It was my fault. This recent outburst was brought on by my recent plunge into self pity and accusations. My pain had poured out on him, as he stood strong, day after day, supporting me and loving me through the worst of my behavior. Just as I felt my mind clearing, my heart easing, just as I began to back off the anger, he erupted.
We stood in our small apartment, he in the kitchen, I at the counter, as hurt poured from him relentlessly. He wouldn't face me as he shouted, but I could see he needed to focus it on me. I entered the kitchen, stood close to him, so he could turn the tide toward me, as I could hear his desperation. I knew, deep down inside, that I had brought this about. This was the result on my blaming, my anger, my hurt, my rage. His poor shoulders could carry no more and now the weight needed lifting.
He shouted at me, at the ceiling, over my shoulder. He tossed the tea box on the floor, shoved the kettle off of the stove, and looked around in a panic. He grabbed the enormous, ripe avocado.
When I opened my eyes I saw our relationship splattered in green all around us. All of the pain that had consumed me only tore at him and his patient heart until he could take no more. The shouting continued and quietly I tried to apologize at every break, agreeing with him that I was wrong, for all of it.
Finished and exhausted, he saw the green remains of his rage. He began to apologize as I reached for him. I wept with sorrow and remorse, knowing I had brought him all of this misery.
We silently began to clean the mess; wiping away the remnants, rinsing the towels and then wiping some more. We cleaned the counters, the stove, the refrigerator, the walls, and finally, the floor. Our hands met in the middle of the kitchen floor, bumping softly for a moment.
We made this mess. With all of our pain, shortcomings, fear, and frustration, we destroyed the sweet love we once saw as a promise of happiness all over the reality of our kitchen floor.
I picked up the pit. It remained intact, unbroken by the impact. Droplets of green mush covered 9 feet of walls, pieces of skin had broken in to tiny crumbs, yet this seed appeared unscathed.
Is it possible that our love could withstand this blow as well? Is our seed still pure, unscathed, strong and solid?
After some time passed, I approached him meekly to accept my responsibility and apologize for my wrongs. I promised the changes I knew I could make, careful not to commit to anything I couldn't be certain of. The last thing I wanted now was to fail him again. He accepted my apology.
"I want to keep trying," he said.
By grace alone, it seems we may still be whole.