Late at night

I am on my back in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about the coming termination of our marriage; it is midnight and I keep my mouth shut so Lisa will not hear me sobbing. Hot tears slide down my cheeks and emotions shake my body. I cry not just for tonight and tomorrow, but for all the countless moments of our lives when we will not be together. I cry for the reality that my Son will forever be moving between two places, instead of resting securely in one. I cry for a wife with a tender, broken heart of her own. A Mother that will never get over loosing a Son. I cry because I won't be able to hold her when her memories of him visit her.
I cry for her and all that she will loose in the wake of my truth. I cry because we cannot find a way to make this work
I cry because I fear the costs will be much higher than I could possibly imagine.
Self-pity, grief, and endless, all consuming guilt are a vicious combination.
When the unraveling begins there is no way to predict where I'm going to end up when this vortex of depression finally ceases.
Even the most somber imaginings don't have the power to pull me from the necessity of just taking one more breath, one more step, of getting through just one more day, though I wish they would. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to let the darkness take over and consume me.
If even the smallest of actions can alter the course of a lifetime, what of those that fracture a family? And what if you are the one who faced the truth, spoke the words, made the choice?
What then?

All I can do is hope and sometimes that seems too difficult.