time of birth ....... time of death

Today is my son's birthday and I can't remember what time he was born. I just realized that I don't know what time he died...........








He would have been 40 years old this morning. My first born........... I named him after my dad. He was the light of my mother's eye. He could do no wrong as far as she was concerned and that is when the battle began. Throughout his childhood we struggled for control. She was his favorite, of course, because with her he could have anything his heart desired. No matter if it was good for him or not. I resented it, of course and took it out on him more often than not. I know now that her manipulations were born of a desire to replace the son she was never allowed to have. Part of the resentment I felt was his father's fault. Although not a presence in his life, the abuse I suffered at his hands festered in my subconscious like a wound that would not heal and would erupt from time to time. My son was the obvious target and I confess that I was equal to the monster that fathered him. I would "spank" him too hard and for inappropriate reasons.











Being married to his step-dad softened me and made me a better mother. The fact that my mother absolutely hated my husband was a bonus for him, since it made me love him all the more. My son was still caught up in the battle for control and my husband fought my battles for me. I tried to be the best mother that I knew how to be. But, I wasn't a good mother to him. I failed him in so many ways.








He started running away from home at the age of 14, trying to find the elusive "real" father, I suppose. My mother played a role in encouraging him to leave our home and he ended up at my sister's house for a school term. He took his sister along with him. She was his partner in crime so to speak. Neither shared the same father and were both adopted by my husband. With the three children we added, the seven of us formed a family. Or so we thought..........




I let the man who fathered my son have him when he was 17. He was a big kid, already 6' tall and I mistakenly assumed he could take care of himself. I was wrong. I was at wits end with the child and this seemed like a solution. He took control of his life and molded him into what he ultimately became. That, in no way absolves me of my part in his life, but the man I married when I was only 15 was a monster. He learned his behaviour from his father and opted to control me with an open handed slap to my head. When that failed he used his fists, and he used them often. I became his punching bag when his world was not what he wanted it to be. I escaped and thought I had also saved my child, but repercussions of that abuse will follow, no matter how hard you try to avoid it.



Not long after he graduated high school in California, living with his "real" dad, he showed up on the doorstep of my parents. He now possessed a heightened sense of entitlement along with an arrogance that resembled that of my ex-husband. He emulated my abuser in speech and mannerism, making it difficult to be around him. My mother and I were not on good terms and she was once again playing her old game of pitting child against parents. She re-enforced the fact that my husband was not the man who fathered my two older children at every opportunity throughout their childhood. This undermined the authority of us both and split our little family.



He came back home for a very brief time. When I found out he was using drugs I kicked him out and he lived in his car for a time............ much to the embarrassment of the three children still at home. I was making a point, though, and refused to let him come home. Tough love? I suppose you could call it that. I also refused shelter to my oldest daughter, she holding the record for the number of times she could run away and come back home. I had three younger children to think about and protect.



Protect, well, I failed at that. When not running away, during those times of relative peace, they were tormenting their younger siblings. Half-siblings, excuse me. Not whole, just half. Guess that made it alright to abuse them. Less of a crime, I suppose to rape your half-sister. And I didn't know. How could I not know? Did I miss signs? Was I so busy with every day life that I failed to listen closely? I don't know the answer and I have no excuse. They were clever, those two halves connected only by me, the mother. They looked out for each other, providing excuses and protection for each other. They shared a loyalty that did not include their three younger "halves". Those three were targets to torment and I was unaware of the extent of the torment. What does that say about me?



I didn't know until my babies became adults. How do you wrap your mind around something like this? How can you hate your own child? How do you forgive that child? How do you process the fact that you birthed a monster? Just mentally put it aside and go on. Take it out in the wee hours of the night when it awakens you rudely. Examine it, then, in the dark. Still unable to really find any peace with it. Is this how the mother of a serial killer feels? You want to distance yourself and feel guilty that you don't love your child enough. Then one the other hand, feel guilty that you love him at all............



In a fit of rage one day, I threw his baby book in the dumpster. As if that act would erase what he had done and absolve me of guilt? A show of loyalty to my children who were injured by his hand? I don't know. I gave all his photos to his sister along with her childhood mementos. I still have those things of the three younger children. I won't let them go until I am gone and they will pick them up then when they pick threw the remains of what my life was. I didn't even bring his ashes into my home although I keep the ashes of my dead dogs ............... wonder what that says about me?



Today was his birthday and I can't remember the time of his birth and I don't know the time of his death........................

Still Sober

Mid September and he hasn't had another drink....that I know of. I would know. I am very observant and still don't entirely trust him. It is not that I don't love him, I do. I am just cautious. I seem to get blindsided when ever I let my guard down, so I will still be watching.... closely. Just cautious. Don't want to jinx it.

Life is good right now and only time will tell.........

So Far, So Good

Things are good right now. He is contrite and swears it will never happen again. I am waiting patiently to see if he will follow through and actually attend a meeting as promised.

I am used to broken promises. That doesn't mean that they don't hurt, just that expectations are lower. We had a good talk. I read my previous entries to him and asked if he would recognize himself were he to stumble upon this blog.

He was angry at first because he was thinking I had published this under my name. All of our friends and our children read my other blog. I wouldn't be so cruel. To him or myself. This is merely an exercise that I find helpful in dealing with the situation. I am a pretty open person, but there are some things that even I have trouble revealing to the world at large.

Time will tell if this person that I so love will remain sober................ WE will indeed take life one day at a time.

Choices

He is sorry. Nothing new there. He is sober. I can now extract anything I want from him. He is contrite and willing to do anything to get back into my good graces.

I don't doubt his sincerity of the moment. He is truly sorry, I do believe that. He will be sorry the next time as well. I am just tired of the roller coaster ride I am on. Sorry isn't working for me.

Why, I ask him did he choose the busiest night we have had this season while our grandchildren were here to go get drunk. Says that he didn't "choose" to do this; it just happened. He was offered a beer and just kept drinking. Sounds like a choice to me. Why not choose to decline the offer? He says he didn't think about that. When he sits there saying this nonsense to me as if it is reasonable and logical I want nothing more than to smash his face with my fist. Knowing the impact would be unbelievably painful to my arthritic hand has no bearing on this desire to hurt him. It would be so satisfying. Then I could tell him that I didn't "choose" to do it, it just happened. All a consequence of that beer he chose not to turn down. That makes as much sense as what he is saying. And maybe, just maybe my little demonstration of consequence would be helpful the next time he was faced with a choice...........

He wants to hold me in his arms because I am crying. I warn him not to even get within range of me, that I would love nothing more than to physically hurt him at the moment. I shove him away from me and am sorry that he did not fall. Now we are to the "embracing the disease" segment of the apology. Wrong move on his part as this just infuriates me more. I remove myself from the room and he follows. He is either mentally impaired or he wants me to punch him in the face. I could and I know he would not retaliate.

My first husband....Asshole #1.... was an abuser. In every sense of the word. He was very careful to have his punches land within my hairline and within clothing range, hidden from the world. That was bad enough, but the mental torture was the ultimate prize I received from him. Already running low on confidence and self esteem, he daily reinforced these traits in me; teaching me that I was unworthy and that no one would ever want me other than him. The one time I fought back I earned myself two black eyes and received my very first knock-out punch to the face. After I came to, I wisely tried to remain in my unconscious state, but the splash of ice water that doused my head took care of that. Having escaped this relationship with a new knowledge of torture techniques I tested subsequent suitors carefully before entering a relationship. I shamelessly admit that I have tried on many occasions to provoke this man that I now find myself so angry with and he has always "chosen" to not respond.

I confess that I can be relentless. If he can "choose" to not respond to me......... why can't he "choose" to not accept that first drink? I know I have a much stronger will than his. I am willing to share my strong will with him.... he "chooses" not to accept my offer. That offer does have an expiration date and it is fast approaching.

Why Tonight?

I never know when it will strike. It is sneaky this alcohol addiction. Things will be going along and I will be almost happy. Content. Normal. Able to share time with him and actually enjoy it. Then when I need him most, when my guard is down it strikes. Then I vow to never let my guard down again. I am disappointed. I am angry. I am frustrated. I am powerless. I am alone, abandoned once again.

We own a campground. It is hard work, very physical. We have an unspoken division of labor. I take care of the reservations and check-ins. I handle the store and do all the merchandising. I collect the money and pay the bills. I field the complaints and answer the phone. He fixes the plumbing and the sewer problems along with any electrical issues. He mows the grass and maintains the equipment. He works part-time at a convenience store so that we can have health insurance. This is the part that everyone sees. Me in the store, phone in hand "directing" the necessary work that has to get done. He plays the role of the work horse that fulfills my demands. Appearance is everything, you know.

Poor guy works too hard, give him a break. He needs a drink. I have actually had this said to me. I have accused him of liking this appraisal of his life. He doesn't tell people this.......... but he doesn't correct their image either. He befriends folks easily; he is, after all a very likable guy. I would know. With all his faults I love him beyond words, but for the one fault that I am unable to influence at all.

What the campers don't see is that I got up at 5:45 this morning. I drank half a cup of reheated coffee and went out to clean the bathrooms. I scoured both, refilled paper product, mopped them and cleaned the laundry room while I did two loads of laundry for myself. I normally get the robot out of the pool and get it ready for use at this time also, but I hung out my two loads of laundry instead. My 5 year old grandson is staying with us and when I came in he was awake. I took care of his needs and headed back out to finish my chores before I had to open the store. It was now 8 AM. I had already taken 3 phone calls and fulfilled those requests. I have the phone on my person...always. I let my little guy ride his bike in my sight while I mowed my side and back yard. I was approached twice by campers with needs and it was eating up my meager morning time. The bathhouse on the other end of the park was flooded by a recent heavy rain and I had asked him to put a sign directing campers to the facilities on the side of my building to give the water a chance to subside. He "forgot" and as I am tethered to this building by phone cord I didn't check it to make sure and the camper is in my face telling me how filthy our campground is. My time is going, going.....almost gone.

I apologize for waking him at 9:30, but it is Friday and I am heavily booked. The temperature and humidity promise that I will be busy all day in the store with swimmers. In addition to my grandchild I have been saddled with a camper's child who is draining me mentally as well as eating incessantly. My mind can't help but tally up all the losses I am incurring from the store. My daughter-in-law is coming with my 3 granddaughters and I am trying to get all my necessary jobs done in order to be able to spend as much time with them as possible. He gets up, opens the pool for me and takes care of the muddy bathrooms with grandson in tow. He runs to the grocery for me and brings me a much needed and appreciated iced coffee. A much loved and appreciated camper is mowing the bulk of the park for me and the only requirement I make of him is that he go and purchase the wire necessary for the completion of the redo we are in the midst of. This will be accomplished by yet another wonderful camper..............

And it is during the running of this errand that it all falls apart. He comes back and while I am busy with the swimmers and the campers checking in he lays down on the couch. No big deal, we all get tired and as much as I would like to escape I know that it is impossible. The children come in and They want to sit in the living room with Papa and watch cartoons. They are all tired from a day of swimming and playing and will most likely doze off............ But my husband has a display of temper and stalks off to bed.

We won't see these precious children for probably 6 months after they all leave tomorrow. He says he has a headache. Why did I not notice that he is saying well out of sniffing range? I am not as observant as I usually am. I am busy grabbing quick hugs and sweet kisses and giving out popsicles in between my necessary duties. I have to get him to help me with some check-ins and after handling a few things, he leaves! he goes to deliver some LP tanks to a man who has offered to come get them. It is Friday and I am so very busy with weekend check-ins. He is gone for quite awhile and I have to ask the campers who already donate enough of their time to helping out to go the extra mile and help more. He is not answering his cell and I am embarrassed that my camper buddies seem to be more concerned with the success of our business than he is. I am tired of making lame excuses for him. I am tired of hearing others make excuses for him. Poor Drew, he has so much on his plate. Well, I am his wife and I am tired of portioning out that plate to others as well as handling my plate and part of his. I am tired of joking about his inability to complete any given task.

He finally calls me back and arrives, speeding into the park. I have spent the day enforcing the speed limit and I am so tired of being the adult. His headache is gone and he is off and running to help any and all. Mr. Jovial. My family leaves to go to a hotel and I get my little grandson a bath and a snack and he falls to sleep. In comes my husband slowly weaving his way to bed and I catch that unmistakable whiff that I so loathe. "Have you been drinking?" He had a beer. He is beligerant and I am so angry. It is bad enough when he does this to me, but our grandchildren deserve a better display than this. I can't express any of my feelings to him, but that doesn't stop me from trying.

He storms off to sleep on the couch and I storm off to grab a phone and call my son. Hoping to shame him I tell my son's voice mail that despite the efforts of my daughter-in-law ensuring that the children get to spend time with their grandparents, his Dad would rather get drunk than be with them. That was childish of me and pointless as it had no effect on him.

You can't reason with someone who is drunk and he is very drunk. He drove this way. That so pisses me off. I am so tied to this man that I have no doubt that should he commit vehicular homicide I will be the one paying the price. Right this minute I hate him. I hate the smell, the very smell of alcohol on his breath. It transports me back to the beginning of this nightmare. Why? Why, tonight? I have no idea and truth be told he probably doesn't either.

How Did I Get Here?

I sit here too tired to sleep wondering how I got to this life. My husband is an alcoholic. He refuses to accept this unless it is convenient. He will deny it vehemently or embrace it entirely depending on the circumstance surrounding his latest binge.

By his reasoning, he can't be an alcoholic because he doesn't drink every day. I am so disgusted at this point I no longer care. I just know that I don't want to live like this anymore. I don't have much of a choice, though. I am almost 56 years old with no marketable skills. I take that back, there are many things I know how to do and do them well..... I just don't have the "degrees to back me up.

I got married when I was 15, then divorced when I was 16, had the child from that union when I was 17. Married again when I was 18 and had another child at 19, divorced again at 20. To say I was very confused and desperate for someone to take care of my future is putting it lightly. I lacked self esteem (obviously) and grew up thinking that I needed a husband to "define" me. I had to live with my parents with my two children and collect my meager child support that was supplemented by welfare.

I felt trapped. I wanted to feel respectable and I did not. Perusing the newspaper my eyes landed upon an ad for a government assisted program through which I could become a nurse. It sounded too good to be true. They were offering me a chance to become a productive member of society and all I had to do was qualify on two levels. The first was financially..... I had to be on assistance and needful of an education I could not afford. That was easy. Second was to qualify academically. I needed my GED, since I had not graduated. I took the test and got that qualification out of the way and was accepted.

I was back in school and my children were being cared for by my mother and grandmother, each caring for their chosen child and arguing every month over the check they received from another program I qualified for. The dynamics there is a whole story in itself and I won't get into that. Long story short, I completed the course and graduated in the top 2 percentile of nursing students in the United States. See that self esteem rising?

The instructor assigned to our class was inspiring to say the least. She took a group of misfits and turned us into confidant professionals. I credit this woman with helping me to become someone who could rise above circumstance.

So, here I was a brand new woman at age 21 with a brand new job as an ER nurse. A little green around the gills, but finally beginning to make my own way in the world. It was during this first job that I looked up to see the really good looking EMT delivering a patient to my care. He seemed to hang around a lot after every run and chat with the clerk. He knew every body in the ER...but me. He did seem to come in a lot though and he did seem to always end up in the same exam room with me and I did notice that he was definitely noticing me. He finally called me personally to the phone one day to give me some patient information and ended with asking for my phone number. We started dating in November and were married December 17th. He was Prince Charming. He was my hero and he rescued me. He took my children in as his own and eventually adopted them. We went on to have three more children.

Almost 35 years later and as he lays here next to me snoring and exhaling his alcohol soaked breath.................I feel abandoned.