Wish I could have been the bride . . .

Still can’t seem to get out of this funk.  The one thing that I can’t get out of my head though:  One of our neighbors is an older gentlemen and he lost his wife last weekend.  The one thing I always admired about him is the way he spoke about his wife.  So respectful, so devoted.  Like he couldn’t wait to get home to her.  It’s sad, he tried to save her – performed CPR until the ambulance arrived, but it was just too late, she was gone. So he’s tying up loose ends, packing up his belongings and taking her back to the sea where she longed to be.  Isn’t that some kind of love?  I guess what makes me think so much about it, is that when the other woman came into my husband’s life, he didn’t speak about me like my neighbor always spoke about his bride (that’s what he always called her!)  I just wish when the opportunity came along, my husband would have spoken about me like that.  Instead I was painted in a very unkind light, my faults were exaggerated to justify his actions, and he rode in to try to save HER.  That’s the hurt I just can’t get over.  Will I ever?

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