I saw him doing yardwork this morning. He was handsome. He is handsome. He is the strength I crave when I feel weak and the consistency I lack. He is the understanding parent I never had and the provider ever child wants.

I saw him doing yardwork this morning. His name is Bob. He is my former husband. He is my friend. I miss him terribly.

I don’t like the word ex. Ex-husband. Ex-girlfriend. It sounds so rejecting. So contaminating. So sharp. Bob is not an ex.

Former: having previously filled a particular role or had been a particular thing. This is more accurate. He previously filled the role of Spouse and had been the rock that kept this high-flying kite grounded to the earth. He was the yang to my yin until he wasn’t. Until he couldn’t. Until my history broke us.

My history is a lot to take. It’s been an expensive project. Psychiatrists and sex therapists aren’t cheap. Depression and unemployment don’t look good on anybody. Bob did good. He hung in as long as he could. Everybody has a breaking point. Everyone cries uncle once fear and pain outweigh courage and hope.

Toward the end, I felt like he was waiting for me to end it. I felt like he was wanted an out. I held out for a few weeks after treatment. I wanted him to want it to work, but I could see he was tired. I wonder if he’d say the same about me.

I told myself we didn’t work because he was exhausted. He told himself we didn’t work because I couldn’t heal next to him. I suppose both were true. And not true.

He was exhausted. And I couldn’t heal from the trauma transferences so long as his frustrations were apparent. They expressed themselves without his permission. It was the small things: tone of voice, facial expressions, general avoidance, silent tension. I felt guilty, ashamed. I feared punishment from a man who would never.

In order to heal I needed to develop a sense of independence and autonomy, but I didn’t want to divorce. I think watching my independence and self-advocacy made him anxious and frigid. I think he thought I’d leave him once I was strong. I think he thought it’d be hard forever if I didn’t. Maybe it would’ve been - I don’t know.

I think a lot of things, but don’t know. I don’t know what could have been if I hadn’t said uncle. I said it because he couldn’t. We were both pinned to the floor. I cried and cried and cried and cried and cried.

I don’t know what could have been because it’s not.

I don’t know anything, really. All I know is that yardwork looks good on him.

Neither of us know anything about us. We both know a lot about the land.