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 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.