"My husband died two years after that happening. And I did go to work that day. It was troublesome to say the least, only because I had to make a decision, that being, if I was going back into that house or not. I did not go back. I gathered my children and stayed with a friend. Not fresh cloths for a week, not much money, and at the mercy of my friends, and having to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She would not accept anything less, and I'm glad I did. I needed to get it out; share it. Make it real. Make it public. When it wasn't' public, I had no chance, nor help. I have also learned with this secret stuff, that if what a person is doing [husband or wife] cannot go public with his actins, it is most likely abusive. And let me add [read on], the problem is much deeper than the surface situation. Meaning, his hurting the family, as in my case, it caused mental condition. And what caused that, that fucken drink, drug. Oh yes, sorry about the F word, but it is in place my friend. If you have been robbed like me, it would be in place for you also. No apologies. I then filed a complaint with the police, and had two huge officers walk me to my home, up the trying steps, to my front door. He came out in his blue jeans and sweaty looking shirt. The police told him he had 5-minutes to get his close and move out and that if he returned he would be picked up. And if he hurt me, it would be considered an assault. It was the hardest thing I ever did. I was literally shaking, walking up those steps and then looking him in his staring eyes; as if I was a traitor. But I simply remembered the bed scene, the eggs I would have to cook in the morning. And why should I live out of a paper bag while he is drunk at home. As I was saying he died two years later. His heart was bad. But he died sober. He did go get help, and I did allow him to move back into the house after several months of sobriety. And no, he couldn't work again. But he was a better man. Not the same one who I married, but then I was not the same either. It took me another two years to date (After his death), to build my strength up. I met my first date; fell head over heals with him. I think because he showed me respect, not because he loved me. I think he liked me, and I couldn't tell the difference between love and like. Oh, well. We had a good time. And we did date for a long time. And I was not quite as healed as I thought I was so I took things a little easier after that. I guess I needed to be ok with or without men. Preferring to be with them of course. And yes, I learned all mean are not assholes, only 70% of them. But how would I find one of the 30%. The secret is I think: don't go looking for him. And make sure he is not looking for you. We women think we select the men, how dumb we can be, they have us focused in long before we even notice them. And another thing I learned in the wide world of relationships, I need appreciation, love. This is not a want; it is a big need of mine. If he can't give it, I can't teach it. I am too old to work so hard at it. I do realize we both need to work at a relationship, but it should not have to be so hard all the time. It should come somewhat naturally. I think I like this Afterward better than the story. The story gets me down. And I feel up right now. You may be asking about my husband that died. How do I feel? I guess, it was at the time, years ago now, I was angry he died on me. Very upset. Why, because I didn't get to tell him everything I wanted to. Didn't get to discuss. Talk. And then he was gone. Could I have started over, I tried. And could I trust him, I'm not sure. Trust has to be worked on. And it seldom works. As I said, I had changed. I was a survivor. I probably took him back because of my value system, because he was ill, because of the children. I don't really know, nor do I have to cross that road again. It isn't possible, so why try. Am I now happy? It is a good question. I have learned happiness to be something of a byproduct. Not the pleasure high, or the things high, or the control factor. It is seeing my children get married now, my grand daughter. Giving what I can and watching the smile appear. That is my happiness. Let me add to the period of time, which I call "The Hell Period." After my husband had died, I ended up with a boyfriend, after two years of grieving, or trying to get my act together. In addition, my house burned down. Oh yes, when it rains it pours. And then the boyfriend left me, not for another girl, but just left. You know how that works. I guess men and woman are different. I think we all think-women and men--, that we think the same, when in essence, it is far from the truth. I waited for sometime to get some kind of a solid commitment with that boyfriend I was talking about, I had to put him in the corner. Give him an alternative. Why? I was already giving him an exclusive relationship; again I learned we speak different languages. We do need a contract with the other person I learned, it is the other side of the coin, or should I say, with the male gender. And so, having said that, I must go and see how my daughter is doing with my granddaughter. Do-do-lee-do. There are no heroes my friend, not in this corner of the world. They are all dead. There are only us survivors." Note: Story originally written in 1989 or l990, revised in l991, and left alone until 2001, and reedited from a MS, and published in "Chasing the Sun," 2002, now revised and republished here 6/2006. |
