It's Dad's birthday, of course I'd write.
But there's more to talk about than just Dad. So let's begin.

I was talking to Troy last night about the loss of our parents. He lost his mother unexpectedly when we first met; it's comforting to have someone close to me that can relate. He mentioned that the holidays were typically harder for him than her birthday, mainly Christmas. They always had such festive holidays, that his Mom was an integral part of. And yes, Christmas this year SUCKED. For a few reasons, but yes, because it was the first Christmas without Dad. However, today seems to be harder for me. Harder than my birthday, or mom and dad's anniversary, or Thanksgiving, or even Christmas. And not because we celebrated birthdays with great pizzazz or anything.. they usually weren't a big deal at all, actually. But because it signifies the day he was born. The day this world was blessed with a boy who grew into a man of great knowledge, compassion, talent, strength, and wicked humor.
My friend has a husband who shares this birthday. She shared a phrase with me that he likes to use...
"All the greats were born in February, and the greatest are born on the first."
I would have to agree with that.
I'm toasting Dad this morning with coffee and a Coors Light. Well, I'm choking down the Coors Light. And (if you believe in that kind of thing), he's somewhere laughing about that right now.
I miss you.

Now, onto other my other current and pressing woe. Because quite honestly, Dad would give me the hairy eyebrow and probably a colorful tongue lashing if I spent the day obsessively depressed over him.


I am mentally prepping for the move. Which may not come for another couple months, but I'm still mentally prepping. Okay, maybe obsessing would be a more appropriate term. Dawson and I have to move, period. And I'm coming to terms with that. It sucks, but it is what it is.
However, it seems a new option has been added to the conundrum. I think. I'm not sure.
You see, my husband has said that he would like us to move back in together soon. Hence the reason why I said "I think" and "I'm not sure".
"I'm not sure" for a number of reasons, obviously.
So the first is- Will it actually come to fruition? Does he actually mean it this time? Does he actually want us to live together again, considering how difficult it (evidently) was for him to live with me before? Or is it something he's just saying because he knows I am constantly walking the precipice of saying goodbye...
And IF he truly means it.. Do I want to? And if I want to do it, can I?
Can I ever trust that history won't repeat itself?
Can I feel secure that he won't decide, once again, that he's unhappy, and wants to walk away?
Do I feel like I/we have what it takes to keep the relationship as healthy and happy as it once was? (Because, let's face it.. it once was beautiful)
Can I forgive, trust, move forward?
Is it right for the children? Is it right for us?
Will it work???
I've spent the last couple of weeks thinking this over. And "thinking" is a gross understatement. I am consumed by it.

Since we started discussing things (the last month or so), I have been unraveling a bit. I compare it to a banana. (Silly, I know).. But it seems the soft, vulnerable, meat of me has been protected by my peels. And, slowly, they're starting to get pulled away. I don't know whether to fight that or not.

We have been through SO much in the last several months. The last couple years, for Christ sake. It has been up and down. A constant struggle.
But in the beginning, for the first couple years, and in between all of those more recent struggles, there was, and still is, an immeasurable, exquisite, once-in-a-lifetime love.
The bottom line is this. Regardless of all of our failures, our mishaps, our soap opera, our (his) mistakes (often times made quite public by Facebook and my blog), Troy has always been the love of my life. That has never been in question. Everyone knows it. He knows it. I know it.
Just as my mother and father were always the love of each others' lives, regardless of their struggles. And God knows Dad put them through quite a few.
That kind of thing doesn't just go away.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a beer to finish.

Be well.