It's a Wonder

As I sit here in this house, all by myself, day after day, I can't  help but think about your new life.  And how great it sounds.  You see, I've been basically living in this suspended reality since you've been gone. I've put my life on hold for the most part, as I waited for you to come home in a couple of days ... or later this week ... or next weekend ... or soon. None of which ever came.  You, on the other hand, have been on quite an adventure. It sounds like fun to me. Everything is new and fresh and exciting ... the relationship and the activities.  You've moved four times, five if you count leaving here. You've had plenty of projects at the house you were moving from and the house you were moving to. You've gotten to do a flip ... something near and dear to your heart. Always something new to think about, something new to accomplish. It's work, but it's fun.  I'm assuming you've been on some amazing vacations. Maybe they're horse r...

I know all of the good, and more of the bad than anyone else.  I know the fight you have been having in your head.  I know the way you beat yourself up.  I know.  And when you're ready to be real, I'm here. 

You don't see your kid. Ever. You don't spend Christmas with her. Or Thanksgiving. Or Easter. Or Fourth of July. You don't see her on her birthday. You can't possibly talk about her and her new baby.  Doesn't that behavior raise a red flag in your new life? Doesn't she think you're an asshole for abandoning your kid? I'm guessing you've crafted some story about how horrible Cass is and how Kati just hasn't been the same since they got together. Maybe you tell her how they froze you out or how they have been just awful toward you, so your exile is warranted.  Here's the truth, my love.  Your daughter is struggling. Hard.  You abandoned her and she knows it. She doesn't trust your words, your promises that you'll show up. She is hurt so deeply that you are ignoring her beautiful baby and don't seem to want to be part of this really wonderful part of her life.  But here's the thing. Your daughter knows that this version of you is...

You know how sometimes things that seem very different from each other really aren't?  For instance, love and hate seem like opposite ends of the spectrum, but in reality, they're two sides of the same coin. You have to really care about someone to love them or hate them. There's passion involved with both.  The reality is that the opposite of love is indifference. No feeling at all.  I wonder if courage and coward are like that.  You literally started living with another woman, in another state, moved with her three times, started a totally new existence and did not tell a single soul where you were. You lied to everyone you knew. (Except for the brief period in NC when you told me about the grading company.) For all practcial purposes, you disappeared totally and fell off the face of the earth, while building a totally new life in complete hiding.  You either have the biggest balls of anyone I know or you are the biggest coward I have ever met. Or maybe it's a...

In the famous musical "Fiddler On the Roof," patriarch and main character Tevye sings about how important traditions are to the people in his village. To be honest, I don't remember much of the lyrics beyond the strong chorus that belts out that word, three times for emphasis, as the staccato melody drives home the point of how vital traditions are:  Tradition ... tradition. TRADITION! I remember when I first learned the sign for that word. You make two "T" hands and move them like you're swinging an ax. It reminds me of the toiling poor Tevye did to try and keep his family fed and safe.  It occurred to me this morning that you have four year's worth of holiday traditions with someone else.  FOUR YEARS.  Maybe it's Black Friday shopping. Maybe it's making prime rib. Maybe it's decorating cookies and playing Yatzee.  Whatever it is, it's not our traditions. It's not the safe and stable foundation we gave Kati. (Even at 11 years old, sh...

One of my favorite stories about "how to raise a Deaf kid" that you ever told me revolved around the way you "yell" at one.  As the story goes, whenever Kati was in trouble, and you'd have to intervene to set her straight, the discipline process could get complicated. It's hard to yell at a Deaf kid. Yes, you can make your signs bigger, your expression more serious ... but at any point, that cute little girl in the blond ringlet curls could simply close her eyes.  And, by doing so, all the yelling in the world, whether it was in ASL or just good, old fashioned hollering, was rendered completely and totally pointless.  You could carry on all you wanted and she could just sit there, eyes closed with a smile on her face, blocking you out.  That's how this feels to me.  You've just closed your eyes. You're pretending none of this exists. Your life. Your family. Your history. Your kindness. Your gut. Your peace. Your reality.  We do exist. We are here...

When do I get to cause you as much pain as you have caused me?  When do I get to make you hurt?  You have been willingly and purposefully making me hurt for 4 years. Four fucking years. How is that even possible? When did this become such a horrific place for you? You know ... this place that supported you, bailed you out, protected you, covered for you.  How could you do this to me?  You left me here alone to suffer. And you're making me suffer still.  You lied to me for four years and you've "granted me" three phone calls ... in which you complain and get frustrated because you don't want to listen to my accusations, questions and crying.  I find it hilarious that when it got tough, you ran away. Yet you've made it tough for me, on purpose, without a second thought. You literally held me hostage because you couldn't let go. Wouldn't let go.  How do you even know what the truth is and what you want? 

Isn't that hilarious? Or, maybe it's pathetic.  Or, maybe it's how it is supposed to be.  You have been living with another woman for three years, lying to me just about every damn day in just about every single way, and I still believe that you love me.  I think you're trying really hard to NOT love me, but you can't quite do it.  Because if I don't believe that, I have to believe you are either a complete and total asshole or that you never loved me in the first place.  And, I don't want to believe either one of those possibilities. 

I'm really sad that I won't get to show you my version of New Orleans.  We would have had a really good time and I so wanted to see you see it for the first time. It's hard to imagine not spending time with you like that in the future ... you were just my favorite person to hang out with.  I was going to take you to the palm reader who predicted you and Kati coming into my life.  I guess I hope you see it someday. (Or, for all I know, maybe you already have. If so, I'm pretty sure my version would have been better.) 

In spite of it being my birthday, 10-17 has always seemed like "bad luck" to me.  If I look at the clock at exactly 10:17 p.m., I can't fall asleep.  If my grocery store receipt lands on $10.17, I'm a nervous wreck all day.  Funny how October of 2017 was when you were completing real estate transactions with her social security and bank account numbers in hand. I should have seen it coming. 

I used to tease you that the thing you found most attractive about me was my earning potential.  It hit me this morning like a 2 x 4 to the head.  And it made my stomach hurt all at the same time.  Is it a coincidence that as soon as I no longer had a high-power, six-figure salary, your exit began?  I remember sitting down with you in January 2015 and discussing the local job I was about to take. I'd be making exactly half of what I had been making. Half. We knew my check could swing the housepayment ... and essentially only that. We discussed how we'd now be dependent on YOUR earnings, for the first time ever in our marriage, to live.  You assured me it was OK. The business was going well. You were growing. You said you just wanted me to be happy ... to have a little less stress, to explore some new options, since the past couple of years had been pretty intense.  So I leapt. I took a job that sounded "fun," but turned out to be something I mostly hated. I...

Remember how we joked about how unobservant I was?  You'd grow your hunting beard every November and then, eventually, in December or January, you'd shave it off. Sometimes I wouldn't notice for a few days. Or maybe even longer.  Eventually, you'd ask me if I noticed and I'd feel kind of stupid. Clearly, I saw you every day. How did I not notice? In my head, it was because half of the time you had a beard and half of the time you didn't, so it wasn't something I thought about at all. I didn't really care if you had one or not. It was you I loved, and facial hair wasn't that big of a deal.  I also had trouble remembering the exact date of our anniversary. I knew it was March. The 5th, 8th, or 9th. Again ... a detail. One of them was Kati's bday, one was my friend Maria's, one was Carol and Jackie's. I always thought that gave you a little break. You didn't have to feel pressured to hit the exact right day because I might not either.  A...

The marriage I thought I was in is very different from the marriage I keep hearing about from you and your friends.  When I saw you in Wyoming, you told me that we didn't communicate very well. I was confused by that because while I know our styles were different (me-head on, you-avoid at all costs), I thought our basic beliefs about who we were and what was important was the same. At least, that's what we said to each other when we were at what I thought was our most honest.  When I hear your friends tell me that you had been discussing how tense it was at home, I get confused.  Tense? I'm wracking my brain to figure out what we fought about besides the failure of the business and the financial hurricane that followed. I don't remember fighting about anything else.  And from where I sat, the only time we fought about the business is when you failed to tell me what was going on. I'd eventually discover it because I had to pay for it or go to a lawyer for it or someh...

Remember how strange we thought it was that our two of our married friends slept in separate bedrooms? They'd worked opposite shifts for a long time and there was snoring and dogs or something like that.  We wondered how that could work and said we couldn't imagine us ever doing the same. The best part of being married was falling asleep and waking up next to someone .. reaching a hand or a toe out in the middle of the night and knowing someone was there.  Funny how you didn't just move into another room, but to four different houses in three different states, while I was here, believing you when you said you were on your way home.   

😐

I think you're not. Maybe I need to believe that for any of this to make sense.  If you had just walked away from me, I think I could get my head around it.  But you walked away from everyone and everything that ever mattered in your life. You left with two saddles, a red duffle bag, some tools, a few deer mounts, a turkey, some guns, and the clothes on your back.  I guess you didn't arrive in my life with much more than that.  But you walked away from your daughter.  Who does that?  Please get some help ... before this eats you up from the inside out or before you do this to someone else. 

Did you know that as I sit at the dining room table with my laptop and giant monitor, I am constantly scanning Noss Road for movement. Everytime I see a white pickup, my breath catches just a little, because even after all of this, I still think it might be you?  Did you know that last night I woke up about 2 a.m., unable to sleep, turned on the TV to trying to divert my brain ... to no avail? So I sat up in bed and yelled at you out loud for a good five minutes. The names I called you were not terribly flattering.  Did you know I was still hanging a towel for you in the master bath?  Did you know that I was still buying groceries for you, honestly believing you were coming back?  Did you know that I recorded TV shows for you whenever I saw something I thought you'd like?  Did you know that I had to wait in line for about 30 minutes to vote yesterday morning and seeing your name next to mine in the voter rolls was about enough to bring tears to my eyes?  Di...

How many times did I tease you about your life after me?  I wanted to die first, because I knew I wouldn't want to be here without you. You said I could, and you'd smile.  I would then tease you about being a serial monogamist. I knew you'd never be alone.  My sister actually reminded me of this part of our "schtick" the night this all came crashing down.  The way I'd end our little repartee was to tell you that I wanted you to find love and move on once I was dead. I asked you to wait just a little while ... give my mom and sister enough time to feel OK about you being with someone else. Let my body get cold, if you will, before you made anything public or official.  You didn't even let me die.  

The life you're building there will never be yours.  It is hers.  You didn't build it. You didn't earn it. You didn't pay for it.  She did. Or he did.  Doesn't it feel weird to step into another man's home, another man's bed, another man's life as if it was yours? Was his body even cold before you stepped in?  You won't ever be proud of what you did to get there. You won't ever be proud of the existence you create.  Because it's not yours. 

You keep talking about the idea that we were not communicating. Missing each other. That you felt all alone.  I don't remember that time the same way.  I remember Bella's treatment as terrifying. I remember turning to you because I needed your support. I clung to you like a life preserver, because I couldn't float on my own.  I was so grateful for your strength and for your willingness to be my salvation. I told you how much I needed you. You told me you'd always hold me up.  So why didin't you turn to me when you felt that you needed a life preserver?  And why are you blaming me for that?  You were supposed to turn to me when you were scared and lonely and confused.  But instead, you hid information about the business. You lied to me about the state of our relationship.  And then you chose to turn to someone else to find comfort.  YOU CHOSE THAT.  Then you blamed me for not being there.  I didn't even know you needed me. How would ...

As long as we're together, nothing else matters. I'd live in a tent ... as long as I'm with you.  I would never cheat on someone. I have been cheated on and I know how it feels. I'd never do that to anyone.  There is no her.  You know everything there is to know. There's nothing left to tell you.  I don't love her. I don't love myself ... so how can I love anyone else.  I am not sleeping with her. (Seriously, Jim, after four years?) No. I'm not.  Of course I made sure the tax stuff was right; I would NEVER fuck with the government.  Of course I made the house payment; I would never put that at risk. It's too important. Your mind is going to go, and my knees are going to go. I'll be in a wheelchair and you'll have to push me around. But I'll have to tell you where to go.  For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.  I love you. 

 I think there's a part of you that has always "competed" with the legend that was your dad.  Everyone had a Junior story. Lots of people loved him. For a little guy, he was larger than life in many ways. He was a true character, filled with crazy stories and a little whiskey. It was hard to live up to all of that. I think you've always felt a little overshadowed, craning your neck to see if you could get just a little of that sunshine for yourself.  One of the most often told and most celebrated was the one where he left his first wife in a gas station, leaving her suitcase by the register and giving the attended a $20 bill to help her find her way home while she was in the bathroom.  We always said if half of his stories were half true, the lot of them still made for a pretty impressive cannon.  Well, kid, you got him beat. You left your third wife and she didn't know until three years later, after you'd moved to three states and lived in four houses with an...

You decided to not tell me what was going on when you'd made a few bad decisions with the business and had a few things just flat out go wrong, through no fault of your own.  You decided to keep all of that information to yourself ... bottle it up and let it drive you crazy.  You decided you already knew how I'd respond. You knew I'd be mad. You knew I'd yell. You knew I'd be disappointed.  You decided to look for a way out.  And you found one.  So then you decided to leave me. You decided to walk away from your life. You decided to save your own ass and to screw the rest of us.  At first, I think you talked yourself into believing that you were doing this for me, for Kati, for those you left behind. You were protecting us from the awfulness of you. You knew you were hurting us and you didn't want to hurt us anymore.  Once upon a time when I was badgering you about your saddles, you said you had to get them out of the house because they didn't "deserve...

You've got nothing to say about all of this? Or are you just lying to me about reading it?  To be honest, I'm not surprised by either reality at this point. 

Do you remember how we both reacted when we heard that Donald Trump was running for president five years ago?  We both laughed out loud. I can see it in my mind's eye as plain as day. We were both in the living room, the evening news was on, and the announcement was made.  It was absurd! I am sure I said something like, "There is no way on God's green earth that ANYONE would vote for Donald Trump. It's seriously a joke. No one could possibly really vote for this buffoon!"  And yet ... a year later in 2016 ... there we were.  Incredible. Incredulous. Un-fucking-believeable. Donald Trump was President.  We talked politics a lot during that time. You were my favorite person to talk politics with, actually, because while we were usually on the same side of most issues, your perspective on things always taught me something.  Four years ago, it seemed like the impossible had just happened. And I couldn't understand how. And here we are again, in 2020 ... and I'm...

 I deserve two weeks.  Two weeks of face-to-face with you as you take care of a few things.  At a basic level of human decency, you owe me some cleanup and fix-it work around here. My big shoulders are tired of carrying the weight of all this responsibility. I want two weeks of you living in this house and having to look me in the eyes every single day. I want to spend two weeks asking you any question I wish. I want you to spend two weeks watching me cry, listening to me yell, begging me to understand and asking for my forgiveness.  I want you to hurt like I'm hurting ... even if it's only for two weeks.  At the end of that time, we can mutually agree to go our separate ways. We can say goodbye like adults.  I deserve that. 

You left me here alone. All alone. Alone with the mess you’d made. Alone with the bills I couldn’t manage. Alone with the work that comes with trying to keep this place in check. Alone with your clothes and your stuff and your photos and your essence. Alone with your friends asking me where you were, how you were, and how worried they should be. . Alone with your promises that we could get through anything together. Alone with your request that I just be there for you when all this “mess” was over. Alone with my prayers for your safe return to me and to us. Alone with my fears that you were not OK. Alone with your genuine and real affirmations of how much you loved me and how hard you were trying to get back to me. I’m still sitting here alone. Only now I know that I really am alone. All alone. And that you haven’t been alone at all since you left. There’s been someone taking care of you and making sure you were OK. You were reciprocating. Did you think I didn’t need ...

Written on loose-leaf, wide-ruled notebook paper. I found it when I was rifling through memories, trying to find evidence of reality. I was looking desperately for anything that indicated I hadn't made this whole thing up. You probably don't remember writing it.   This is a very heart-filled note and if you don't feel like going any further reading this, I understand.  When we both started this, it was going to be "no crooked lines," but I wrecked that. I really don't think you know how much I care about you and your feelings. I'm not going to hurt you or ask for anything from you. I just want you to realize that I fell for you, not just in the bedroom, but everything else about you. You're smart, funny, loveable and I'm very happy to go places with you. When we're together, we can talk, laugh, and even cry together. That means a lot to me.  Don't think I'm a sap for writing this note, but maybe if I write this you'll understand my ...

When I was about 10, the Allen family built the house across the street from my parents. It's the house Nick and Jane live in now.  The Allens moved from Buffalo, NY. Mr. Allen always reminded me of Woody Allen. He was taller, I think, but had that funny hair that kind of squiggled out on the sides of his head. Sort of like Bozo.  He was a builder, or so he said ... it always seemed a little suspect to us. Mrs. Allen was the recipient of much neighborhood scrutiny. Why? She was hot. Long, lean, and she liked to sunbathe on the deck off the master bedroom, that hung just above the garage door. Her bikini was crocheted and there was much speculation that perhaps the top didn't stay on while she was laying there.  The oldest daughter was my age. The youngest was my little sister's age. They seemed like a great fit for the neighborhood.  In those days, my dad had a huge garden. It easily covered a 1/2 acre. He grew peas, green beans, tomatoes, sweet corn (planted in two-...