Heart Attack
Separation Anxieties
It was time to crawl back into reality. Numbness is a step to healing, but it’s not living. The summer was ending and there was another painful reminder of real-life butting its ugly head: the lease we had on our house in New York ended the first day of September. A decision had to be made. Were we going to re-up and “try” harder to work on this marriage or were we going to call it quits and start over? I really wanted to stay in it and rebuild, but I knew it depended on Greg. I knew he would have to be willing to choose to make some adjustments.
We had been talking by phone every few days. Most times, he tried to keep the conversation about the kids. I always brought it around to us--and whether or not he thought we had a chance to make it right. He never committed. Mid August, just after my 35th birthday passed and the lease began to loom, he said he would be flying out so we could determine our future. “Okay, okay, I’m ready,” I thought.
August 25 he arrived in Chicago. He was haggard. Pale skin, tired eyes, and slumped shoulders greeted me at the airport. “He looks terrible,” I thought ambivalently. We drove silently back to my parents. The kids were, of course, thrilled to see him. We spent an awkward couple of hours with them as my folks pretended to be busy with errands and chores. Then, it was time to go out to “talk”. The hour on which the rest of my life was going to be determined had arrived. We got into the car and started driving. There was no where to go. Where do you go to make this kind of decision? A restaurant? The idea turned my stomach. Coffee shop? Too public. We ended up in a parking lot. We began our dance. The recriminations, anger., hurt and sadness kept tumbling out in a torrent of word. I can’t even remember the words, only the feelings. At this point, I still believed he could change, and that we could be happy. I wanted desperately to try, but I was very clear about the things I needed him to do. They were pretty simple: I wanted to trust that he would do what he said he was going to do. I wanted him to be financially responsible,. I wanted him to assert himself when he needed or wanted something from me. What he wanted also boiled down to three things: Less volatility, more patience, for me to prioritize my needs (I guess he felt I had far too many). Once we got all these things ironed out, and even written down, I thought perhaps we were on our way toward healing. We were going to head back, tell my parents we would all be driving back to NY together, and pack for the trip back. On the drive home, he said he didn’t think he could do it. Do what? I said, I was already thinking about how long it would take me to pack. “Stay married,” he said. He pulled over and looked right into my eyes and said, “I’m not sure if I ever really loved you”.
The physical pain actually started right in the middle of my chest and began to spread down my left arm until it reached into my fingertips. My breath ran out completely. I truly thought I’d been hit by a Mack truck. As we drove toward my parents house, I murmured, “Keep driving” “Where to?” He asked. “The airport” I responded. “But my flight’s not until six in the morning. It’s only 11.” He said. “Yeah, I muttered, “I guess we’re both going to have a miserable night.” The numbness was gone. This was living.
It was time to crawl back into reality. Numbness is a step to healing, but it’s not living. The summer was ending and there was another painful reminder of real-life butting its ugly head: the lease we had on our house in New York ended the first day of September. A decision had to be made. Were we going to re-up and “try” harder to work on this marriage or were we going to call it quits and start over? I really wanted to stay in it and rebuild, but I knew it depended on Greg. I knew he would have to be willing to choose to make some adjustments.
We had been talking by phone every few days. Most times, he tried to keep the conversation about the kids. I always brought it around to us--and whether or not he thought we had a chance to make it right. He never committed. Mid August, just after my 35th birthday passed and the lease began to loom, he said he would be flying out so we could determine our future. “Okay, okay, I’m ready,” I thought.
August 25 he arrived in Chicago. He was haggard. Pale skin, tired eyes, and slumped shoulders greeted me at the airport. “He looks terrible,” I thought ambivalently. We drove silently back to my parents. The kids were, of course, thrilled to see him. We spent an awkward couple of hours with them as my folks pretended to be busy with errands and chores. Then, it was time to go out to “talk”. The hour on which the rest of my life was going to be determined had arrived. We got into the car and started driving. There was no where to go. Where do you go to make this kind of decision? A restaurant? The idea turned my stomach. Coffee shop? Too public. We ended up in a parking lot. We began our dance. The recriminations, anger., hurt and sadness kept tumbling out in a torrent of word. I can’t even remember the words, only the feelings. At this point, I still believed he could change, and that we could be happy. I wanted desperately to try, but I was very clear about the things I needed him to do. They were pretty simple: I wanted to trust that he would do what he said he was going to do. I wanted him to be financially responsible,. I wanted him to assert himself when he needed or wanted something from me. What he wanted also boiled down to three things: Less volatility, more patience, for me to prioritize my needs (I guess he felt I had far too many). Once we got all these things ironed out, and even written down, I thought perhaps we were on our way toward healing. We were going to head back, tell my parents we would all be driving back to NY together, and pack for the trip back. On the drive home, he said he didn’t think he could do it. Do what? I said, I was already thinking about how long it would take me to pack. “Stay married,” he said. He pulled over and looked right into my eyes and said, “I’m not sure if I ever really loved you”.
The physical pain actually started right in the middle of my chest and began to spread down my left arm until it reached into my fingertips. My breath ran out completely. I truly thought I’d been hit by a Mack truck. As we drove toward my parents house, I murmured, “Keep driving” “Where to?” He asked. “The airport” I responded. “But my flight’s not until six in the morning. It’s only 11.” He said. “Yeah, I muttered, “I guess we’re both going to have a miserable night.” The numbness was gone. This was living.
posted by Ask Me Anything at Saturday, October 14, 2006
13 Comments:
Oh my gosh. Your writing is so beautiful.
"Pale skin, tired eyes, and slumped shoulders greeted me at the airport."
Brilliant!
I love the raw honestly here. Can't wait to see how it all works itself out!
Very intese. I know that feeling in the chest, down the arms, to the fingertips. Ouch!
Oops, I meant "intense."
Wow, Terry! I have to say, I am not only impressed with the writing but with you - for having gone through all this. Great writing - it had an affect on me.
"...torrent of words..." love it.
xoxo
Oh, I hurt with you and for you. I am proud that you kept going to the airport and hope you remember that strength in the months to come.
Oh my God, beautiful writing, and I'm hating Greg all over again, the bastard. How DARE he??? So proud you told him to get himself to the airport. Love that about you!
Extremely courageous writing. I'll be following your story closely.
It is amazing how the physical pain links into the psyche...as if we don't realize it doesn't already hurt enough.
Amazing writing and descriptions.
God I love your writing! I suppose your story tells the story of many people. I am compeletely imbedded in the pain of this moment and knowing you are together in your marriage now has me waiting for the rest to unfold. I find it so difficult to believe you have not written before. You were so "real" in person and it comes through in your writing. Keep going...we're waiting for more!
The way he pulled over at the end reminded me of the opening chapter in "The Accidental Tourist."
Lovely, lovely writing. Great descriptions and powerful emotions.
Looking forward to reading more.
Holy _ _it. I can't even imagine what it was like to have lived through that. Your writing was awesome as it made me feel so much there, that I felt it in my stomach as well. - Of course not nearly to the same degree. - You are a warrior.
Man, where are those shoes when you need them? Great writing, Terry. Who knew, years later, you'd have all of us sitting in the car in the parking lot with you? Incredibly poignant details and dialogue. Carrie had you pegged as a writer from the start. She's soooo right!
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