and bagels with a shmear.
The usual chit-chat followed, but somehow it got around to this...

"Your husband must be a saint."

I stared straight at her and swallowed. "You mean for staying married to me."

I wasn't asking a question. I knew what she meant. She was stating what she believed to be the obvious.

"I mean not every man could... You know what I mean, not all guys could..."

And then silence.

Yes, I knew.

This was too much. A serious lump formed in my throat, but I smiled anyway. I thought I couldn't stop the tears, but I did.

Yes, I know. She had just confronted and confirmed my deepest insecurities. She interrupted my thoughts and my fears; the ones I had been turning over and over in my mind. Admittedly, I think too much. I feared I had become less of a partner to my husband and more of a burden to him...Not so much of a friend and lover, but a burden and a patient for him to take care of. Even though I knew how hard I was trying not to be.

Your husband must be a saint.
                                                     A saint.....Really?

For better, for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part...
I knew her words would resonate with me a long time. You know how I know that? We had breakfast
over a year ago, and here I am telling you about it today. Sometimes I think if people would just listen to themselves through my ears before they say things, they would stop.

Jane is fairly stoic. She's not one to talk a lot about my battle with Periodic Paralysis, but on this crisp, sunny January morning in South Florida, she was asking me a few questions about it. So I obliged. I didn't elaborate. I knew her tolerance was limited, so I painted a few scenarios for her with limited brushstrokes. In retrospect, to her, it must've seemed like I spilled the paint and wallowed in it, unable to pull myself up; leaving hubby to clean up the mess the best he could. My attempt at painting had left a pretty messy impression on my friend.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like talking about the recent cool front or parenting or shopping anymore. So I sipped my coffee and waited for her to say something else. I didn't care what she thought about life from my husband's perspective.  I had mulled that one over enough myself. I wanted her to understand what life is like for me now. Pretty selfish, right? But she didn't ask. I love Jane. I always will. She's my friend and I hope she always will be. But that breakfast conversation provided a watershed moment for me...it was then that I realized it doesn't matter what Jane, or you or anyone else thinks about my husband or me, or our life together now. It is a lot different than it used to be, but it's not terrible, and there isn't a saint between us.
xx

P.S. Jane is still my dear friend. I have not used her real name and I would never hurt her feelings. I also know she'd never knowingly hurt mine. She doesn't know about this blog and she isn't on social media.