If only he were a different man

As I sit on this stone bench, grounded to the Earth, amongst the song of countless birds, and next to the pitcher plants (a favorite of my ex-husband) at my local garden, I’m reminded of the many times I told myself over the past year, “We could have made this work if only….”  The reality is that there is only one way I can truly finish that sentence - “if only he were a different man.”

The question came back in therapy last night, “am I grieving the man or am I grieving the marriage?”