This last weekend was my birthday. Forty six years I have on me now. Who would have thought that. Ever. It’s funny for me to think that my mother was my age now when I was in graduate school because I cannot fathom that idea because, one, I can’t even see myself with a baby much less an adult and, two, she was so old and cranky then. Damn.
Anyway, I would like to tell you it was an exciting birthday, but it wasn’t. Birthdays have always been big deals to me. I celebrate my own but enjoy really celebrating others. This year was the ultimate year of Facebook and, for the first time, those closest to me didn’t even text, they just posted on my wall much like those random friends from high school who suddenly want to appear to wish you well. I can’t fault (most) of them because it’s the easy thing to do. You login, it’s there, you say something, and you are done. Period. I hate that. In fact, I have now taken to texting or calling friends on the day before to wish them a happy Birthday eve because I want them to know I remembered on my own, to know I cared, etc. But, I digress.
The weekend was supposed to be about me and Axel celebrating the new turns I had mentioned, but I was too damn tired to do that because the week before had almost killed me professionally and I am still recovering because sleep has not been my friend. Add to that about seven kettle one and tonics on Saturday night and, well, Drew was wide awake (I don’t get drunk and sleepy, I get buzzed and then WIDE awake but I never have a hangover). So, Axel and I decided to wait until the proper mindset and attention was there which may be this weekend or may not be, but we will know when that happens and we will take off from that point.
What did happen, was an intense moment of what should have been pure, raw sex that evolved into a few hours of intense, dark, non verbal therapy in many ways. See, physically, Axel has new scars and emotionally we both have them due to various things that have happened over the last year, some you know about and some you don’t, and we vowed to move on, put those things aside and accept what we couldn’t change and just be. Now, I said that I could do that, but I didn’t actually know how until it just happened, which was me getting past my barrier of not wanting to touch, view, or see my husband “damaged”.
It’s been eight weeks since his surgery and I was still treating him like glass, not wanting to drop, bend, break, or touch him deeply. He started to want that again about two weeks ago mentally, but physically he was not quite ready. In addition, I have been scared to really look at him since, scared to accept that this beautiful man I married now is different and that his right leg, my particular favorite of his two, will never be the same. Yeah, three years ago I did this but it was so much less and was always just a little line that formed a cute dent in his ass, but now, it’s almost a tad over two feet of dent, of bruise, of change that runs from about the upper third of his outside thigh and then curves to follow to the center of his ass cheek, now dividing it into two weird beanbag looking areas (it’s still very swollen). I did not want to see this because it represented pain to me. It represented all the struggle of the fall with the pills, the Scotts, the bunny, the money lost, and, probably most importantly, a feeling of lost time and of a wasted three years for him physically. All those things that represented a dark day were now all weaved within that scar and I think I was worried that if I got too close to it, through some twisted reality, it would be like touching the actual mental wounds, or something.
What did happen was Sunday night we were going to bed a bit early because I had a 5am flight Monday and, since it was nearly hot outside, we had the windows open, the lights off, and just the glow of some blue led accent lighting built into the bedroom corners as uplights (they go off at 10) setting this very sexy tone. I was laying on top of the bedding, naked of course, and he was doing his thing and, when done, I heard that now very familiar clop of a crutch or two and knew he was coming to me. What surprised me was that he was also naked and he somehow was able to lift himself up to the side of the bed and in this weird little flip he was suddenly about to be on top of me (I think he’s hanging with the tough kids at rehab). He was there and I was happy but after about 3 minutes and the 117 times I said “are you okay, does this hurt, why don’t you lay down“, he made me shut up and awkwardly maneuvered his dick into my mouth where I was happy to oblige for about 34.5 seconds until I lifted my hands and, instinctually, put both hands on either side of his ass like I have done for 1o0 years. I immediately froze, withdrew my paws, and before I could apologize, he laid down and said “make peace” which I knew meant it was now time for me to touch it, feel it, and, really really look deeply at it.
He laid on his left side and said nothing and I gently started to touch his hip, stroke his leg a bit, and, with the side of my index finger I started tracing his new scar, our new scar, from the start to the end and back and forth (fyi, he says he didn’t feel any of that). I put both hands on it. I touched it. I even kissed it. I think laid my head off to the side of it and, without ever expecting it, I started crying right then and there. I don’t know if I was crying because I was happy, sad, or just letting all of those worries go, but it happened and I needed it. I made peace with this scar, which, for the record is now, only eight weeks out, really no more than a big red line that is indented in most places and swollen in others. I somehow silently welcomed it into our bed and was able to see it as Axel and Axel as it because for the rest of our lives it is going to be there, like it or not.
Crying is tiring and there was no sex, but we both fell asleep in a more at peace place which, I know, will be helpful when I get home this week on Thursday morning. It was an oddly beautiful moment and one I won’t forget, but also one I think that had to happen to let us each go on, having put yet another scar in our chest of scars into our marriage.
But, on a lighter note, I did have one of those crazy dinner with my Mom and she was all about my boyfriend that night (story soon) and Axel bought me a new pair of swim trunks, as seen above, which are now the gayest piece of clothing I own and the most expensive I have ever had designed to be wet, but something I will adore (in the shower or in a non public place, of course). He was very with these and, so was I, but please endure another pic of me so he will know I loved them.