Don't Think Twice, It's Alright

I had a very difficult evening on Monday. It was difficulty born in the moment when you realize, when you finally admit to yourself, that all the romanticized notions of your marriage, of the woman you loved, were wrong.



I realized in a brief instant that for twenty-seven years I lived with a hope and a dream that was beyond my reach.


I was angry, hurt and frustrated. As I’ve written before, November is very difficult for me. My twenty-ninth wedding anniversary would be at the end of this month. As much as I tell myself “she really misses me , she really loves me”, as many weekends as I sat there secretly praying for her to come for a visit, I concluded the other night I was just fooling myself. She doesn’t miss me, she doesn’t love me and I’m a fool for thinking otherwise.


The words from Bob Dylan’s ballad “Don’t Think Twice, Its Alright”, ran through my mind.


“I’m sittin and a wonderin as I’m walking down the road
I once loved a woman, a child
I’m told
I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul.
Don’t think twice, its alright.”


For months I’ve struggled with understanding who I was as a husband, as a soulmate. For better or worse (ironic use of words I must confess), I remember in detail every happy moment and every fight. I sense every smell, every touch, every moment of our life together. And last night I concluded it was all for nothing. None of it really mattered. She was going to go on with “her life”. She would live the facade of the energetic, loving, independent woman. And, I had nothing.


There is a song by Jewell called “Ten”. The lyrics are syrupy. It’s about a woman fighting with her husband. The video, however, held my attention. Jewell falls asleep and dreams. In her dream she is boxing her heart. She continually gets knocked down, yet each time slowly rises and again begins the fight. She wakes to her husband beside her and they grasp hands. I understand the symbolism, I get the metaphor. With me, I awaken just as I fought. I am broken, lying on the mat.


I wasn’t a perfect husband. I was far from a perfect soulmate. Many times I picked silly fights over stupid things. I was hateful at times, self-centered.


I wasn’t honest with her. I’m not referring to the stealing. No, I never told her what I needed, never told her what I wanted, never told her how deeply she was tearing at my soul.


Almost twenty-nine years together and she never once said “I’m sorry”, never once said “I’m wrong”. All those years and throughout our entire relationship she never thought she was wrong; never felt the need to apologize. I realized I never said “no” to any request she had. I would have done anything for her, given anything to her. I loved her as fully as I could and the stupid, hateful fights I started were, I understand now, me lashing out because I knew deep down she didn’t love me as much a I loved her.


How’s that for honesty? There is no pain worse than what I’ve experienced coming to grips with my divorce and my broken relationship with this woman I loved.


She will never tell me she misses me, never tell me she still loves me; never tell me how much she appreciated what I did in giving her everything. What hurt me so much the other day was having to finally face the sad fact that she wouldn’t do any of those things because that’s not her. I realized she can’t say those things because she never felt those things. She can’t be what she isn’t.


She lives in “our” house, drives “our” car, sleeps in “our” bed, but to her it isn’t, it never was “ours”. A few months back she became enraged about my blog. She contacted my parents and demanded hey pick up my clothes. “If you don’t get them, I’ll get rid of them”, she said. My mother panicked. I told her to leave everything as is. “If she gets rid of my stuff, so be it.” I really didn’t care. It struck me somewhat comical. My clothes had to go, but the thousands of dollars of cash, the expensive art work, baseball memorabilia, furnishings, books, CDs, DVDs and electronics, all that stuff she’d have room for.


What hurts so much is, I’ve come to realize she never had room for me. I don’t blame her for my stealing. I do wish she’d understand why. I don’t blame her for the divorce. She just acted in character. As Bob Dylan sang:


“I ain’t saying you treated me unkind
You could’ve done better
But I don’t mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
Don’t think twice it’s alright.”


With all the drama going on in our marriage I never said “I’ve had it, I quit”. I couldn’t do that. I knew love wasn’t perfect. Sometimes it’s messy, and selfish, and hurtful, but it is enduring. And, no matter what, I ache because even with all the hurt she brought to me, I still love her. Unfortunately, what hit me the other night was, she doesn’t, she hasn’t, she never did feel the same way.


On our 25th anniversary we went to San Francisco. We visited the Napa Valley. At one small, family owned winery the vintner took a newly bottled merlot and autographed the bottle to be opened on our thirtieth anniversary. I’ll never taste that wine. Like everything else in our marriage, I’ve come to realize that’s hers.


She’ll drink it next year, by herself or with friends. She’ll toast her independence, toast her success, pat herself on the back and remind herself how “she did it all” on her own. I’ll carry the pain and loss and emptiness I feel over our 28 years together the rest of my life. But, at least I’ll also carry the love.


Her life is as she wants. My life has never been. But she doesn’t have to think twice, it’s alright.