Read Welcome to Bizarro-land first...you need some context...
So, some hours pass. I nailbite a little. See, even though FL caused me much pain, and there have been moments when I wanted to stab him in the eye with an ice pick - we're still connected. Hammy. And I do care about what happens to him, if only as Hammy's father. Wish he were a better one. That's my fault for making a bad choice.
the choice: a funny thing happened on my way to 112 (piedmont, not cheshire bridge). Fresh out of the shower, in some corporate skank sundress, headed to da club to wind down. I'd just finished reading Terry McMillan's Disappearing Acts, and was ready to relax my gold-diggin-standard and give a blue-collar brotha a shot. Stopped at Chevron for a pack of Big Red...
...and ran into FL on the way out the door. He was covered in paint, noticeably unfresh in his white tee. Yellow jeans, tee, and baseball hat all splattered with paint. He looked like Christopher Williams in the face, but working-dude. I remember distinctly the moment he asked for my phone number...I remember hesitating for what now seems to be an extremely long moment, wondering to myself if this dude was worth my time, wondering if I should give him my number or keep it moving, wondering...
...I don't "do" regret typically, but if I had to choose a moment in my life I'd like to take back, it wouldn't be our arguments, his infidelity, his putting his hands on me, me trying to calmly explain my chili recipe to a police officer as I held together the bones in my broken hand, or giving birth to a child who has developmental delays...
..it would be that moment. That moment when I decided to give FL my phone number. I'd take that choice back. Definitely.
the conversation:: all this flashes through my mind for the gazillionth time, as I make Mary J. sing again. I call him back. I won't bore you with the gory details, but I did lose my cool, he tried to regain his, we rehashed some issues for the thousandth time, both our blood pressures rose. And we came to...closure?
him: And all I ever wanted from you is a little comfort...
me: I can't be that for you. You've got to get that from someone else...you've hurt me too much...
him: I'm not over you. I still love you, and I still want to be with you...
theCrux: You would've thought that after 8 years apart, we'd had this conversation. I thought we did. I thought we'd had it hundreds of times, and I thought he knew where I stood. Alone. Holding the shattered pieces of my heart together in one hand, as I patched the together the worn out pieces of my soul with the other. Wondering if I have it in me to ever trust a man enough to go there, again. But somehow, we didn't. He hurt me, we both knew how much. But somewhere there was a disconnect between him being the cause of my pain, and me being the one-that-got-away. It was like there were two distinctly different version of our relationship: my unbearable pain, and his unattainable joy.
I've avoided this confrontation for Hammy's sake. Yes, I'd told him before how I felt. How his increasing declarations of love pained me. How scarred I felt for having been with him. He got it...but somehow didn't get it. Until now.
him, angrily: Oh, I f*ckin' get it now. I'm not over you. But I need to get over you...trust me, I get it now...
me, crying angrily: I'm not trying to hurt you intentionally, but I need us to be clear. I don't feel the same way you do. I never will. The person I fell in love with, never existed. I want us to be parents, and eventually friends, but I can't help you 'get over' me...
him, cutting me off: please don't say shyt else, you made your point. I need to get over you, and over this. I haven't, and I thought I can't. But I will...I have to do the same thing you did, and cut myself off...that's it. *click*
Is there ever an easy way to make a clean break? Even after 8 years, his other 'relationships', my attempts at starting anew, dating snafus, etc...etc...ad nauseum, it came to this. And here I sit, typing, hoping it's really 'over'. And hoping that our son, my Hammy, doesn't suffer in the process.
an aside, on the clarity: Let me be clear, in the midst of me waxing poetic. The choice was not blue-collar over white. The choice was to ignore my better judgement, and give myself emotionally to this person, without knowing who they really were. See, he had me the moment I decided that Terry knew better than I did. And I tried to work with him, through all his craziness, because I thought that's what wives do. I tried to force us to work, to fit. Just plain ole stoopid.
I admire the way you've handled the entire situation. It takes a lot to be so firm and know you can't go there...
Hope for the sake of Hammy's you'll find some how come to an understanding and could at least be friends.
You are a strong black woman.. and keep it up.