Dark place

This writing is not going to be pretty.  So, if you don't want to hear the story, stop here.

I lived in a very dark place for about eleven and a half years.  The door to that place opened after my husband had triple-bypass surgery.  He went into the hospital the man I had married 20 years before, but came home a stranger.  I had no idea who this man was.

He was angry, volatile, and mean.  I never knew one moment to the next what was going to happen.  It almost seemed as though the fact he had to take early retirement and his illness was somehow my fault and took his frustrations out on me.  I tried to cope, and for my part I have to confess I began to distance myself for what I thought was my own preservation.  Did this act somehow fuel his fire?

One day I suggested that perhaps we needed counseling, oh, bad idea...s--t really hit the fan that day.  And for the first time I felt actual fear of him.  I knew to never approach that subject again.  I really wanted to know how much of this was my fault, how could we fix this?

His anger rose.

His memory began to fail.  This became another great frustration for me.  I didn't know what to do or say. He would tell me something, but when I would remind, or tell him something about that conversation he would say he had never said it.

Everything was my fault, and I believed it was.  I didn't know how to fix this.  What could I change except myself, I further withdrew in order to avoid conflict.  That was wrong wasn't it?

Going out in public became unbearable.  He was rude to store employees, get angry with them to the point I wished the ground would open up and swallow me.  There was one incident where I actually left the building and waited outside.  All along, there were memory lapses.  He prided in his tools, but now I would find them left outside.  He lost his keys.  Could not remember our bank account pass word.

Karen was so distraught she wanted to move to California and I encouraged her to do exactly that.  I'm glad she did, great move for her, she's doing great.  She didn't want to leave me behind.  But I was in it for the long haul.

For better, or worse, sickness and health.

Oh, things did get worse.  I will not elucidate here, except to say it was a slippery slope for me.  In order to keep the peace I further withdrew, he complained we never talked.  I wanted to be truthful and say I would except you find fault with everything I say and each conversation ends in an argument.  But, I didn't because I knew we would argue.  So, I decided I would make the effort to converse...but except for the weather, how he felt, how was work, what would you like for dinner, everything else seemed to upset him.

I began to worry when he left for work, if someday he might not remember how to get home.  One day he forgot I had gone to Lowes with him, came home saw I was not there and sheepishly came back for me.  I
let that one go...I was seething, but knew better than make an issue he had actually made a mistake.

I wondered how he was able to contain his anger and be 'normal' while he was at work, until I came to realize he must have had to work very hard at that because he would come home exhausted.

Things got worse.  He became a maniacal driver, I was terrified to go in the vehicle with him.  Talk about road rage.  Everyone was a stupid driver.  One day I even said did it occur to him that the driver he was having a problem with might have a gun and shoot us.  I guess that didn't matter, his driving habits didn't change.

Finally, there were two times I thought he might actually hit me.  After the second time, I went into my office shaking, realizing I could not live like this any more.  I knew I was going to have to move out.  The only thing I was now concerned about was our four legged creatures. I definitely wanted to take them...but I knew in my heart this was going to be the worse battle of all.  Frankly I was terrified.

I became quite ill, made a visit to the emergency room, and had several visits to the doctor.  I honestly think today that was the start of my panic attacks.  During one of those incidents he left me at the clinic nurses station, and told me to call him when I was ready to come home.  I thought the nurses were going to kill him.  They treated me with great kindness, and I was thankful.

I think somehow my husband knew I had secretly decided I was done.  He became quite ill himself.  There were trips to the emergency room for him.  He continued to work, but I could see him becoming more and more frail, I tried to convince him he didn't need to work, and to retire for good.   For the first time he said he would think about it.

Neither of us had any more time to 'think about it'.  So, on that fateful Saturday night, I knew he was ill and I tried to convince him to call his employer to find a replacement for him at his security job; and he did, but apparently they told him here wasn't one and he left for work....he never came home.  I got a call around noon on Sunday from his employer saying he had passed away during the night.

I felt awful he had passed away in a huge, dark, building alone.  If only he had stayed home.  Funny, that.  I had always joked with the kids he would die at work...darn if he didn't.  None of us were surprised.

His Will made everything very simple, we had years before donated our bodies to science.  There was to be no funeral, memorial service.  Financial things were taken care of, house repairs had to be made, I adjusted to single life.

Finally I moved the dark place to the farthest corner of my memory and closed the door.  But...then...some days...like today.  The door to that corner of my memory cracks open, and the darkness temporarily returns.  I think perhaps to remind me that I lived my married life with two men.  The one I married, and the monster he had started to become.

I know he is here in the house...I've heard his footsteps, he sat on the bed with me once.   I occasionally smell his pipe.  And he talks to me in my head...I hear his voice.  Do you think he is trying to tell me that he's sorry?  I do.