The Heart Break Files, part 6

Day 5 – I woke up before 10 this morning. I think I will consider that an achievement, even if the only reason I got up was to answer my mom's phone call. I had 19 new emails but all were junk mail, just another slap in my face that I was not worth having in Jesse’s life. In the process of deleting the new messages, I accidently deleted all the old ones, too. I was furious. I no longer had every note he had written me during our brief re-encounter. Then I realized how much I needed to get rid of that baggage anyway. Even if I didn't think I was ready to.

Does it really count that I am awake if I am just planted in front of the TV for hours of mindless reality TV shows? My guess- not so much.

I find myself thinking, I just want to go home but I am home so, what's missing? I think it may be time to pull out the big guns and do some retail therapy to get me out of my funk. I'm pretty sure that a new pair of shoes and some fun tights are just the way for me to enter the autumn season and could possibly be the link to me moving out of the denial and depression switch off I have been in. Besides, if I find some really hot boots, I'll have no choice but to fling myself into a Nancy Sinatra-esque mood and start my boots on walking all over my Jesse memories until I have successfully accomplished my anger phase and whole heartily face another stage of grief.

I got in the shower, got myself all cleaned up, and ready for an attack on the retail world when I looked outside and saw my husband hard at work. I couldn't go spend money when he was working on the yard. That would terrible. Then, right when I was going to jump in and help, he had to blow it. He came in and shouted at me for not helping and all my hard headed resistance stood up in me and there was no way I wanted to assist him while he was in righteous martyr asshole mode and I told him so. That resulted in him telling me I had best have another place to live in when we sell this place because he sure as hell was not going to live with me again. I assured him I would find a place big enough for just the kids and me. He stormed out and I realized that this kind of behavior is the kind of thing that if I weren't so damn stubborn it would be enough for me to give up all hope and just leave. Too bad I'm a raging Irish girl.

I said, why wait? I started to get the kids ready to leave for a bit – told him I wasn’t sure if we would be back that night and he was furious that I would leave but I kept pointing out that he said he didn’t want to live with me and he kept asking about the kitchen and we went round and round until he lost his temper, he stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. The kids and I were just on the other side. I reached out to the handle, wanting to come in and talk and that’s when it started. We heard a slam, I took a step back, and then there was another as Ruben punched the master bedroom door down and terrified the kids and me. I almost called the police but the phone was in the master bedroom, which is where he was so, instead, I left with the kids and went to my sister’s house to try to calm the kids down. We ate dinner and the kids played with their cousins as I talked it over with my sister. I have a feeling Ms. Stephanie at school is going to be asking me about this one because BOTH the kids still won’t stop talking about it.

I came home around 9, put the kids to bed and Ruben and I talked about how scared I was and how could he jump to not wanting to be together and breaking down a door over some dishes? And he kept asking again about the dishes (I cleaned the kitchen when I got home) but I told him I couldn’t change what happened earlier, all I could do is look for an action plan for the future. What kind of assurance do I have that he wouldn’t do that again? Or worse? He gave no answer. Then I asked what he wanted to do. He asked me. I told him I wanted to work it out but my answer is irrelevant because he obviously holds the reins in our relationship. He said that he was sure we would have another fight. He wanted to try to make it work but he was sure we would have another fight like that in the future and it was probably time to face that we were not meant for one another. I sobbed and he sat down beside me and said, “I love you, you know that, right? I do love you”

“No.” I answered. “I don’t know that! You know I’ve been unsure about us for a long time. How long have you known we weren’t meant for each other?”

“I didn’t say that! I said we many have to face we don’t belong together – why are you crying?”

“I’ve given you 8 years of my life. I have given you my everything! We have two kids and a house and I always looked to the big picture. I was in this forever but you haven’t been.”

“Sometimes, love isn’t enough, Allison. I do love you but I don’t think we were ready for all of this.”

“Maybe you weren’t ready but that doesn’t mean you are supposed to give up!”

“You can’t say you were ready for this”

“I was! I was ready to get married! Ready to have the children we have! Ready to buy a home – obviously not this one, it’s a complete project house and I don’t think either of us could’ve foreseen spending all the time and effort we did on this home only to have the flood and need to start over. It isn’t fair but it is what it is and we just need to deal.”

He was silent and then walked away. I followed into the bedroom, impressed that the door was removed and debris had been cleared. He was in the bathroom, applying Neosporin to his fist and arm. I offered up bandages and he barked for me to go to bed. I felt like my heart had been run over by a train – a train with lots of cars carrying lots of cargo. He came out to the couch and asked me to come to bed. I spent the next 3 hours watching the clock from our queen sized bed, amazed that I could still read the time through the blur of the tears that rolled down my face.