Dwight and I have been trying to tackle health and fitness stuff this year. We both want to lose some weight, more importantly be healthier, and working out together seems to be a good compromise between "doing nothing" and "going to counseling" to help us be a better us (and it's cheaper). It's still time together, we talk usually, it improves our mood, and it's showing that we value each other and ourselves. Both of us think it's been helpful, even if sometimes our talks aren't all nice. Relationships are like that, right? They aren't always nice, but the goal is to work through things instead of bottling it up for the sake of not arguing. I'm sure on those not-so-nice days we're good entertainment for anyone people watching the track.
Today while we were walking, a thought occurred to me. I'm not quite sure how or what brought it up, but there it was. I've complained often enough- or maybe too often- about him and others not being there after my sister's death. A part of me gets it; suicide is not easy to talk about, and makes a lot of people uncomfortable, even more so than a death from other causes. And he will admit that he didn't step up to fill in while I was basically half a person for that initial year, so it's not like we fight about that. This morning it wasn't his unwillingness to help out that came to my mind.
Well, OK, it was that, but not in the usual way. When I was in that extremely dark place and wondering if there was even an end of the tunnel to come out on, let alone try to see the light from, I freely admit that I was not so nice myself. I'm not proud of that, and I wish I hadn't been ugly in response to the ugliness that I was feeling, but I'm human and have faults. I'm told those two things go together, and my faults serve to reinforce my self-image as human instead of some kind of troglodyte.
But even in my ugliness, Dwight did exactly what he always does- he was there. He stayed here. He could have left, and the universe knows I gave him reason and opportunity in spades. When everything else was swirling and floating away, he stuck around. I've been known to say that Dwight was my rock- and he really is- so why I should be surprised at the sheer inertia of my rock is beyond me. He did exactly what he always does, no more and no less.
And in retrospect, that's exactly what I needed. He let me come through this not on my own, but with my own two feet, walking beside me. He didn't carry me or my baggage, and if he had I would have considered it patronizing (and been mad at him). He helped me by staying true to himself and letting me see my own strength when finally after a year and a half I'm digging back out of my hole. Funny how life may not give us what we want, but we always get exactly what we need if we just learn to recognize it.