Henry was a lovely man; tall, lanky, goofy, silly. He had no twisted to my darkness. He was all light. My youngest daughter adored him; they ate candy, rode bikes, and laughed together. He coached her volleyball team, he was the Watch Dog Dad at her elementary school. The older daughter didn't take to him at first, but knew he was a math and science nerd, just like she was, so that made it okay.They get along beautifully these days. So much alike, it's uncanny. Unfortunately, the addition of his young redheaded son on the weekends sometimes drove me to madness. It was always a struggle, a battle, a burden when he was here. And that blew my mind. I usually get along well with most children. I usually smell like cinnamon and vanilla. I usually have that Pied Piper thing going on with children. But with my stepson, it never felt right, it never felt natural and THAT was always incredibly sad to me. Although my daughters loved Henry, there were times when I wondered why I was attracted to him in the first place. He is so Opie Taylor to my Sylvia Plath. So kind, so naive, so sweet. So, so not me.
Maybe taking care of my mean, dying mother scared me. Maybe I thought my girls needed to have someone in their lives when I died. Maybe I just needed some babysitting help at home. Maybe. That's a deadly word. But the whole relationship felt like a 'maybe', and I know now that was never a good thing.
And then my mother died. She died. Right there on my watch. Dead. My mother was dead.
Grief. Damn those 5 stages. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. I think I agreed to marry Henry while in the bargaining stage. Creating a temporary truce. Bartering. Watching the The Let's Make a Deal Show. 'Listen Mother, I know you think I am desperate getting married after being a single mother for 7 years, you even said those exact words on your deathbed...but here's the thing. I am not desperate. I am a grown, mature, intelligent woman. So, if you don't haunt me for the rest of my life. I will marry this good man. 'Kay?'
I foolishly thought marrying Henry would put all of the ghosts to rest. I thought a second marriage would tuck them away for good.
But it didn't work out that way. My mother still haunted me after she died. Continually. She appeared in my dreams. She showed up during the day. She mocked me. She knew. I was drowning. In lies. In pretending. In marriage. Again. Good grief.
Five years after Henry and I met, four years after my mother died, three years after we married, I finally asked him to leave. It had been something I had been thinking about for days, months, years. Sadly, I believe I have been grieving the end of my marriage since the first year I got married. I know in my heart I made a mistake. A grave mistake. I never should have married him. And I have to deal with the fact that some people will never understand it. Nor do I care what they think anymore. Henry, the girls and I are trying to work through it (as unconventional as it may seem) and that's all that matters. This year has been one of the most difficult ones of my life; dealing with the reality of my dead mother, selling my childhood home, and ending my second marriage.
Goodbye ghosts. Goodbye.
But I am still here. Dammit.
Alive, but hopefully no longer grieving.
