Forgiveness

I wrote this several months ago. So no need to comfort me – I’m over it. But I thought the message was still relevant.

Also, with this story, I risk making my husband out to be a really big jerk, but I promise he’s usually a super-nice guy and really supportive almost all the time.

* * *

The other day I got my period again after another 38-day cycle (Just long enough to merit another one of those “God, if there’s a baby inside of me, please keep it healthy” prayers). I wasn’t pregnant. Again. Later that same day I heard that yet another one of my friends is pregnant for the second time.

I did pretty good during the day. I only cried a couple of tears in the bathroom once, and a teensy bit in public but nobody acted like they noticed.

But then in the middle of the night later I woke up crying my face off. I asked God why he hates my ovaries so much and why he loves everybody else’s. I asked him why I have to pay so much for prenatal vitamins that give me funny-tasting burps and aren’t going to any use anyways. I sobbed and sobbed so that Ben woke up and instinctively started caressing my hand a little bit. I started to slow down, but then I started to think about my other pregnant friend whose baby shower is coming up, and I started thinking about how I was going to have to walk into Babies ‘R Us and buy her the things I thought I would be buying for myself by now. That got the waterworks going even harder. It went on like this for a while until finally Ben rolled over and, in an angry tone, hissed, “Why are you crying?” as if to say, “What’s with all the racket? Can’t you see that I’m sleeping here?”

That shut me up. I sucked in my breath, pressed my lips together, and woke up the next morning with swollen eyelids.

Nothing was spoken of the incident between us that morning as he got ready for work. He left, and I worked on my research project. It was one of those mornings where you decide that if you make it through the day without killing yourself you will have succeeded.

A few hours later the phone rang. It was him. Good, I thought. He’s ready to apologize for his insensitivity.

He didn’t apologize. It didn’t come up. We talked about our plans for the afternoon, and I kept my answers curt and stiff, and then he had to go. He didn’t even seem aware that he had been downright evil.

In the evening after supper he was at the computer, looking at some pictures that one of our friends had posted on Facebook. They were of a party we’d hosted at our house. I came and stood beside him as he flipped through the photos.

“You look like a famous person,” he said of a picture of us, scrolling the arrow over my face. “I’m so lucky to have such a beautiful wife.”

“Yeah, you are lucky,” I said. “You should treat me better.” I always joke around like that, so he didn’t realize that this time I was serious.

“I haven’t been treating you good?” he asked absently.

“Not last night,” I answered shortly. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. “When I was crying,” I added. He looked at me, concerned but confused. “When you yelled at me for crying,” I clarified.

“I didn’t yell at you.” He turned back to the pictures, with an expression that said You’ve obviously lost it.

“Yes you did. You sounded annoyed at me for crying.” I thought for sure I was getting an apology out of this conversation yet. He was visibly trying to remember. But his answer surprised me.

“I remember I wanted to yell at you, but I didn’t actually do it,” he finally said. He was actually starting to sound annoyed again as he spoke.

“You were annoyed at me for crying?” I asked incredulously.

“I was frustrated.” He sounded like it.

I couldn’t believe it. My husband was mad at me for inconveniencing him with my sorrow?

“Well, you yelled at me. In a whisper.”

“I don’t remember doing that,” he said, returning to the pictures. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned. Click, click, click, went the mouse. But I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

“You did. You yelled at me for crying.”

He shrugged with exasperation. “I don’t remember doing that. Do you want me to apologize for something I don’t remember doing?”

I paused for effect. This is ludicrous, my silence said. “Of course!” I exclaimed aloud. And with that I stalked out of the room.

“Well, I’m sorry!” he yelled at my back.  That one does not count, I noted to myself.

That was the last we spoke of it. I knew I wasn’t getting an apology for it. He didn’t think he had done anything wrong.

I decided to forgive him. Staying mad wasn’t doing me any good.

Later that night I climbed into bed with him, fully clothed, and snuggled up close to him. I kissed him on the cheek eight times consecutively, really fast, and then sat up to change.

“How come you’re happy now?” he asked.

“I’m not happy,” I replied. It was true. I still wanted to die a little bit. But I like kissing his cheek, so I did it.

“But you’re not mad anymore?” he asked. I sighed.

“Yes, I’m still mad at you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be around you,” I said.

That wasn’t completely true, though: I actually wasn’t made at him anymore. I had forgotten to be mad.

I changed into my PJs, wrote in my journal, and snuggled into bed. He never apologized. Oh well.

Sometimes I think you just have to let your loved ones get away with being insensitive jerks. It’s the only way you’ll be able to live together for the rest of your life. I know that I’m an insensitive jerk a lot of the time, too, so it’s only fair. So sometimes I just let the unforgivable stuff go, and hope that he’ll do the same for me sometimes, too.

Have you ever had to forgive your spouse – or someone else you love – even though they completely didn’t deserve it and didn’t even ask for forgiveness? How did you deal with it? Was it worth it?

Image courtesy of alicepopkorn.

Tagged as: forgiveness in marriage, infertility