Molehills

Every day there is one or the other disaster waiting to happen. One afternoon, the younger kid will have his teeth shoved in by the handlebar of the cycle he drove into the garbage dump, another evening the daughter has decided she is old enough to make a choice of who to elope with. And the mornings are when I wake up to the absence of the mother of those kids, who has gone away to her mother’s place because of the argument we had last night. What a screwed up way to live a life.

Let me be absolutely clear, here: I love her. And so, last night when she told me that this was the end, that ‘come tomorrow, there is not going to be anything more of me in your life’, I told her yes. I felt relieved. I said, ‘You are right.’

When do people stop loving each other? How hard do they have to try? Three arguments and thirty seven uncomfortable silences spread over seven months.  After twenty one years of marriage and two kids.

So, she packed her stuff up and left. And as she went, I told her that I loved her. She told me: ‘What I am doing, this is love. This is how you do it.’