If it’s okay, I’m ready now to talk about what happened.
Early evening on Friday my son’s school had their annual winter play. I had been up at the school since the daytime volunteering so my husband brought me a change of clothes. Everyone was there - my husband, my brother, my mother and her new boyfriend (yuck), several members of my husband’s family.
In the past the OM would have been there too. But now he is not welcome to attend anything or even be in our presence.
We were all so proud. My son has special needs, so being able to participate in a school play is monumental. He has never been part of it before, and with everything that has been going on this year, it’s surprising he could now. I was in my usual spot where the fine arts teacher placed me backstage just in case something went wrong and he needed help. But nothing went wrong. He did FANTASTIC. Even though his part was a small one, as far as we were concerned, he was the star of the show.
It was such a joyous event. Yet lurking in the back of my mind was dread, as that night I was supposed to leave my family.
(Interjecting for a moment to share something my IC told me. She said that sometimes when I talk about things it seems hollow and detached. Almost like I’m a narrator instead of the person who lived it. She said she believes it’s an unhealthy protective coping mechanism and I have to break away from it. That I’m not a passive observer of my own life but an active participant in it, including past events. That I need to be IN those moments when I talk about them. Allow myself to feel, even if it’s painful. Connect with what happened and not disassociate from it. I wonder which one I’m doing now.)
My husband had arranged for our son to go with my in laws for some celebratory ice cream after the play. That would give me time to pack up some of my belongings without my son there and put them in my car before he returned. That would make the goodbye less painful, we thought.
When I got home my husband was already there. He had a box at his feet and had already started to pack some things for me. He turned and asked me if it was okay if he helped me. I said yes. He said he wasn’t trying to hurt me by telling me to leave. I told him that I knew that.
We packed silently for a few minutes. Then he stopped and turned to me. “Did you see our boy tonight?” he asked. His eyes were shiny and his voice thick with emotion; he was smiling, but it was a sad smile. “Did you see how great he did? I wish he could see himself like I see him. That he wouldn’t doubt. He can do anything...”
He stopped mid-sentence because he got emotional. I could tell he was holding back tears. I couldn’t hold mine back. He took my hand in his. I squeezed his hand and used my other hand to wipe my tears away. I tried to smile at him, but my lips were quivering. He looked at me. “You’re so beautiful,” he said to me. “You have always been so beautiful to me.”
I gathered my courage and I said in a low voice that I had something important that I needed to tell him. He stiffened, dropped my hand, and stood up. He walked across the room and leaned his forehead against the wall. He let out a strange half-laugh. Then he turned around and looked at me. “Let me guess. You fucked him again.”
I was shocked. “No!” I shrieked. I stood up too. “No! I haven’t talked to him, haven’t seen him. Don’t want to see him. I quit my job, that’s all. I quit like you wanted me to. I haven’t slept with anybody!”
He looked at me and then he looked away. He was quiet for a long time. Then he slumped a little against the wall. “What...when...” he said. Then he turned his head a little to the side and said something like why are you making this harder for me. His tone was lowered and I couldn’t make out the right words. I told him I would do anything to make us work. He said please leave.
I said that our son wasn’t back yet. That I hadn’t told him goodbye. He said you can call him tomorrow. I can’t do this. I need you to leave now.
We put on our shoes silently and walked outside. He carried the box to my car, dumped it in the backseat, and went back in the house without looking at me. I got in the car and drove to my brother’s house. I cried the whole way.
And I have been just laying in the bed here at my brother’s house since then. I talked to my son on the phone yesterday. I pray I will talk to him again on the phone today. I have not talked to my husband. My brother said he is going to call him today, but I don’t know what he plans to say to him.
Thank you all for your posts. I don’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone. Other than my brother and the phone calls from my son, SI is my only human interaction.
It hurts so badly.
He must hate me.