Author: Lilly

I chose my husband carefully.  That sounds horribly unromantic, I know, but I’m an honest person who never believed in the fairy tale concept of happily ever after, and I’m also exceedingly practical, so it is what it is.  Simply put – we fit.  Similar interest, similar goals, like-minded individuals who just happened to have a spark that made it interesting.  We worked well together. We were a team from the get go, and there was always a comfort that couldn’t be explained.  We were each others best friends, lovers, support system and champions, and after four years together when we decided to get married (because yes, it was a decision that we made together) we knew it would be a one time shot and coined the phrase “a deal’s a deal.” Those four words have been spoken out loud more times than I care to remember because it was the mind-set we entered into our marriage with. Did we love each other?  Of course. But like all human emotions love ebbs and flows and we both were logical enough to understand that. We married, started a family, and nine more years passed

One afternoon my husband (who had kissed me on the forehead that very morning on his way to work and told me how “amazing,” I was and how much he “adored” me) came bursting in the door with a very loud statement of “I don’t love you.  I never have, I never will. Continued…

Author: Lilly

“Mama, where is Daddy?” she asked as I rinsed her hair.

“I don’t know, baby.”

“Mama, will he come home?” came as she pulled on her nightgown.

“Baby, I don’t know.”

“Mama, what will happen to my brother now? You told me that we were having him because you and Daddy really, really love each other.  Daddy doesn’t love us now. Is my brother going to go away too?” and she threw her arms around my neck in an attempt to permanently bond herself to my skin.

“No Baby he’s going to be fine. We’re going to take care of him. Mama will never let bad things happen to you or your brother. That’s my job. I’m the Mommy.”

“But Mama, Daddy left.  That’s a bad thing.”  Leave it to a seven year old to put things in perspective.

That was the first night that no stories were told, no books were read (she told me that she didn’t want to hear anything happy, and that Daddy read her her stories), and that was the first night I held her as she sobbed herself to sleep.  It was a night of many firsts. Continued…

Women play roles.  We like to pretend that we are 100% genuine all the time, but we’re not.  None of us.  If you think you are, you’re lying to your-self and that does no one, especially your children, any good.  It’s not a question of a persons beliefs or moral fiber, it’s the necessity of the human species.  We evolve.  Women tend not to be controlled by their ID, and therefore we put on hats.  While we may wear a hat 100% of the time (like the motherhood hat), occasionally we must adorn it with a flower (wife), or a scarf (child), or a pin (friend).  Every once in a while we must change it entirely to fit extreme circumstances (think a hard hat).  We all play a part.  Not because we are disingenuous, but rather because we desperately want to be everything that we think others need.  We act our roles.  It’s necessary.

A picture had to be chosen to place on a card at the Big Sisters class.  The process was a difficult one because 90% of the recent pictures of my daughter were of her and my husband and the one that we had planned to use right up until she announced “I don’t want Daddy in the picture” was of the two of them playing chess.  After a five minute crop session she finally settled on one that he had been edited out of (ahh, modern technology).  I loaded her in the car, ran a brush through my hair, put on mascara (waterproof, just in case) and lip gloss.  Once again, very simple here.  On the drive to the hospital I tried to imagine what the cover story for my husband’s absence would be.  Maybe he’d be hunting bear in Canada, or called into an emergency Saturday meeting.  Maybe he was feeling sick, and if I was really lucky maybe no one would ask at all.  I’m not lucky.

Upon signing in at the hospital a very lovely little old lady said  “Oh, I have you registered for three – will your husband be late?  I have two scheduled classes today and if the second would be better….”

“He won’t be here today,” I began trying to decide on the cover story.

“He doesn’t love my Mommy anymore.” my daughter finished.

Continued…

Author:  Lilly

My husband looked like shit.  Over the years I’ve often thought that it was horrible of me to take a modicum of solace in that fact, but I did.  The week has aged him ten years, and though he was wearing new clothes that I had never laundered, the black circles under his eyes betrayed him.

The rest of the session was not productive, at least to me.  It was established that he felt lost, that I had emasculated him, that I made him feel inadequate, and that he was useless to me.  He was sure, he said, there were an innumerable amount of other things out there that had to be better.  He spoke to the therapist only.  When the hour was over he stood and exited as quickly as he had arrived with not one word to me at all.  I finally reached for a tissue.

“I don’t have another appointment for an hour,” Dr. Sand said. “Would you like to stay?”

Continued…

Author:  Lilly

The never-ending “Why?”

I didn’t believe in the concept of a mid-life crisis before that day, and I still don’t buy in to it hook, line and sinker.  I can tell you with all clarity though that my husband went through a transformation that I cannot explain.

I’m an intelligent woman.  In saying that, I am not making an attempt at vanity.  I’m well read.  I’m empathetic.  I have enough common sense to get inside out of the rain.  I don’t fall into the “he only hits me when I’m bad and he always says he’s sorry” category of women.  I’m not an escapist either.  My attitude about life is “bring it on.”

With crumbs from the crackers being caught by my protruding abdomen, I listened and answered question that were asked of me.

Did my husband get his car recently? Yes, despite protest on my behalf that it wasn’t practical for small children.  Was he moody?  Yes, but he has a high-stress job.  Had his interest changed?  He was golfing less, spending more time listening to older music, looking through old photo albums and yearbooks.  Had he changed his appearance?  He got a hair-cut every week, was more focused on his tan (Florida, I know), had recently purchased “man stuff” from Bath and Body Works, was wearing clothes I had never seen before.  Did I believe he was cheating?  No. He wasn’t “that guy.” Was I afraid of him?  No.  Dr. Sand drew diagrams of a ship sailing to a destination and explained that when the winds would change the ship would change course, sometimes taking you closer to your goals and sometime pushing you further away.  Sometimes, he explained you would go so far off course you would have to establish a new destination, or prepare for an even longer journey to your original one.

Continued…