My Latte Moment Number Three: Realizing My Marriage Was Already Over.
Sometimes it’s the little things that wake us up.
When was the moment you knew your marriage couldn’t continue? That the circumstances between you and your spouse were so dire, you couldn’t stay married. Another writer on medium coined the term “Latte Moment” when she realized her husband would never think of picking her up coffee while she was waiting in the car for him and he was getting coffee for himself. It may seem small, but sometimes these simple acts betray the true nature of our lives.
For me, I had several latte moments. Some were pretty serious, and I knew on a deeper level I couldn’t return to my ex-husband, such as when he threw my stuff on the street and harassed my employer to get me fired. Yeah, it was pretty clear I shouldn’t go back to him after that. But I didn’t want to act in haste, he was having a mental breakdown after all, I needed time and space to make sense of all the bizarre things that were happening, (this wasn’t like him), before I made a drastic decision such as divorce.
For the record, I have to say that I do not regret the choice to marry my spouse. I didn’t enter the union with the awful man I left. I never once attempted to “change him” or have some delusion I could fix an abusive man. Truth is, I married a wonderful man who was supportive, encouraging, loving, and made my life very happy. We had 19 years together. I dated him 10 years before I committed myself to marriage, gave it lots of thought, and we had wonderful, happy, marriage.
Sadly, people do change, and never the way you wish they would, or expcet. After about 15 years, he slowly started changing into someone who didn’t love me. He changed into an unhealthy person, who started abusing marijuana, and got reckless with his severe mental illness. I couldn’t stop his breakdowns, but I had to live with the fall-out hell of them.
At this point though, things had calmed down from his breakdown. I had moved out to take care of myself while he was in a psychotic state and found a great place with roommates. He has spent weeks in a psych hospital and outpatient program, stabilized on meds, and was now tring to take care of himself. Things were calming down, and I was clinging hard to my tiny shred of hope that pending his recovery, we could rebuild our relationship.
He asked we if we could hang out one weekend, specifically he asked if I could help him run a few errands as I had a car.
Saturday morning I picked him up at his new place, drove him to the pharmacy, then the bank. All attempts at conversation seemed awkward. He starred at the window, yawning, not making eye-contact. Questions like “How are you? How are things? It’s good to see you…” were followed up with one word answers, shutting down any conversation, and more yawning. He was clearly tired from the medication. Every now and then he would look at me and tell me he missed me. He then went back to staring at the window, it was like talking to a statue.
After the bank, he told me he was hungry and asked if we could get some chicken at a local fast food place. We went inside, he and I ordered a I paid for both of us. Our food came and we sat down with our trays.
A woman selling flowers walked into the restaurant. I wondered if people were allowed to sell flowers there, but it appeared she knew the owner and no one bothered her. She had big beautiful boquets of sunflowers and roses. A sudden thought flashed across my mind. What if, in a gesture of apprecation for helping him all day, he would buy me flowers? It seemed so perfect this woman was oddly here, in a fast food joint of all places. It was a perfect sign. He could buy me the flowers, then I would realize he still cared about me, and it would be the start of us healing our wounds. Back in the day he had always thought of me and was open to romantic gestures, no matter how small. He had always loved doing little things for me like buying me flowers.
“That woman’s selling flowers!” I told him.
He looked at her. “So she is.” he then returned to his chicken. He was hungry.
“She has sunflowers” I told him. Sunflowers had a significant role in our relationship. He used to always buy me sunflowers. He used to call me his sunflower. It was a special nickname.
Still holding his chicken, he looked up at me. “Do you want me to buy you flowers?” he asked.
I told him yes. He explained he didn’t have any money. I told him I would pay for it, I had some cash in the car. He could go get the cash in the car and use it to buy me flowers. I handed him my car keys.
He kept eating his chicken.
The woman with the flowers started to get ready to leave.
“She’s leaving” I told him.
“There she goes” he said. And with her I could see the last shred of my marriage walking out the door.
I told him to go after her. He said it was already too late, she was leaving. I told him to go after her and ask her to wait. He reluctantly, slowly, got up and talked to her. He returned, sans flowers.
“Her price was more than the cash you have in the car.”
He explained the flowers were fifteen dollars, and I only had ten.
My hopes sank and reality encased all around me. The meal I had bought him, was fifteen dollars, the exact, same amount as the flowers he wouldn’t buy me. After all I was doing for him, he wasn’t going to do this one thing for me. He sat down eagerly and resumed eating his chicken.
His damn chicken.
Without thinking, my body jumped up and ran outside down the street, disbelief and anger moved my limbs. The awful truth came up in my stomach with each stride of anxiety pumping my blood. I stopped at a residental home where I sat on the lawn, of a total stranger’s house, and cried. I couldn’t beleive it. Somehow deep down I knew, he didn’t care about me anymore. The man who loved and cared for me most of my life, no longer did. It wasn’t just the flowers in that moment, it was dozens and dozens of other moments, but it was in that moment I couldn’t run away from the truth.
When I came back, I eventually drove him to a grocery store, where I gave him cash, and he bought me flowers, with my own money. Later on in couple’s therapy he explained he wanted me back so that I could do things for him, pay his rent, drive him places, “give him sex” etc. He saw me as a pillar of strength, never needing anything or having any wants and desires. Just there to support him. Somehow, I already knew all of this, from that one day where he was too busy eating chicken, to do one act of kindness for me, to heal the hurt we’d been through.
Sometimes it is the little things.
