I'm usually able to keep my emotions under control, so nobody knows what's going on just below the surface. Oh, occasionally I will get up on my soapbox and rant for a few minutes, or I will seethe over what some politician says or does, or I'll even shoot somebody 'a look' from time to time when I can't believe what they have allowed their child to do in public.
But the other me, is very, very private and generally nobody knows what is happening just below my well cosmetic-ed face, and placid body language. I suppose it is the same with all of us.
The last few days however, a very emotional me has been bubbling toward the top. I want to weep, and weep, and weep. I can be walking down the hall and have a thought pop into my head and I can feel the tears just behind my mascaraed lashes.
I see the new commercial on television of young ladies who have joined the Air Force and are proudly serving the nation, and I burst into tears. Things, tiny, teeny things make me puddle up. I began to think maybe I've been so emotional because I'm finally (physically) feeling better, and am so relieved I was not going 'mental' I want to cry the 'happy' kind of tears.
However, truth be told, I know I just want a festering old wound to heal. I'm tired of putting hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic lotions on it. I need to talk about it, then clean it, place lotion on it, bandage it, and never look at it again until the bandage has fallen off of it by its own accord, and there is a clean, pink, healed scar in it's place.
The last third of my married life was no picnic. I won't go into the sad details, just know it was a downward slide on a hot, greased, unmanned attraction at an amusement park.
Toward the end of the ride, my husband would lose his temper to the point I was actually afraid of him. He would get angry at me over the most simple things, ranting and raving. All I could do was stand there and take it. I was lucky, he never did any physical damage, but I got some pretty serious wounds on the inside. A few weeks before he passed away, he blew up at me because I had an upset stomach and had my medications sitting out to take, but had not yet ingested them. When he asked my why I had not taken them, I said I wanted to take them after breakfast, because my stomach was already upset and didn't want to take them on an empty stomach. He got livid, storming on and on about they should always be taken at the same time, blah, blah, blah...for a good five minutes. I was thankful the kitchen island was between us, I had never seen him so angry. When he was done, he abruptly, turned a foot, and stormed into the garage. I was stunned.
I remember taking my coffee and going to the office. I sat the mug down, leaned both hands against my storage cabinet, and thought (loudly, in my head) "I'm done, I am so done." And for the first time I actually thought about leaving everything, house, pets, husband, everything behind. I will never forget that moment.
Shortly after, my husband came back into the house, I fixed breakfast, and our day began. It was as though his blow-up had ever happened at all.
Like always, there was never an I'm sorry, or explanation for his behavior. And I was always to afraid to do anything else except to say I'm sorry. It was never about trying on purpose to upset him, it just seemed to happen. Sadly, I never knew what would bring an angry episode on, so I never knew when to expect one.
Anyway, this week I've been thinking a lot about those episodes. I wish I knew a good psychic who can connect with those who have passed on. I would love to hear from my husband. All I want to hear are those two words. I'm sorry. What peace of mind that would bring me, I just want to know it was not me that caused those years of anger, but the hidden demons deep within the stranger who overtook my husband's body when we came home from the hospital after his heart surgery.
Maybe, what has happened this week is, I finally feel, on some spiritual level, he telling me 'I'm sorry'. Maybe that is why I'm so close to opening the floodgate of tears I have wanted to shed for so long. Maybe, I should finally let them wash over my emotional wound and clean out the fester, so I can at last, apply a sterile bandage and wait for the scar to form and heal.