My husband is home. I'm happy he's here with me.
I went to visit him a few nights ago, and we were both so astonishingly sane. He said he wanted to come home, and I said I wanted him to come home, but that I wasn't yet clear on what I needed to be comfortable with him living with me yet. He understood, and he said for me to let him know when it became clearer. He told me he'd do whatever it took.
I know there's a difference in being willing to say that he'll do whatever it takes and actually doing whatever it takes, but I was impressed with his lack of anger and his acceptance of what a hard time I'd been having. I think we both got a lot of clarity from our time apart, and I've worked out the boundaries that I can accept for now.
He acknowledged that he'd fallen into a rut that wasn't working for him as much as it wasn't working for me. His willingness to admit his problems is progress.
When I came home from work today, he asked me to come outside with him. He walked me to our trash can, and he showed me a bottle he'd been using as a water bong in the bottom of the can. He said he'd gotten rid of everything, and that he agrees to keep all drugs out of the house.
It was a small gesture. I might wake up in the morning and find a thousand more homemade water bongs tucked away in every corner, but it was nice of him to make a gesture. He empathized with me, and it means a lot to be heard.
And I'm happy with his body next to mine in bed. It's what I want. I'm in love with that man still, and while I found some peace in his absence, I'm not ready to cut him loose.