Separation

My wife of nine years, Andrea, moved out this weekend. It’s officially a separation, but she’s made it pretty clear our marriage is over.

Let the record show, I love her and always have. I still remember the day we met. I was always faithful. I tried to always put her first. I wanted to grow old with her. I promised “until death do us part” and I was committed to that. Not because I promised, but because I loved her enough to promise her that.

Since I learned that she was unhappy around the first of the year, I’ve learned a lot of mistakes that I made. Given my limited experience and what I knew, I think I did my best. Perhaps not.

Once I did know that she was unhappy, I certainly did my best to save the marriage. We found no differences that I believe were irreconcilable. But, as our marriage counselor was wont to say, it takes two yeses but only one no. My best wasn’t good enough.

I know I’ll survive. I know I’ll move on. I expect I’ll love again. I know I have friends and family who love me.

But right now, none of that matters, because my heart is broken. I failed in the one thing I wanted to do in life: Make Andrea happy. I failed to give my children a happy, whole home.

Edit: There is now a follow-up.