Today, I turn another year older. As I sit quietly with my thoughts, I glance back at this blog and realize -- my last major update about myself here was dated December 27, 2018.
But behind the scenes of that seemingly joyful day, life was quietly shifting. By then, my husband and I had already gone our separate ways.
In July 2018, we had made the painful decision to separate. I even began looking for a lawyer to file for annulment. I still remember how wounded I felt just months before that, on Mother’s Day -- he hadn’t even greeted me. Yes, we ate out, but only for the sake of the children, to show that we still marked the occasion. Beyond that, nothing. No words of appreciation, no tenderness, no recognition of the role I poured my soul into. I admit, I tend to be sensitive when my being a mother is overlooked or ignored. Call me shallow, perhaps, but that is who I am.
It’s been seven years since.
Seven years of change.
Seven years of letting go, surviving, growing.
Time has a way of transforming everything -- even in the garden of life.
Leaves dry and fall.
Flowers bloom, then fade.
Some things die quietly, while others burst forth in color again when you least expect it.
Today, as I write this, I can’t help but reminisce about those “hungry years.” That old Neil Sedaka song -- especially the version by Rita Coolidge -- still pierces my heart every time I hear it. It carries me back to those days when we had so little, yet felt so rich in love. Finances were tight, but life wasn’t too hard. We had each other. We had laughter. We had a sense of home.
I miss those days.
They were golden -- not because they were perfect, but because they were real.
We may not have had steady income, but we somehow managed to put life in quiet order.
There was peace in simplicity.
There was strength in togetherness.
I would often tell my friends and family: you only truly get to know a person’s character in two seasons -- when he has nothing, and when he has everything. My ex-husband changed when he finally found his niche and his business began to blossom. Success revealed another side of him, and I was left behind, struggling quietly in my own teaching career.
I had poured my whole life into raising and caring for our two children, and in doing so, my own dreams and career took a back seat. I have no regrets about the love and time I gave them. But as the years passed, it became clear that the winds had shifted, carrying our sails in different directions -- away from one another.
And so the wind blew us in different directions...
We drifted, as people sometimes do.
And now, I sit here in a different chapter of my life... older, wiser, still healing.
Some days the memories cut like glass. I wonder if I could have held on tighter, fought harder, or seen the cracks before they shattered. Other days, I accept that the story had to break the way it did -- that what we once had was never meant to last.
Still hoping.
Still blooming.
No matter how slow and difficult it is.
We climbed the ladder leading us nowhere
Two of us together building castles in the air
We spun so fast we couldn't tell
The gold ring from the carousel
How could we know the right would turn out bad
Everything we wanted, was everything we had
I miss the hungry years
The once upon a time
The lovely long ago
We didn't have a dime
Those days of me and you
We lost along the way
How could I be so blind
Not to see the door
Closing on the world
That I now hunger for
Looking through my tears
I miss the hungry years
We shared our day dreams one by one
Making plans was so much fun
We set our goals and reached the highest star
Things that we were after were much better from a far
And here we stand just me and you
With everything and nothing too
It wasn't worth the price we had to pay
Honey, take me home
Let's go back to yesterday
I miss the hungry years
The once upon a time
The lovely long ago
We didn't have a dime
Those days of me and you
We lost along the way
How could I be so blind
Not to see the door
Closing on the world
That I now hunger for
Looking through my tears
I miss the hungry years
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