Carrie had an appointment with her therapist this morning and as is our habit, we spoke as she drove home – the magic of cell phones. The topic du jour was when is the right time for me to relocate to the basement and to tell the twins that all is not well in paradise. As I listened it became clear: she was ready, she was more than ready. Carrie spoke of space – a space that could be hers, a space where she could feel safe and start to look forward. I have spaces – an office where I spend my days, an office with a door and privacy and the office at home where while public, I can sit and blog and e-mail.
As I listened, I knew. It was time. We had already carried the mattress down the stairs this weekend and when I came home from work, we set up the frame and had the outline of a room. Then Daddy time – children to the movies, a 5:30 show (Night At The Museum, quite enjoyable); Carrie did not join us, some time for her. When we finally got home dinner was on the table but Carrie was not feeling 100%, time to rest in bed, her bed now.
After dinner I went downstairs: the bed is made, my essentials are in some drawers, a soft lamp on. Other little touches, a portable phone, a bottle of the good scotch and a snifter, some books and the envelope with the printed version of my blog, something I have been planning to read. I look around and tears start to flow.
It is the right thing. Carrie has been patient, more than patient: she even apologizes for doing this. I tell her all she did was choose the night: everything else gets credited to my column. In a little while, I will tuck the kids in and head down to my new home. The children will not realize tonight and tomorrow morning we will tell them – not TGT, but that there are big person issues.
There will be tears shed tonight, two floors apart but shared tears all the same. And tomorrow we will start the rest of our lives. But right now, it does hurt, for me and especially for her.