Yesterday I got my car stuck in the driveway, in a snow bank. And despite the fact that it’s 4WD, it was tough to unstick it. I actually had to go in the house and find the snow shovel and shovel out all of my tires a few times. And I couldn’t get up the driveway. It was not possible.

I had a few frustrated, “Dammit honey!”‘s but I didn’t have any sit in the snow and cry “where are you, honey?”‘s. I didn’t feel particularly abandoned as I usually do in these “Michael would fix all this without me having to so much as lift a finger…” scenarios.

When I went in the garage there is a pair of mechanic overalls hanging in the middle. As I went by I punched them. I didn’t feel particularly angry, but I punched them anyway. I looked in his car. I looked around at the ground. I looked for some sign that he was here and that I really didn’t have to dig myself out.

But I extricated myself from that fantasy, found the snow shovel, and went out and dug and revved and slid and dug and revved and slid. I did that a few times and finally freed my car to the point where I could back down and drive into the garage. I thought about attempting the hill again (my driveway is a straight up hill), but thought better of it. The snow was wet and heavy and icy underneath. A fluffy snow, even one of several inches, is easy to navigate up the hill in lo 4, but the wet icy stuff is impossible.

I have finally started to accept that there isnt a rescuer there anymore. No one to call and say “Help” to. The boys do what they can but they all live far away.

I remember one time, right before we were married, I had a flat tire on a highway with no particular shoulder and drove about a mile on the rim, stopped at a pay phone, and called Michael.

My car was only about 3 weeks old and he had bought it for me (though I had traded my old one in). He came out with his truck, gave me the truck to go back home, changed the tire, brought it to the dealer to get a new rim and tire and was back home in a few hours. All he said was, “It’s all taken care of, dear.” I’ve been with men who would have freaked out about any number of things in that scenario. But not Michael. To him, that was his job in the family. And I grew used to that. To being taken care of in these emergencies. Not to worry. There were things I did that allowed him not to worry about certain things (that the bills were paid, etc) but there were things that were completely his domain.

Yesterday I expected much more of a meltdown than I had. I think I’m starting to accept that if I want to get unstuck, it’s really up to me. In so many ways. On so many levels.

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