My Mobster

Can I just tell everyone what a difference having someone like him in my life makes? It makes me a little sad, honestly, that I settled for so little for so many years. My biggest regret is that I met him when I was 48 instead of 18 or 25 or some other random number that would have given me many more years with him.

He texts me every morning. Good morning, beautiful. Hello, gorgeous. We still talk all the time. He’s usually the last person I talk to before I go to bed. I tell him every mundane thing that is going on in my life.

He drove 10.5 hours up to see me 2 weeks after “meeting” me. He’s made that trip 3 times now.

He sends me song lyrics that remind him of me or us. He even created a private Pinterest board for the two of us. We always joke that we are the exact same person. Seems only fair since our exes are the exact same person as well!

He thinks I’m funny and laughs at my jokes. We’ll be talking late into the night and all of sudden he’ll say, “Holy crap! When did it become 12:30?” and I’ll reply, “About a minute ago.” And then we both laugh and laugh. I’ve heard through the grapevine that we are exactly alike. We laugh at the same jokes, we have the same sense of humor. We think about the same weird things. It’s wonderful.

Towards the end of September I made the impulsive decision to go visit him at his place. I hadn’t seen him since Labor Day weekend and I missed him like crazy. Originally all of his kids were going to be gone- his two boys would be watching three MLB games in another state and his daughter was going to the beach with one of her friends. There was a small hiccup in the plans and his daughter ended up not going to the beach but I went ahead and headed on down to his place.

One night as we were talking he rustled some papers and asked me if I knew what they were. Of course I didn’t. He told me I would soon find out.

As I pull into his driveway at 4 am this is what I saw…

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As I walked up to his house I saw this…
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And as the weekend progressed I found out he had printed out my list of 100 things I love and had bought as many of them as he could. That was what those rustling papers were. There was chips & salsa, Moscato, diet Coke, dill pickles, vanilla chai, Earl Grey tea, and cheesecake for starters. He told me he was hoping that it would rain because the smell in the air after it rained in the Blue Ridge mountains was one of the things I loved. I told him I had no doubt that if he had the ability to make it rain that he would.

I was absolutely amazed. I can’t recall anyone ever doing anything like that for me before. I appreciated it so much.

We had a great weekend. Saturday evening we went out to eat with his youngest. I was telling some really bad jokes (you can find most of them here) and she was laughing. We were both ribbing him about ordering coffee at the restaurant. He told me later he loved that. He thought he’d never experience that again and he loved the way we interacted with each other. Sunday morning before going to breakfast we took the dogs for a walk. He showed me around town and we were out walking for probably an hour. I left them with taco dip and scotcheroos, which they loved.

It was a very short visit- only about 36 hours, but it was definitely worth it. I had to get my mobster fix!

I’m telling you a good man makes all the difference in the world. I think he’s a keeper. No, I know he’s a keeper.

I’ve wondered many times if I could give him what he wants. I know he’d love to get married. He wants to live with me. And yet I am constrained by spousal support. I feel bad that I can’t move ahead like he’d like because I need whatever spousal support is coming my way. I have to think about my kids and what they’re going to need. He’s said many times he knew what he was getting into when he got involved with me. He says he knows it may be 20 years before we can make anything official. He’s said on more than one occasion that it’s okay if we never legally marry. Or if we do marry he’s willing to do a prenup so that I’m protected.

He’s put up with my crazy. He’s been sympathetic to my skittish behavior. He understands and he lets me be me. If I’m upset or I’m angry he doesn’t take it as a personal insult.

He is making plans to move up here in June of 2019.

Why didn’t I meet and marry this guy the first time around? Would we have appreciated each other as much as we do if we hadn’t endured what we did? I’d like to think we are who we are, not because of the horror that was foisted upon us, but because we are good people. I’d like to think that if we had met up many years ago it would have still been magical and wonderful. Regardless, I’m glad he’s in my life now, even if it is only sporadically. We are the sane parents after all.

I trust this guy. I know; I know. I trusted CF, too. This is different. I had no reason to trust CF. I guess maybe hearing his friend tell me he would never cheat, or listening to Tammy Faye tell me all he wanted was a family, or looking at his golden pedigree and his West Point credentials made me think I could trust him. None of it meant squat. He lied. He cheated. He stole. He abandoned his kids.

The mobster has been through this. From his own lips and his own writings I have heard the horror that was his marriage in the last few years. I’ve heard and read about the lies, the despair, all the tears, the pain he was put through. I also heard and read about how he hung in there, trying to make it work, convinced that they could make their marriage work if he just tried hard enough, if he could just change enough to make her happy. He did his best to ensure his kids grew up in an intact home.

He and his wife went on a blind date and basically never left each other’s side. He did consider calling it quits but she got pregnant and they married. CF and I met through the personals, got engaged 6 days later and got married 7 months later. By all accounts neither of those relationships should have lasted. And yet they did. For 25 and 21 years. The mobster has said on more than one occasion that our marriages would have continued to last if our spouses had been willing. We didn’t leave. We didn’t quit. He has been known to say, “Why in the hell didn’t I leave 12 years ago?”

Make no mistake though. He will freely admit that there were things he could have done better, or that at least there were better ways to handle the situation. He talks about his own bad behavior in retaliation to the things she did and he admits his own faults. He has told me the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I feel like I have reasons to believe him. Not just the above paragraph but also the willingness to meet me where I am. The willingness to forego ever getting married again even though he really would love to. He doesn’t quit. I’ve heard about all that he did to try to make his marriage work and I have no reason to believe that if he worked that hard to preserve a relationship with someone who treated him so badly that he wouldn’t work equally as hard, if not more so, at a relationship with someone who adores him.

You know what? Add that to the list. When I am going to write a post about something in his life I will run it past him. I never want to put stuff out there that he doesn’t want shared. You know what he always tells me? He always says I can write whatever I want. He tells me it’s my blog and I don’t need his permission, even when I’m writing about him or things going on in his life.

I look back on some of my earlier entries where I was convinced I would be alone forever. I really did believe that. And my mindset hasn’t changed all that much. This guy came from out of nowhere and swept me off my feet. If it all ends tomorrow I don’t see myself getting involved with anyone again. I wasn’t looking this time and I don’t intend to look if he should ever leave me. I’m okay being alone. I really am. The mobster brings me out of my shell. He ticks off pretty much every box on my list for the ultimate man. I can’t think of one criteria he doesn’t meet. I’m glad I have someone to spend my time with. I’m glad I have a real partner.

Here’s one final story for you. When I was steeling myself for the worst case scenario in my support trial the mobster would ask me, “Sam, are we going to be happy?” I’m being my petulant self and grudgingly replying, “Yes, we’ll be happy but I’m still going to be pissed!” He goes off on this tangent about how we will be happy no matter what, even if we’re begging on the streets.

We’ll be out on the streets with our little tin cups. And once they’re filled I’ll run and get us coffee. Do you hear that? I’ll go get us coffee because I love you. When I come back you’ll be waiting for me in our cardboard box, and it will be the best cardboard box out there. And we will be happy with our coffee in our cardboard box.

There was more to the story. Apparently, that was our second home because I had burned the first one down. Sounds about right. Anyway, I was laughing so hard I really did feel better about everything. That man makes me laugh. Like, really laugh. He makes me insanely happy.

Thank you, Mobster; thank you for being you. Thank you for being there for me, even when I’ve been crazy, even when I’ve hurt you, even when I’ve been a pouting little brat. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for making me smile again. Thank you for waking me up and thank you for believing in me. You have given me things I didn’t even know I wanted. I love you. 4evah!

10 thoughts on “My Mobster

  1. I missed the post where you told why you nicknamed him the Mobster. Maybe you didn’t say. Why did you?
    Also, I’m so incredibly happy for you!!! You deserve a sweet Mobster 😊.

    Like

    1. The first time I talked to him on the phone I thought he sounded like a New Jersey mobster. I started calling him Godfather and then mobster. He’s actually from New Hampshire and has a New England accent.

      Liked by 1 person

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