|Photo via Flickr by brizzle born and bred|
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
A long overdue marriage
I see his body shift. I see it remolding itself before me. I am living with a gray-haired (although he dyes it like I do) adolescent. And it’s exciting and scary. And real.
But the irony is that while his body is changing—that can’t be denied (I’m the one shooting him up with man-juice every week) he’s not really changing at all.
He’s always been a man—inside. Now he is simply becoming whole. He’s uniting his outsides with his insides. In essence, he is marrying himself.
It should be perfect, to see a human growing into himself, occupying all that he is. He is finding his Nirvana. And it is perfect. I love watching him slipping into himself, one body part at a time.
And I also feel loss because I’m losing the thing he was—even though I know now it was a false front. Some changes I’m loving. Others, I fear. What will it be like when he has no breasts? When his face is rough and scratch? When is forehead is broad with masculinity?
I guess that’s the irony: as he finds his place in the world, mine comes untethered. It is forcing me to think about all these essential questions: who am I? Who am I when I’m with him? What makes a woman? What makes a man?
I’ve always been drawn to the deeper questions. But now I must face them head on. And it’s disconcerting and scary and exciting.