The words will be etched in my memory forever, as it was the first time he uttered it with respect to us. I was in denial, refusing to believe that this could be possibly anything he could want. Because it was my belief, no, my KNOWLEDGE, that we would be together forever. We were family, in it together forever because we loved each other. Family does not change. Or so I thought.
Again, in that classic cliche, I did not appreciate the stereotype that was already into play. The role he had taken as the textbook narcissist who was "in it for himself now", and controlling what he and he alone wanted (his words). In his case, that translated to total financial autonomy in what he had made over the course of our 20 years together without regard to his family, and a short skinny blond five years younger than me who gave him supportive platitudes to match his; she being in her own unhappy marriage. They "found" each other, running toward each other in a figurative grassy field; abandoning the harder to deal with concepts of commitment, and spiritual self growth with their committed spouse at home.
I felt mortally wounded. A huge gaping chunk ripped from my side, from where we had once been "cleaved" as husband and wife. Our kids, experiencing similar potentially fatal wounds, we three clung to each other while set adrift in that tumultuous sea of grief, loss, fear, anger, bewilderment.
And after awhile, the seas began to calm. Two and a half years since his last exodus, today we have been able to adapt. The children shuttle back and forth between our home and "Dad's place". I have erected a large life preserving boundary wall to prevent his acid and selfish behavior from seeping through our defenses, where in our homeland we have begun to heal. Flesh has grown back and sealed our wounds which are now covered with delicate new skin. We laugh again, work together, we persevere. My goal is not just to survive, but to FLOURISH.
It is a constant challenge, and I have had to learn much; to constantly step outside of my comfort zone for the sake of myself and, importantly, for the sake of my children. And if I rise above that ever present gully of fear in the pit of my stomach (with the help of my friends, family), then I find I can do this. And then in my moments of self-judging strength, I realize that I probably would have done most of these things anyway, except that he would be "telling me" what to do- thus releasing me of the responsibility of my actions...but again, I would be doing all this work anyway. Because he was never home, or not interested, or just too plain angry/tired. He would be screaming about our incorrect use of the toilet (which is why it keeps stopping up), or how I washed the car "wrong". Or how the pet animals made our house smell (and point an accusing finger at me about how I should negotiate their cleaning, which of course I always did, and alone). For his presence never added richness to our everyday lives but more often than not, misery, accusation, and contempt. And now there is peace.
While he may be happy now because of his increase in financial solvency, his ability to drink to excess without my haranguing him to stop; to live without my nagging that he needs to help with our household and family commitments; we are vastly happier too- to live a life for ourselves; whereby kids and I go and do what we please. Even amidst the conflict that my poor kids feel, facing the conflict of seeing their Disneyland daddy every other week and on Wed night for dinner; I know they have grown wiser, agree that it is better this way (and I am always there for them to discuss how things are, to encourage as best I can, to support them in all they may be feeling..and God bless them, they do the same for me).
I am allowing myself to go forward, slowly but surely. To try to take care of things myself, while I try to maintain my house, my kids needs, my career, and last but not least, myself. It is a daunting task. But I will persevere because at the end of the day, I have to. And when I succeed, well, that feels amazing.
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