7 Weeks 4 days.
That's how long my wife and son have been gone. Long enough to change me, but not long enough that there isn't a fresh pain to it every day.
Don't mistake what I am saying. I cannot state enough that she should have left me sooner, and that I should have let her leave me a long time ago. I believe that the more hurt there is to heal, the longer the separation must be. Maybe if I had worked on my problems, there wouldn't have even been a need for a physical separation.
But, unfortunately, working on a problem means admitting that there is a problem on which to work, and up until now I've tended to live my life on the defensive side, never once throwing on a new challenge unless there was none other to be found. I like my life to be an adventure, but I like the adventure to come to me. If by some off chance I choose the issue, I choose one that isn't so close to my heart. Maybe, you know, just lose a job or get a speeding ticket.
The stages of grief are the same no matter what you go through, but the anger part, well, that's a lot tougher when its all aimed at yourself. Don't feel sorry for me. I deserve all of it.
So now I'm packing my three bedroom home and moving into a one bedroom apartment. I won't call it home, and that will hurt even more. I look forward to moving to Dallas now. I will be closer to my estranged wife and son. I will be able to attend a church where maybe I can have some friends to spend some time with outside of the church.
For now, I'll just stay broken. Purposefully. And I will continue to throw myself into the despair, because in it is growth, and because I'm tired of being fearful of what might come upon me. With God empowering me, I will continue to ambush everything I've always been concerned of, and I will emerge unrecognizable.