I didn't know that I didn't know what a stretch mark really was. My mother had two babies when I was in my early teens but she never got a stretch mark. I never had a stretch mark and neither did either of my sisters, who together have given birth to 8 children. Laura said she was getting stretch marks and I wanted to see them because I THOUGHT I knew what they looked like. I THOUGHT they were raised whitish lines on certain places of your belly. In fact I was CERTAIN I knew what they looked like. So Laura lifted her shirt to show me. What I saw looked like a small school of red tadpoles swimming up her belly. These things were something I've never seen before. They are long red dips on the surface of her skin. They are quite unattractive. Are all stretch marks red? Are they all cylindrical and do they all look like vertical blisterlines but are in fact indentations? Is there a way to get rid of them? Do they go away after the baby is born? If so, when? Do the same stretch marks come back in the same spots during subsequent pregnancies? Do those stretch mark creams and oils work?
My poor kid, she scans her belly and backside every day to see if the invasion has increased and almost every day it has. I feel sorry for her. We were in a maternity store a couple of weeks ago and the clerk showed her her own stretch marks----which no longer had anyone gestating under them-----and announced that her child was already over 18 months old. Laura said it looked like someone was playing tic tac toe on her stomach and she was horrified. I feel so sorry for her but I don't have any wise words to say.
Today she and Kyle took my ring to a jeweler. After much discussion and going back and forth on things, they decided to have it dipped in white gold. It was cleaned as well. It always was a sparkler and now it's a dazzler. It looks different but the same. Does this mean we're getting closer to being engaged?
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Phone Calls
My mental state was starting to worry me. I had never felt this down in my life. When we left court I felt like a villain. I had not been able to present my response to Bill's charges. The judge had given the attorneys some tasks that were going to be harmful to me and a waste of legal time. I felt a series of emotional events start to emerge and felt I didn't have the fortitude to change their course. Bill's attorney was a dolt but he was cunning. He couldn't argue his point, but he could disappear from the courtroom and cost me some big bucks. There was an unpredictability to his behavior that also made me feel out of control. I felt there were more tricks to come. Two days after court I caught a cold that morphed into bronchitis and stayed for .....well, so long that I still have it in a way. I wheezed and coughed for over three weeks without the telltale signs I had learned to look for: yellow or greenish mucous. After over three weeks, a friend said that if you have something like this for over ten days, you need to be on an antibiotic. I understood. I had been told that mucous is the perfect medium in which bacteria can grow. It would only be a matter of time before an infection cropped up. But on the other hand I had also been told antibiotics were useless unless you have an infection. Which advice should I follow? Deciding I had nothing to lose, I went home and started taking an antibiotic Dad had been given but never started because he had been hospitalized immediately after their purchase. After the first course I felt somewhat better but not entirely well. I took another course. After that I felt even better but was not convinced it was completely out of my system. However, I waited until my annual physical this past week. I was experiencing tightness in my chest. I thought it could have been one of three things: I was having heart problems (I do have slightly elevated cholesterol), my acid reflux was reemerging, or I still had some bronchitis. The doctor confirmed the third. He said it was no wonder I hadn't felt like exercising during the past couple of months. I was wheezing and there was still congestion in there. That was the tightness.
Tightness aside, there was another issue. The lack of exercise and the length of this illness had taken a toll on my emotional well-being. My moods had become so dark that I was reluctant to share my thoughts or feelings with anyone in my immediate physical surroundings. On a friend's suggestion I selected two people who were spiritually, emotionally and psychologically insightful and also knew me extremely well. One was my youngest sister and the other was one of my oldest friends, a friend I made right after I started working at my school but who had moved to Ohio about 20 years ago. Both of these women are strong, insightful, caring and generous to a fault. And more importantly, I knew they loved me and was reasonably sure they wouldn't judge me. That we share the same faith was a critical piece in this choice. It wasn't about who was my 'best' friend, who was my favorite sister, or who would keep confidentiality. This was unique. I wanted people who were strong enough to handle the burden of the darkness I was feeling, someone who lived far away from me, and someone who could help me spiritually walk out of this place. There are others I could have asked but some were grappling with major issues, others were very busy and there was a small element of shame because the strength I had felt for so long was abandoning me. I needed women who had faced similar circumstances and who could make a regular time to speak with me on the phone. It turned out well.
I called each of them. Right away I told them I wanted to ask a big favor, get a commitment from them, and told them this was going to be a burden. I told them I would understand completely if they were not in a position to help me with this. I knew their lives were demanding, they had responsibilities, and they have their own problems. I also knew them well enough that I could present this to them and feel I could be very good at ensuring them it was okay not to participate. They both agreed. They were honored. They were happy to help me with this. I was relieved and started to believe that I was going to find recovery in these conversations. I speak with one of them on Tuesday afternoons and the other on Friday evenings. Sometimes the conversations last only 20 minutes, sometimes they last an hour. These phone calls, and the medications I take for the bronchitis, are helping climb out of the hole I've been in for the past 8 weeks.
I return to court on Thursday. My attorney and I have worked hard at preparing for it, and I have become more assertive in setting the course to finish this divorce. I feel things are looking up. I am going to be fine.
Tightness aside, there was another issue. The lack of exercise and the length of this illness had taken a toll on my emotional well-being. My moods had become so dark that I was reluctant to share my thoughts or feelings with anyone in my immediate physical surroundings. On a friend's suggestion I selected two people who were spiritually, emotionally and psychologically insightful and also knew me extremely well. One was my youngest sister and the other was one of my oldest friends, a friend I made right after I started working at my school but who had moved to Ohio about 20 years ago. Both of these women are strong, insightful, caring and generous to a fault. And more importantly, I knew they loved me and was reasonably sure they wouldn't judge me. That we share the same faith was a critical piece in this choice. It wasn't about who was my 'best' friend, who was my favorite sister, or who would keep confidentiality. This was unique. I wanted people who were strong enough to handle the burden of the darkness I was feeling, someone who lived far away from me, and someone who could help me spiritually walk out of this place. There are others I could have asked but some were grappling with major issues, others were very busy and there was a small element of shame because the strength I had felt for so long was abandoning me. I needed women who had faced similar circumstances and who could make a regular time to speak with me on the phone. It turned out well.
I called each of them. Right away I told them I wanted to ask a big favor, get a commitment from them, and told them this was going to be a burden. I told them I would understand completely if they were not in a position to help me with this. I knew their lives were demanding, they had responsibilities, and they have their own problems. I also knew them well enough that I could present this to them and feel I could be very good at ensuring them it was okay not to participate. They both agreed. They were honored. They were happy to help me with this. I was relieved and started to believe that I was going to find recovery in these conversations. I speak with one of them on Tuesday afternoons and the other on Friday evenings. Sometimes the conversations last only 20 minutes, sometimes they last an hour. These phone calls, and the medications I take for the bronchitis, are helping climb out of the hole I've been in for the past 8 weeks.
I return to court on Thursday. My attorney and I have worked hard at preparing for it, and I have become more assertive in setting the course to finish this divorce. I feel things are looking up. I am going to be fine.
Going Back
Time distorts memories. At least for me. It's important that I be acutely aware of my propensity to remember certain things while forgetting others. In that regard, I find myself thinking of some things that happened near the end of my time with Bill.
I remember getting a 1099 from a casino in late January. I remember confronting Bill about it. At that point he was three months past his pancreatic cancer diagnosis and two months into his chemo. It angered me that this horrible addiction, this intruder into our marriage, this thing that felt like a mistress----that had made our marriage feel like an awkward threesome with me the only party who wasn't really aware that there were not just two of us---had been reintroduced into our lives when there was already too much to handle. And I remember the welling-up of feeling how unfair it was. How much audacity did Bill have? I confronted him. I asked him hard end-of-life questions about his gambling. He responded in such a way that, at the moment, I sensed but couldn't put words to. It wasn't too hard though. He was powerless over the addiction. It was straight out of the twelve-step book. He was powerless. It was as authentic an admission as I could ever have gotten. The addiction had control when it popped up. He could not control it. He had been in a twelve-step program for it years ago. He could never conquer it. That moment, that afternoon in the van waiting for the left turn arrow at Lincoln, that was the moment of truth. He was never going to have the upper hand on his gambling. That was the hard truth, and it wasn't going to change. My harsh realization. His harsh realization. Right there. A cancer death sentence. A reemergence of gambling. These two things were not going to change. Neither one of them was about love. Neither one was about a union that had lasted a quarter of a century. Both were in control and I was going to have to step aside to let them run their course. But there, on that afternoon, looking at the man who had been both my best friend and my worst enemy, the paradox of what our lives had become, was a series of events that were colliding in my brain. Cancer. Gambling. Death. Life. Future. Betrayal. Loyalty. Love. Crashing against each other. Their coexistence made no sense. Yet there they were.
This is my part. This is where I tried to handle but not handle the situation. I felt trapped. I couldn't change these things, but I couldn't get out of them either. I felt it was wrong to kick him out. After all, he had cancer. And not just your garden variety cancer (not that any cancer is good), but a kind of cancer known to be quite lethal. On top of that, he hated my dad. He not only wanted no part of my dad but wanted him to either pay $6,000 a month or move out. I had already decided that I wasn't going to throw my dad out; my dad had been there for me through my adult years and had supported me, encouraged me and helped me out whenever I had asked. No, Dad wasn't going. Cancer was here to stay. Gambling was also back.
What did I do? I withdrew. I started a blog about ending my time with him, thinking that end was going to be the result of the cancer. I reached out to friends and family. Yes, I joined the cancer support group. Yes, I dropped out of several other obligations. I even attended yoga classes and other cancer-related events with him. I sat with him at his chemo appointments. But I withdrew. Was it because he was supposed to be dying and I was getting ready to be without him? Or was it the betrayal of the gambling? Was it the anger at how he had turned on my dad after we had moved him in? Was I worried he was after my dad's money and blackmailing me to access more of it because he now saw my dad as an annoyance? The answer is yes yes yes and yes. Yes. Yes. Withdrawal was how I dealt with what I saw as a no-win situation.
I recognize it. I acknowledge it. I confess it. I forgive myself. It was what it was and that was how I handled it. I don't know what another person would have done. But that was what I saw as my only way of coping with the situation. I withdrew. He recognized it. It hurt him, I know.
I suppose a person could ask him what he would have done if he had been in my shoes. I would be quite interested to hear his answer. I hear that he tells people I filed for divorce. I hear he says I filed because he has cancer, and that there are those who believe him. He also says I was having an affair. And I say I wish I had been. Maybe this all would have been less painful and I would have had a concrete sense of direction in all of this. But that is addiction and mental illness talking. It still offers no solution to the gambling/cancer/betrayal/22-year marriage dilemma I was in.
I caught him gambling. We had the realization he would never control it. I withdrew.
I remember getting a 1099 from a casino in late January. I remember confronting Bill about it. At that point he was three months past his pancreatic cancer diagnosis and two months into his chemo. It angered me that this horrible addiction, this intruder into our marriage, this thing that felt like a mistress----that had made our marriage feel like an awkward threesome with me the only party who wasn't really aware that there were not just two of us---had been reintroduced into our lives when there was already too much to handle. And I remember the welling-up of feeling how unfair it was. How much audacity did Bill have? I confronted him. I asked him hard end-of-life questions about his gambling. He responded in such a way that, at the moment, I sensed but couldn't put words to. It wasn't too hard though. He was powerless over the addiction. It was straight out of the twelve-step book. He was powerless. It was as authentic an admission as I could ever have gotten. The addiction had control when it popped up. He could not control it. He had been in a twelve-step program for it years ago. He could never conquer it. That moment, that afternoon in the van waiting for the left turn arrow at Lincoln, that was the moment of truth. He was never going to have the upper hand on his gambling. That was the hard truth, and it wasn't going to change. My harsh realization. His harsh realization. Right there. A cancer death sentence. A reemergence of gambling. These two things were not going to change. Neither one of them was about love. Neither one was about a union that had lasted a quarter of a century. Both were in control and I was going to have to step aside to let them run their course. But there, on that afternoon, looking at the man who had been both my best friend and my worst enemy, the paradox of what our lives had become, was a series of events that were colliding in my brain. Cancer. Gambling. Death. Life. Future. Betrayal. Loyalty. Love. Crashing against each other. Their coexistence made no sense. Yet there they were.
This is my part. This is where I tried to handle but not handle the situation. I felt trapped. I couldn't change these things, but I couldn't get out of them either. I felt it was wrong to kick him out. After all, he had cancer. And not just your garden variety cancer (not that any cancer is good), but a kind of cancer known to be quite lethal. On top of that, he hated my dad. He not only wanted no part of my dad but wanted him to either pay $6,000 a month or move out. I had already decided that I wasn't going to throw my dad out; my dad had been there for me through my adult years and had supported me, encouraged me and helped me out whenever I had asked. No, Dad wasn't going. Cancer was here to stay. Gambling was also back.
What did I do? I withdrew. I started a blog about ending my time with him, thinking that end was going to be the result of the cancer. I reached out to friends and family. Yes, I joined the cancer support group. Yes, I dropped out of several other obligations. I even attended yoga classes and other cancer-related events with him. I sat with him at his chemo appointments. But I withdrew. Was it because he was supposed to be dying and I was getting ready to be without him? Or was it the betrayal of the gambling? Was it the anger at how he had turned on my dad after we had moved him in? Was I worried he was after my dad's money and blackmailing me to access more of it because he now saw my dad as an annoyance? The answer is yes yes yes and yes. Yes. Yes. Withdrawal was how I dealt with what I saw as a no-win situation.
I recognize it. I acknowledge it. I confess it. I forgive myself. It was what it was and that was how I handled it. I don't know what another person would have done. But that was what I saw as my only way of coping with the situation. I withdrew. He recognized it. It hurt him, I know.
I suppose a person could ask him what he would have done if he had been in my shoes. I would be quite interested to hear his answer. I hear that he tells people I filed for divorce. I hear he says I filed because he has cancer, and that there are those who believe him. He also says I was having an affair. And I say I wish I had been. Maybe this all would have been less painful and I would have had a concrete sense of direction in all of this. But that is addiction and mental illness talking. It still offers no solution to the gambling/cancer/betrayal/22-year marriage dilemma I was in.
I caught him gambling. We had the realization he would never control it. I withdrew.
Turkey Day
Yesterday was my second Thanksgiving without Bill. Last year I hosted dinner at the house and felt an enormous amount of joy. One of my sisters and her family came down to visit specifically to be supportive of me. Kyle's family came over. We had eighteen people and I felt it was the way I wanted to spend Thanksgiving for the rest of my life. I was free and finally spreading my wings.
But over the past year the shine of my new freedom has worn off. This divorce has morphed into a strange burden. I have come to understand a form of loneliness at a level I never knew possible. It's not a loneliness of feeling rejected. It's not a loneliness of feeling unwanted. It doesn't make me cry. Instead it makes me stop and look at myself and think, 'I need to find myself. I absolutely cannot lose myself again. I may never have another union as I knew in my marriages, but I have to find the woman inside me.' There are times when I know I am closing myself off from others. There are times when I move through masses of people and feel as if I am both connected and disconnected. I examine the depth of my friendships and wonder how much of myself I reveal. I wonder if I glide through life as a semi-human. I wonder how much I am willing to give of myself. I wonder if I have created enough definition and enough boundaries in my life and in my relationships, and if this presence or absence of boundaries has interfered with intimacies for me. Will I ever know? And, in tandem, if I don't have clear boundaries, is that a product of me not really knowing myself? How can you define your relationships with others if you don't really know who you are and what you will and will not accept?
As Thanksgiving approached again, we accepted an invitation to Kyle's aunt's in the valley. All of Kyle's family was slated to be there, including the one aunt I had not yet met. There were 25 of us. Aunts, uncles, cousins, all sets of grandparents from Jack's side of the family. It was a good-sized group. I had a chance to talk with Kyle's younger sister, a girl who had attended Thanksgiving at my house last year but who hadn't uttered a word that I could remember. I kind of got to know her. She and Laura had been friendly in high school. And this is my favorite story about her: She and Laura had a Spanish class together. One day she and Laura were talking. Laura was talking about her new boyfriend. The sister said, "What's your boyfriend's name?" Laura said, "Kyle." (Kyle actually attended another high school in our district.) The sister said, "Kyle who?" Laura told her the last name. The sister said, "Oh, God! That's my brother. He's an asshole. Don't date him!" And all will agree that she was right. At the time. As I looked at her this time, I saw Jack in a skirt. It was remarkable how much this young woman looked like her father. Jack in drag. But she was talking this time. Kyle's other brothers were also there. Again, they had their silent rebellion against Jack's girlfriend, Becky. They apparently hate her. They refused to be photographed when she was in the picture. Kyle says they just need someone to hate. And with their mother absent, Becky gets to be the object of their disdain. Lucky Becky. Since I never really knew Becky when she was a drinker, I don't know how she used to behave. Perhaps I should say 'Lucky me'. I don't know.
Bernie and his wife were there again as was Jack's mom and her husband. Jack's mom's second husband's (Freddy ---who passed away almost three years ago) children were there and all cousins from all three of Bernie and Mary's children, Jack, Michelle and Suzanne. Altogether we filled the giant collection of tables in Suzanne's living room, we were packed in. There was also a man Suzanne had called her Uncle Don. Gee, I had two of those when I was a kid. But it turned out that Uncle Don wasn't really an uncle. He was one of Bernie's friends from as far back as junior high. He and I chatted for a while. He had a wedding ring on and spoke of his grown children and mentioned he hadn't married until he was 37. I thought maybe he was there because his wife was ill. It didn't occur to me until late in the afternoon that this was a guy they were trying to fix me up with. I most certainly blew this set up. I never realized he had been invited to meet me. He seemed so old. Not that I'm looking for someone who's young. But when a man tells me that in 1957 (when I was 6 years old), he was already out of the service and working, I don't think this is a person of my generation. This is someone who is more a member of my parents' crowd. I have not yet thought that this is an age of someone I should even consider dating. I don't think he was impressed with me either. Not at all.
I enjoyed myself and preferred talking to Bernie's wife and the aunts. It must be a phase I'm going through. The thought of embarking on another relationship, the thought of dating, the thought of trying to impress a man, seems like a nuisance. But you know what? I think it's a good thing. I think it's necessary, it's a necessary step for me now. I don't know why; it just seems right. And I feel comfortable with it.
But over the past year the shine of my new freedom has worn off. This divorce has morphed into a strange burden. I have come to understand a form of loneliness at a level I never knew possible. It's not a loneliness of feeling rejected. It's not a loneliness of feeling unwanted. It doesn't make me cry. Instead it makes me stop and look at myself and think, 'I need to find myself. I absolutely cannot lose myself again. I may never have another union as I knew in my marriages, but I have to find the woman inside me.' There are times when I know I am closing myself off from others. There are times when I move through masses of people and feel as if I am both connected and disconnected. I examine the depth of my friendships and wonder how much of myself I reveal. I wonder if I glide through life as a semi-human. I wonder how much I am willing to give of myself. I wonder if I have created enough definition and enough boundaries in my life and in my relationships, and if this presence or absence of boundaries has interfered with intimacies for me. Will I ever know? And, in tandem, if I don't have clear boundaries, is that a product of me not really knowing myself? How can you define your relationships with others if you don't really know who you are and what you will and will not accept?
As Thanksgiving approached again, we accepted an invitation to Kyle's aunt's in the valley. All of Kyle's family was slated to be there, including the one aunt I had not yet met. There were 25 of us. Aunts, uncles, cousins, all sets of grandparents from Jack's side of the family. It was a good-sized group. I had a chance to talk with Kyle's younger sister, a girl who had attended Thanksgiving at my house last year but who hadn't uttered a word that I could remember. I kind of got to know her. She and Laura had been friendly in high school. And this is my favorite story about her: She and Laura had a Spanish class together. One day she and Laura were talking. Laura was talking about her new boyfriend. The sister said, "What's your boyfriend's name?" Laura said, "Kyle." (Kyle actually attended another high school in our district.) The sister said, "Kyle who?" Laura told her the last name. The sister said, "Oh, God! That's my brother. He's an asshole. Don't date him!" And all will agree that she was right. At the time. As I looked at her this time, I saw Jack in a skirt. It was remarkable how much this young woman looked like her father. Jack in drag. But she was talking this time. Kyle's other brothers were also there. Again, they had their silent rebellion against Jack's girlfriend, Becky. They apparently hate her. They refused to be photographed when she was in the picture. Kyle says they just need someone to hate. And with their mother absent, Becky gets to be the object of their disdain. Lucky Becky. Since I never really knew Becky when she was a drinker, I don't know how she used to behave. Perhaps I should say 'Lucky me'. I don't know.
Bernie and his wife were there again as was Jack's mom and her husband. Jack's mom's second husband's (Freddy ---who passed away almost three years ago) children were there and all cousins from all three of Bernie and Mary's children, Jack, Michelle and Suzanne. Altogether we filled the giant collection of tables in Suzanne's living room, we were packed in. There was also a man Suzanne had called her Uncle Don. Gee, I had two of those when I was a kid. But it turned out that Uncle Don wasn't really an uncle. He was one of Bernie's friends from as far back as junior high. He and I chatted for a while. He had a wedding ring on and spoke of his grown children and mentioned he hadn't married until he was 37. I thought maybe he was there because his wife was ill. It didn't occur to me until late in the afternoon that this was a guy they were trying to fix me up with. I most certainly blew this set up. I never realized he had been invited to meet me. He seemed so old. Not that I'm looking for someone who's young. But when a man tells me that in 1957 (when I was 6 years old), he was already out of the service and working, I don't think this is a person of my generation. This is someone who is more a member of my parents' crowd. I have not yet thought that this is an age of someone I should even consider dating. I don't think he was impressed with me either. Not at all.
I enjoyed myself and preferred talking to Bernie's wife and the aunts. It must be a phase I'm going through. The thought of embarking on another relationship, the thought of dating, the thought of trying to impress a man, seems like a nuisance. But you know what? I think it's a good thing. I think it's necessary, it's a necessary step for me now. I don't know why; it just seems right. And I feel comfortable with it.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
How Strange the Sound
Anyone who lived through the sixties, any past or present primal-heavy-rock-loving person from back in my day, can identify a classic piece from that era within the first two bars of the introduction. Such is the case with 'House of the Rising Sun'. So on Sunday when the choir got up to sing the 'anthem', I knew within two notes that it was 'House of the Rising Sun'. Hold on, I thought! Did that song have a huge underlying religious message I never recognized? I couldn't WAIT until they started the actual singing. Hmmmm....there is a house in New Orleans..... Finally, when the choir came in, the words were 'Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!'
REALLY? The words all seemed to fit; I just couldn't help thinking that the next words would possibly be 'and it's been the ruin of many a poor boy, and God I know I'm one', which would definitely fly in the face of any Christian message they would be trying to deliver. Fortunately, they weren't, and the choir continued on with the lyrics to Amazing Grace. But I still wondered, "Were those of us who had 'experienced' the sixties supposed to overlay the lyrics of House of the Rising Sun with those of Amazing Grace?"
After church I saw the choir director, a sweet and generous twentysomething. I asked him how the words to Amazing Grace were meshed with House. Was that a brainstorm on his part? Oh, no, they weren't. He'd never heard of House of the Rising Sun and had chosen the anthem after he heard the Blind Boys of Alabama sing it on one of their albums.
How disgustingly old I felt.
But our conversation went on. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do for me. Is there something he could do at the house? He's in this part of town a lot and would love to help out in anyway he could. Did I have his number? Did I need anything?
Then he told me about his mother. I knew his stepfather had been diagnosed with some form of cancer. I remember when he went to wherever they live for his stepfather's surgery. But what he told me next both surprised and didn't surprise me. He said that shortly after his stepfather was diagnosed with cancer, his mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. At that point his stepfather emptied all of their savings and bank accounts and took off. His mother is now virtually penniless. How long had they been married? I asked. Since he was a little boy he said. About as long as Bill and I were married. But as awful as that sounds, I somehow 'get it'. Sometimes when you know your life is ending, you don't want to have to deal with anyone else's "stuff". You don't want to make any compromises, any concessions. You want to spend your remaining days doing what you want to do and that's it.
I think that's a big part of what happened with Bill. He had been told his life was ending. He didn't like my dad. He wanted to play poker whenever and wherever he wanted, and he wanted to have the money to do it without having to work. Looked perfect. Could happen. It was a slight gamble but then, hey, that's his game. Take what you can get your hands on and get out. Go live your life the way you want to. No critical father-in-law, no disapproving wife. No responsibilities. The rest is collateral damage and that isn't important. Probably sounded good, especially considering the mental state of mind he was in at the time.
REALLY? The words all seemed to fit; I just couldn't help thinking that the next words would possibly be 'and it's been the ruin of many a poor boy, and God I know I'm one', which would definitely fly in the face of any Christian message they would be trying to deliver. Fortunately, they weren't, and the choir continued on with the lyrics to Amazing Grace. But I still wondered, "Were those of us who had 'experienced' the sixties supposed to overlay the lyrics of House of the Rising Sun with those of Amazing Grace?"
After church I saw the choir director, a sweet and generous twentysomething. I asked him how the words to Amazing Grace were meshed with House. Was that a brainstorm on his part? Oh, no, they weren't. He'd never heard of House of the Rising Sun and had chosen the anthem after he heard the Blind Boys of Alabama sing it on one of their albums.
How disgustingly old I felt.
But our conversation went on. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do for me. Is there something he could do at the house? He's in this part of town a lot and would love to help out in anyway he could. Did I have his number? Did I need anything?
Then he told me about his mother. I knew his stepfather had been diagnosed with some form of cancer. I remember when he went to wherever they live for his stepfather's surgery. But what he told me next both surprised and didn't surprise me. He said that shortly after his stepfather was diagnosed with cancer, his mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. At that point his stepfather emptied all of their savings and bank accounts and took off. His mother is now virtually penniless. How long had they been married? I asked. Since he was a little boy he said. About as long as Bill and I were married. But as awful as that sounds, I somehow 'get it'. Sometimes when you know your life is ending, you don't want to have to deal with anyone else's "stuff". You don't want to make any compromises, any concessions. You want to spend your remaining days doing what you want to do and that's it.
I think that's a big part of what happened with Bill. He had been told his life was ending. He didn't like my dad. He wanted to play poker whenever and wherever he wanted, and he wanted to have the money to do it without having to work. Looked perfect. Could happen. It was a slight gamble but then, hey, that's his game. Take what you can get your hands on and get out. Go live your life the way you want to. No critical father-in-law, no disapproving wife. No responsibilities. The rest is collateral damage and that isn't important. Probably sounded good, especially considering the mental state of mind he was in at the time.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Internet Wisdom
I have been spending a lot of time thinking about marriage and the long-term effects two of them have had on me. And I have had some big 'aha's'.
As I have said before, my mother and the other females in my family sent very strong messages about the necessity of marriage. In their minds marriage completed a woman. There was no place in this world for an unmarried woman. Her life was beyond tragic; it was pointless. In their minds all I needed was to be loved. Everything else would fall into place. I just needed to find a man who would love me. Then he would take care of me. I had no other purpose in life. First, however, I had to finish my education. That was the only caveat: get the college degree. But it was a little tricky because I was also supposed to meet my husband in college. Leaving college without being engaged was tantamount to being a sailor in the 15th century and sailing straight west. If I left college without having found 'the one', I would fall off the edge of the earth. The timing had to be just right. I had to find someone, get engaged, graduate, and then get married. There was an unbreakable sequence. I have spent much of the past several months combating those messages.
A friend of mine suggested marriage is a necessity for two purposes only: home ownership and children. The other stuff doesn't make marriage a necessity. I agree but with one additional purpose: end-of-life affairs. If you aren't married and your significant other dies, then their family members make all 'arrangements'; you have no say. That would be a reason supporting late-in-life marriages. The down side, in case no one has thought of that, would be your new spouse's children feeling you were going to steal their inheritance. I think if I ever married again (and for the past year I have been pretty sure there's not much of a chance of that), I would have to work hard to assure my new stepchildren and step-grandchildren I wasn't going to take all the money and goods they were expecting upon my spouse's death.
But that is by no means my big 'aha'. Nope. My big 'aha' was much bigger than that. In fact, it led me to my revelation. And this is it: I have discovered, to my amazement, that in both my marriages, I ended up feeling both trapped and taken advantage of. In fact, although both instances were vastly different unions, these were their end-products and they were remarkably similar. What was the common denominator? ME. Geeez, back to me. Again.
On the heels of this work came a little article on the internet this morning. It was about marriage. I liked much of what it said. It wasn't full of the commonplace jargon about how to make marriage work. It had a pragmatic style that captured my attention so I copied some of it here. But one thing jumped out at me, one thing that had been a huge realization for me. Can you find it? Here are the 'facts' according to this article:
Sixty-nine percent of all arguments between you and your partner will never be resolved. So don’t try so hard.
A couple that doesn’t fight is in trouble.
Having a “good enough” marriage is the most couples can expect and is actually quite an accomplishment.
Letting go is sometimes better than discussing everything to death.
Respect, not sex or money, is the most important factor in a happy marriage.
There are marital breaches worse than an affair.
A therapist cannot teach, train, or guide you to “be happy.” That is not a reasonable outcome to expect from therapy.
Did you think it was the one about having a 'good enough' marriage? It wasn't. Although that was eye-opening. Or that there are marital breaches worse than an affair? That was a surprise, too, but I have had other betrayals, so that wasn't such a surprise. In some conversations and thoughts I've had over the past year or so, it has become increasing obvious that the one thing that doomed both of my marriages was when I lost respect for my husbands. That is irreparable. I stayed both times in hopes that each would do something to redeem himself in my eyes. I waited for some new avenue to pop up where they could each show me how they could do the right thing, or succeed, or get their lives on a great track, but it never happened. Respect. You've got to respect your spouse. Or at least, I've got to respect my spouse. Lose respect and eventually the marriage will die. And in my case, lose respect and if you don't regain it, you will feel trapped and taken advantage of.
As I have said before, my mother and the other females in my family sent very strong messages about the necessity of marriage. In their minds marriage completed a woman. There was no place in this world for an unmarried woman. Her life was beyond tragic; it was pointless. In their minds all I needed was to be loved. Everything else would fall into place. I just needed to find a man who would love me. Then he would take care of me. I had no other purpose in life. First, however, I had to finish my education. That was the only caveat: get the college degree. But it was a little tricky because I was also supposed to meet my husband in college. Leaving college without being engaged was tantamount to being a sailor in the 15th century and sailing straight west. If I left college without having found 'the one', I would fall off the edge of the earth. The timing had to be just right. I had to find someone, get engaged, graduate, and then get married. There was an unbreakable sequence. I have spent much of the past several months combating those messages.
A friend of mine suggested marriage is a necessity for two purposes only: home ownership and children. The other stuff doesn't make marriage a necessity. I agree but with one additional purpose: end-of-life affairs. If you aren't married and your significant other dies, then their family members make all 'arrangements'; you have no say. That would be a reason supporting late-in-life marriages. The down side, in case no one has thought of that, would be your new spouse's children feeling you were going to steal their inheritance. I think if I ever married again (and for the past year I have been pretty sure there's not much of a chance of that), I would have to work hard to assure my new stepchildren and step-grandchildren I wasn't going to take all the money and goods they were expecting upon my spouse's death.
But that is by no means my big 'aha'. Nope. My big 'aha' was much bigger than that. In fact, it led me to my revelation. And this is it: I have discovered, to my amazement, that in both my marriages, I ended up feeling both trapped and taken advantage of. In fact, although both instances were vastly different unions, these were their end-products and they were remarkably similar. What was the common denominator? ME. Geeez, back to me. Again.
On the heels of this work came a little article on the internet this morning. It was about marriage. I liked much of what it said. It wasn't full of the commonplace jargon about how to make marriage work. It had a pragmatic style that captured my attention so I copied some of it here. But one thing jumped out at me, one thing that had been a huge realization for me. Can you find it? Here are the 'facts' according to this article:
Sixty-nine percent of all arguments between you and your partner will never be resolved. So don’t try so hard.
A couple that doesn’t fight is in trouble.
Having a “good enough” marriage is the most couples can expect and is actually quite an accomplishment.
Letting go is sometimes better than discussing everything to death.
Respect, not sex or money, is the most important factor in a happy marriage.
There are marital breaches worse than an affair.
A therapist cannot teach, train, or guide you to “be happy.” That is not a reasonable outcome to expect from therapy.
Did you think it was the one about having a 'good enough' marriage? It wasn't. Although that was eye-opening. Or that there are marital breaches worse than an affair? That was a surprise, too, but I have had other betrayals, so that wasn't such a surprise. In some conversations and thoughts I've had over the past year or so, it has become increasing obvious that the one thing that doomed both of my marriages was when I lost respect for my husbands. That is irreparable. I stayed both times in hopes that each would do something to redeem himself in my eyes. I waited for some new avenue to pop up where they could each show me how they could do the right thing, or succeed, or get their lives on a great track, but it never happened. Respect. You've got to respect your spouse. Or at least, I've got to respect my spouse. Lose respect and eventually the marriage will die. And in my case, lose respect and if you don't regain it, you will feel trapped and taken advantage of.
Finally Started
Back to the day we were in court.
We didn't get started until 2:30. Bill's attorney alleged that I had retaliated against Bill when I took him off the medical coverage and when I removed him from the life insurance. He said I earn $10,000 a month twelve months of the year and that my dad should be paying $1750 a month to live in the house. He also said I retaliated when I put Bill's cell phone line on hold. That's when I realized why it was that this attorney's 'short matters' in another courtroom had turned into 'long matters'. Bill's attorney can't get to the point. He talks around and around. He slurs his words together a little and is the unfortunate recipient of the gift of poor oratory skills. I have no idea why Bill hired him. He charges $425 an hour and now wants $30,000 in attorney's fees. He used the word 'clearly' a lot, but what I saw was that whenever he said that word, he was about to stretch the truth. It became a 'marker' word. He'd say, "Clearly," and I'd think, "Here comes a lie." It never failed.
Then the judge said we needed to take a break for the court reporter. I was worried the little squirt would disappear again.
My attorney had Bill on the stand and reminded him that he had been removed from the house on a domestic violence charge. Bill was quick to say he had never laid a hand on me. The rest was a blur.
How did the day go by so quickly? I don't know. But soon it was 4:30 and time for court to close for the day. We had not even begun to present our case. As if that weren't bad enough, the judge asked the attorneys to run the Dissomaster program (a program that's used statewide to calculate spousal support) on $10,000 a month and additional $750, $1750 and $1300. We tried to tell the judge that I didn't make $10,000 a month but he wouldn't allow any additional comments. I felt like a victim. I felt myself sinking into a depression.
Two days later I came down with a cold that moved into my chest and I've been ill ever since.
We didn't get started until 2:30. Bill's attorney alleged that I had retaliated against Bill when I took him off the medical coverage and when I removed him from the life insurance. He said I earn $10,000 a month twelve months of the year and that my dad should be paying $1750 a month to live in the house. He also said I retaliated when I put Bill's cell phone line on hold. That's when I realized why it was that this attorney's 'short matters' in another courtroom had turned into 'long matters'. Bill's attorney can't get to the point. He talks around and around. He slurs his words together a little and is the unfortunate recipient of the gift of poor oratory skills. I have no idea why Bill hired him. He charges $425 an hour and now wants $30,000 in attorney's fees. He used the word 'clearly' a lot, but what I saw was that whenever he said that word, he was about to stretch the truth. It became a 'marker' word. He'd say, "Clearly," and I'd think, "Here comes a lie." It never failed.
Then the judge said we needed to take a break for the court reporter. I was worried the little squirt would disappear again.
My attorney had Bill on the stand and reminded him that he had been removed from the house on a domestic violence charge. Bill was quick to say he had never laid a hand on me. The rest was a blur.
How did the day go by so quickly? I don't know. But soon it was 4:30 and time for court to close for the day. We had not even begun to present our case. As if that weren't bad enough, the judge asked the attorneys to run the Dissomaster program (a program that's used statewide to calculate spousal support) on $10,000 a month and additional $750, $1750 and $1300. We tried to tell the judge that I didn't make $10,000 a month but he wouldn't allow any additional comments. I felt like a victim. I felt myself sinking into a depression.
Two days later I came down with a cold that moved into my chest and I've been ill ever since.
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