I can’t get her dressed while she begs and cries to not go
to school. I can’t get her to eat, I can’t get her in the car, I can’t get her
into the preschool building and dropped off. Now, I can’t. Not “I can’t get her
to do what I’m saying”. If I had time, patience, some tiny morsel of stamina
and “bandwidth” left, I could…. But I don’t, so I can’t.
I probably could if I wasn’t working and had all day to
recuperate and then get ready for her energy level to come home and do the
evening routine.
We are barely skimming by. On every front. Barely getting
enough hours in at works. Barely getting food into our systems. Barely getting
sleep. Barely getting Morgan into a routine (morning, day, or night-time).
Barely able to pay rent. Barely able to fit into my clothes I’ve gained so much
weight these past 5 years. Barely able to imagine what 2013 will hold.
My cell phone rings mid-morning and a girlfriend that I really
admire and love, and had secretly hoped to be closer to her and a friend she
would “select” to confide in. Well, it was her on the other end and she was
asking Morgan to be her flower-girl in her wedding this summer—August 2013. Yay—how
absolutely exciting!!! Morgan instantly went and packed her Strawberry
Shortcake rolling suitcase and set it by the front door. “When do we leave?!?!”
Then, my friend Beth asked me to be a bridesmaid in her
wedding… wow. The depth of connection I felt was amazing. The depth of
appreciation I felt was great. The depth of being honored by a woman I hold in
high esteem was filling.This is the little “push” towards normalcy that I’ve been seeking. How do I start getting out, into the world, into friendships, and living life? This wedding was gonna be it. I am elated!
I took a break to eat lunch, and Wayne came into the bedroom where I was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching tellie, and eating lunch. He stood there, dazed and eyes glazed-over, left hand on his left hip, shaking his head, and lost in thought while looking out our bedroom window at Puget Sound.
“You look concerned?”
“Yeah!”
“Do you wonder if we’ll get back to New Zealand this year for vacation?”
“Nah. Whee,” while shaking his head and waving his hand to indicate ‘No’ like he was sweeping crumbs off a tabletop.
“It seems like it’s something in the future. ?? Yes??”
“Wheee! Yeah. No, no, no.” (which translates to, “Yes!
Totally—you got it. Something in the future!”
This went on for 20 minutes. Back and forth. Yes-No
questions from me. And random words with clear inflection and excitement or
disappointment in his voice when I got it right, or got it wrong.
Finally, I hone-in-on the fact that he is talking about his
and my future. And then I pause… I freeze. “Do you want a divorce?!?”
And, Wayne, still zoned, calm, and matter-of-factly, didn’t
show excitement or like he usually does when I finally get the point, “Fuckin’
finally”… he just nodded his head, and said, “Yeah. …. Yep.” And then he broke
the unbodied gaze and looked at me with defeat.
I felt the same. Defeat.
The depth of defeat I felt was suffocating. I felt the depth
of this realization for him, and to make this decision for our family, was
startling. Deep. Deep, deep, deep under heavy boulders. Deep, deep despair.
Deep fear and anger and loneliness.
I believe he saw Beth’s invitation as a sign that people
move on and get re-married. That happiness is still an option. That the road on
which one is traveling is not necessarily the best road.
Five days later, on January 15th, I had a long
dream. A dream from which I awoke crying. Sobbing. It was a dream of Wayne and
I, sitting at the plastic white table down on the Seattle waterfront where we
sat on our first date. He looked like the 1999 version of himself—more of a
mullet-style hairdo, less of the post-hypothyroid-bulging eyes, no dent on his
forehead from the craniotomy, and words. Words that I long for him to say and
for me to hear.
“I’m calling it,” he says in my dream. “What?! You can’t
just call it. We are in this together!” “Well, I’m calling it.” “You can’t just
make that decision for the both of us. I’m here—I love you. We aren’t calling
it quits!” “Well, I am.” I couldn’t believe it. How could this deep love of our
lifetimes just be done? How could he be just putting a “lid” on this deep life that
had intertwined and evolved?
“I’m not leaving you!” I scoulded. He said, “I know. I’m
leaving you. I’m holding you and Morgan back. I’m not moving forward, Julie. I’m
stagnant. And you and Morgan aren’t moving forward. You’re stuck. You need to
move forward. And you have to do it
without me.”
“I don’t WANT to do it without you!”
“You’re gonna have to.”
“You do not get to make this decision for all of us!”
“I am, and I did.”
“So… you still love me then?!? I thought you asked for the
divorce because you didn’t love me anymore with how much I’ve changed since the
stroke….”
And he just smiled his Wayne Bacon smirk and did his
fake-wink at me (where he acts like he is winking his right eye, but he turns his
head to the left while tipping it toward me so that I can’t see his left eye
and it looks like only his right eye is closing… but, he can’t wink… so he’s
blinking, but hiding the left eye from me).
He does love me—okay. Well, now I’m not as confused, because
I just couldn’t understand how much we could love each other and then have it
just all be gone. Poof. Vanished. Shallow. Nothing.
I woke up, to January 16th, 2013, and I was
bawling. He woke him up, and I told him my dream, and asked him if he still
loved me but just realized how “we” no longer worked… and he started to cry.
I felt the depth again. It was no longer where I would reside
and live and love and laugh… but the depth was back.
