How is it done?

A beautiful, delicate young woman came up to me after the first class last night. She said she was drawn to me and then told me about her mother who had stayed in an abusive marriage for years. The story was horrific. This lovely girl witnessed the worst kind of mental and physical abuse. Her mother is a psychologist. And after escaping from her husband and holing up in Sparcc shelters in Florida she was able to have her husband arrested and put in jail for five years.

She is now seeing him again.

How is any of this possible?

What mental gymnastics of denial and excuses and flimsy explanations allows you to move back to your oppressor - back to the man who beat you in front of your children?

I told her I wasn't hit intentionally, that I was shaken. Grabbed and shaken. Her eyes were full of tears, "That's abuse. That's abuse."

What were my excuses and flimsy explanations? How did I justify my staying?

And now he lives next door. My God.

A non-sequitor about roses from the past

In the the summer before my senior year a dozen red roses were delivered to our house for my birthday. My sister answered the door and sent them away, confident that no one in our house would be receiving roses. I've always loved that story. When the young man who sent them came over later that afternoon and looked all over the downstairs for the roses he had ordered for me he finally went to my mom and asked her about them. She had no idea that a delivery had been made let alone sent away. He and I jumped into his cab, (he was driving a cab as part-time work as he was learning Korean for a future assignment as an Air Force linguist in Seoul)and spent two very romantic hours trying to track down the errant roses. He was my secret much shorter and older friend of my sister's fiancée who was in love with a beautiful Korean woman, but spent several long afternoons necking with me.

No one ever seemed to think it odd that the roses had been turned away. It was very natural for all of us not consider me the recipient of roses. Funny.

I also received roses from another Airman after returning from my extended vist to Greece. The roses had been ordered from Athens and mistakenly shipped to Alaska before they found there way to my parents' home in Massachusetts two or three weeks later. The blossoms were black and the crisp leaves had disintegrated. Another funny story... but definitely not the romantic ideal. Which was all kind of foreshadowing, as the sender of the long stem black roses was profoundly gay and just teetering on the sill of his Irish, Roman Catholic repressed closet.I was his last "girlfriend" black roses seem the perfect ending to or peculiar romance.

This is what I don't understand

This is what I don't understand:
I don't understand why my heart hurts so much.
Why does memory hurt so much. I see "M" on New Year's Eve full in the knowledge of what he is about to do. Having lied about committing to work on our marriage and to committing to counseling. Lying that there is no one else in his life. Lying that he is not leaving. I see him pouring us wine and laughing in our friend's kitchen. Sitting at a table that was full so that I am unable to sit with him. He shrugs at me, pretending to be unable to move or make room for me. He dances with me and poses for pictures and takes my arm so I don't trip while we are walking. He rarely makes eye contact. Except when I look up and see him watching me from across the room. I smile and he continues to look at me expressionlessly. I can't decipher his look. He knows that he is about destroy 11 years together. He only has to wait for me to leave for my trip to New England. Ka will be back from her trip. He only has to wait for that. Thinking of Ka. Knowing that everything he and I say for the next six days will be a lie. That making love to me will be a lie. That he has done this with his first and second wife makes him very good at this. He is done. And he will do anything to get out of this life with me.
This image or another equally painful one will rise up from my chest leaving me feeling lost and alone and so confused. The same unanswerable questions wash over me. And despite my friends and my job and my daughter I slide under the water for awhile. Pray, the woman said, pray for strength, courage and wisdom. Pray. I am not alone in any of this. I have to trust in that. There are good men, and good relationships. There will be joy and trust. I have to believe in hope not in the hopelessness that "M" represents. Not in betrayal. Please God help me to float.

mowing and thinking on a hot Richmond evening

They are still gone next door and it feels safe to enjoy my yard, so despite the heat I wrestled with the mower this evening after dinner. Sweated those two Bass beers I drank with dinner right out of my system. Even though I was up at 4:30 this morning to drive my darling sister to the airport I feel energized. Red-faced with wet sweaty hair and full of thoughts and theories and observations.

My sister Kathleen arranged that I meet an old friend of hers and George's on Saturday at Can Can. She described me in the e-mail inviting him as her "suddenly single sister." Poor man. He and his brother and his brother's wife, and his daughter and his daughter's partner all met us for dinner. Awkward. Oh my. Could of been a disaster of epic middle-aged proportions except for the fact that these were very gracious people who are a clan. Just like my small family is a clan. They were just happy to see each other and considered seeing Kathleen a bonus as they clearly love her for who she is and as George's wife. They were there as a kindness to Kath and I deeply appreciated it. It took about three seconds to realize that the best thing I could achieve that evening was to make my big sister proud. So I divorced myself from any expectations and tried to be my most gracious and amusing and all things generous. This is a very attractive smart guy who also happens to be the father of an amazingly smart tough and gorgeous young woman in her first year of surgical residency. It was fun sitting next to her, her energy crackled - I liked that.
It was also fun not to be socializing with men who have witnessed the last seven months of my pain. Men who are husbands to my women friends and who have not a friggin' idea what to do with me. I am the loose cannon. No one can flirt harmlessly with me like they could when I was attached. And besides, they are all waiting for me to burst into racking sobs, and for my head to spin totally around on my shoulders.

On Saturday I think I made these guys laugh, and I think I looked okay for a 54 year old six foot two old broad. Most of all I think I made my big sister proud, and that is just all right. I also think I forgot to thank those boys for dinner. It was nice to get out.

hell. I had all kinds of other observations to make... but the Bass beer and the sweat and the fact that I have been up for 17 hours have conspired to drain any energy for profundities tonight.

gifts and surprises

so. I was ready for the birthday from hell:
Middle-aged (well middle-aged if I live to be 108 years old) abandoned woman with a major chest scar celebrates her first single birthday in twelve years with a noble, "no really, birthdays mean nothing to me" attitude, and a really lousy attempt at smiling through the confusion.

Prepared to be glazed over, fogged out, and feeling completely vunerable. fighting the urge to look over to the next door neighbor's deck where I was sure I would catch sight of my ex-husband toasting his lover with a lovely glass of bordeaux while glaring at his old home with superiority. BAM, instant hot flash. My new reaction to the thought, memory, and lingering fear of "M" - HUGE red hot flash starting with my face and descending into my chest. All over sweat and dizziness. Ah yes, a new physical way to experience loss.

What really happened:
Fabulous, generous cards and calls and flowers and balloons on all the door handles.
A dinner made by my daughter. An adorable funny birdbath given by Deb and salad tossers from Molly.

And just as I was about to go out to weed, a surprise party! Thrown in my own kitchen by my darling neighbors - bearing quiches, and wine and chips and plants for my garden. parading into my kitchen, talking all at once and pouring wine, finding dishes as I stood with my mouth slightly ajar. Darling, disarming generousity and love brought into my home. I'm still in shock. Did that really happen? Are people really that loving and open and sensitive? I'm grinning. Heart gifts. What love. What kindness.

How lucky am I. thank you thank you.

the beach and a birthday

Molly and I met at Rob and Deb's wonderful little home on the Outer Banks. Once again I had the pleasure of watching an intact marriage. They know each other so well and take care of each other with kindness and consistently, side-stepping the areas where they drive each other crazy. Their's is a good marriage and a trusting friendship - all their own.

We went to Pea Island on Sunday. It is a wild place that Molly and I have loved since she was four. "M" never felt comfortable coming here and associating with Rob and Deb's friends. My first husband's spirit lives here and besides "M" expressed often how he couldn't relate to these people. They were too simple for him. It is their simplicity I most admire.

Every week these old friends gather on one of the most beautiful beaches in America. They are craftspeople and building contractors, social workers and artists. They sit on beach chairs and watch the water - spot the porpoises and the rays' dark flashes in the waves. They read and do crossword puzzles and tell stories about their children or dogs or complain about the tourists. Everyone shares fried chicken and Pringles and Gatorade and sunscreen, and decide if the water is warm enough or the waves good enough for a small afternoon adventure. Some of them spend the day surfing long boards and coming in only for a minute for the umbrella shade and a long drink of water. A few play with their kids in the foamy edge catching tiny fish to throw to the gulls. A few women just go into the surf just to cool down, dunking their heads and climbing out of the surf after a brief float, their adventure days are behind them. They exchange recipes, or book titles, or vent about their husbands. They have been meeting on these beautiful beaches every Sunday for years.

Molly and I are occasional visitors these days. Everyone knows about our dark winter and the women shower us with kindness, the men never know what to say.

Sunday was a warm day with a soft breeze. We arrived at the beach as the tide was almost out and the waves were big enough to ride longboards and soft enough for a beach weenie to boogie board. Another visitor, a woman one month younger then me who is divorced, has two kids and retired as full colonel told me to grab her son's boogie board and come out to play. Ohmygod it was amazing. Hours and hours of just pointing the boards towards the shore and jumping on board. We laughed until we almost drowned. She would yell "Let's show them what a couple of almost 54 year old women can do." And so we did. Rushing towards the shore perched on a top of a white foamy wave looking at each othere in amazement and laughing. I got tumbled once and didn't panic. I went down the falls and learned how to compensate the board to avoid disaster next time. The white water would bubble around my head and I would think of my women friends and sisters and how much fun they would have on this gentle exhilarating jet to the beach. For two hours there was no "M", no guilt, no sorrow, no birthday. Just the same kid who would of loved this 40 years ago loving it right now. And surfing next to me was my blonde surfer person daughter, standing on the waves - triumphant. A fine afternoon.

Happy birthday Universe. Thank you for the perfect gift.

Compromise

The point of loving someone is the compromise. How to compromise without being compromised. Walking the line of letting things go without losing your spirit and your moral compass. I had adapted to the dance on eggshells pretty remarkably well with M. My weakness was fear. I feared his outbursts and his anger. So I would withhold information that I thought would anger him. Particulary about my daughter. It was cowardly, but it worked more often then not. He would get a new car to work on and would be distracted and we would be alright for awhile.

When he did get angry or frustrated I would always rally to the cause. Fight the good fight. But it wore me down.

It is easy to forget that it doesn't have to be this hard. That there is a give and take with a normal person.

Ahh... but now I'm alone. What a bargain to have made with the devil.