We met on a beach. In Italy.
I had gotten kicked out of Austria for not having a work visa. I was on a spontaneous vacation.
He and his friends had just been promoted. They were on a spontaneous vacation.
I waded into the Adriatic Sea and introduced myself to the “hot army guys” playing football in the water and from that moment on, he and I were inseparable.
At least for those three days. And then we didn’t see each other for nine years.
I had a career. I got married. Had a son. Got divorced.
And then I Googled him and found him, by this time stationed back in the US. We emailed back and forth, updated each other, discussed a possible visit.
And then, without asking, I booked the tickets to go see him and sent him the flight confirmation.
A year later he moved up here and we were married.
And then we had a daughter.
We’ve been married for nine years this month.
But things change.
This month he moves out.
I will not place the blame on any one thing or any one person, although my inclination is to say it’s all my fault. That’s because I’m the doer.
I introduced myself. I Googled. I called. I flew. When indecision strikes, I think DOING SOMETHING is better than waiting. And that’s not always the case.
Out of respect for my very private husband, I will not blog our divorce.
But for me … I just need to put it out there. At least it feels like I’m doing something.
P.S. I’m ok. Fine, even. I’ve done this before and know how to put the kids first.
P.S.S. Nor am I going to become an anti-man, anti-marriage, angry person …
P.S.S.S. I really have no idea what I’m doing. Obviously.