I came to some really important realizations today - some true bing!lightbulb, monkey-touching-the-monolith moments.

My AH is in his first full day of rehab today. He is on a 7-day communication blackout, but he was able to call me last night and let me know he was in safe and sound. He told me briefly about his day, about his new roommates, his first meetings, how he was feeling.

The funny thing is that when he was getting ready to go in yesterday, it was the normal pandemonium of someone checking in. "Gotta get my hair cut, gotta wash the truck, gotta do laundry, gotta call so-and-so and tell them I'm divorcing you, etc." Anything to delay the inevitable.

He also said to me in one of his many phone calls that day, "you know, I can get letters, so if you want to send me a 'go to hell' letter, you can."

I said to him, "I'm not ready to do that...yet." He chuckled. So did I. Boy, you'll never meet anyone with a more twisted sense of humor than that of an AA or Alanon.

But for the first time in a long time, I actually meant it. I just couldn't go there anymore.

Granted, there have been times in the last few years I just wanted to strangle him, hurt him, tip him upside down and shake the vodka out of him.

I tried to rationalize with him, cried and begged. None of it worked - he was going to drink and it didn't matter what I said, or did, or how I behaved.

But him saying that made me realize that his most recent rephrensible behaviors were coming from a sick man. That it wasn't my beloved who was doing these things. That just as much as I wished that he didn't have this cunning disease, he wishes it even more desparately than I.

So I sat down in front of my laptop tonight and looked at all the letters I had written to him while he's been in previous rehabs. I realized that I could write words that were cutting, degrading, angry. The words I would write to my alcoholic.

Or, I could write to my beloved.

And that's what I did. It was a simple note, telling him about the weather, about what's going on at work, about my late-night "Friends" marathons when sleep has eluded me.

One of the last things he said to me that day he checked in was, "please take care of yourself."

I told him that I have been, that I'm getting ready to take a hot bath with lavender epsom salts and one of my world-famous, "scare the crap out of everyone" facial masks. That I'm going to make myself a cheese quesadilla for supper. That I'm thinking about rearranging my ridiculous shoe collection. That our cousin is graduating from police academy next month. That I took the dog I still have here and his mom's dog to the groomer on Saturday.

I told him about my progress in Al-Anon, that I haven't been perfect and I never will be. That I did the best I could with what I knew. That like him, doing the fourth step in an empty house made me feel ashamed and inadequate, and that working a fourth step meeting with my tribe has done wonders and has erased my fear.

I tucked in a positive little quote from Budda that someone sent to me from a "feel good" Facebook page.

I told him that despite this hell we are going through, I love and support him and always will.

And I dropped it in the mailbox. He'll get it in a couple days.

This kindness doesn't mean I am not still fired up (especially when "the other woman" had the balls to send me a text message yesterday saying that if there was anything she could do to help, or if I wanted to talk, to call her.) I don't know how she got my number. I can't even write what I want to say to her because it would smoke my laptop. This disease drops the most F-ed up people into your life, whether you want it or not.

This compassion doesn't mean that I am still seriously wondering if there are any amends that could be made at this point so that he could become my beloved again without resentment.

It doesn't mean that I haven't been talking to attorneys and making sure I protect myself in the meantime from this most recent aftermath that has come from this slip.

But all I can do today is be me. The ethical, beautiful, incapable-of-bullcrap woman with dignity, grace and a sense of humor that I was at one time - and am finally rediscovering.

I am obviously a work in process, but at least I realized today that being angry doesn't give me the right to be incompassionate.

And for this I am grateful.