Gathering the Ashes
It’s been a while since I’ve written about the subject of my ex-husband. Frankly, there hasn’t been much to write about. I’ve dealt with any issues that have presented themselves timely and in a way that didn’t require much analyzing or venting. Today, however? I’m finding myself in desperate need of the latter. Let’s backtrack a bit, shall we?
Over the past year, my daughters have shared with me the reality that their step-mom is incredibly injurious of their spirits. She drinks heavily and says some of the most nasty things a person could say to a child. At first, I expected that their dad was stepping in and making sure this behavior was kept under control, but there came a time when I couldn’t stand idly by any longer. I called him up after a particularly disturbing story that my daughters shared with me and basically told him that if he didn’t get shit under control with his wife, I’d be doing something about it. From then on, he said he’d do his best to keep the peace when they were in his care. I actually remember him using the words “when she has to deal with them”…. as if they were a fucking burden.
The thing that blows my mind most about this is the fact that I always thought of him as a good father. Someone I knew I could count on to think of our children as his first priority. But I was quickly learning that in the time since our divorce, the priority seemed to be switching. ”I have the rest of my life to spend with the girls,” he’s said repeatedly in response to potentially less time with them. That, my loves, is sad. To accept that you’ll just put off their formative years to keep the peace? What the hell happened to this man?
Fast forward to a few weeks ago when the girls came home to share yet another unsettling step-mom story. At this point, I decided to grow some balls, follow the advice of Mary, and offer the girls an alternative. That alternative being, they could see their dad whenever they want, under the condition that his wife wasn’t present. This way, their relationship could continue to be the positive one it has always been, without the added stressors of being emotionally abused by another adult. They accepted this approach, and we decided to have a talk with Randy.
Before the conversation got underway, Randy started by saying that he understood why we were meeting. He said that he and his wife talked about the issues and realized how much drinking plays a part in their uprisings. He explained to the girls that her behavior isn’t directed only at him, that he has to deal with it when they aren’t around. Simply put, he wanted them to know that he is aware of where the problem lies. After that, the girls each had a chance to speak, as did I, and we all came to the conclusion that the comfort level for each of us is low when the girls are in the presence of their step-mom. So the outcome ended up being, they will see Randy whenever he can, without her being around. They will no longer spend weekends with him, but will spend time with him when he is able to pick them up and visit. This decision was accepted by all, and while difficult, I could tell it lifted a huge amount of weight off the girls.
In the aftermath, step-mom decided to not only post a disgusting status update on Facebook (which was viewable by my youngest daughter), but called me from Randy’s phone to let me know that she’d left him. ”He mopped the floor with me after your little talk,” she said. So she took his phone, took his van, and said she’d handle it like a big girl. Why she felt the need to call and tell me these things, I just can’t fathom.
As you can probably guess, my youngest felt responsible for all that transpired. After all, she takes the burden of the world on her shoulders for everything… all the time. So for the past few days she’s been beside herself. Feeling awful for her dad. Feeling bad for not being able to see him. And on. And on.
Until today, when we get the call that Randy and his wife are back together. They had a long talk and made amends.
Now you tell me. What kind of message does that send to your children?
- Their value is less than the person who manipulates and injures on a daily basis?
- Physical violence is okay?
- It’s okay to put up with abuse of any kind?
- All of the above
[Title from "Bridge Burning" by Foo Fighters]
Like this:
The Waiter
It didn’t dawn on me until I pulled up the empty palate on which I now type, that the story I came here to tell relates somewhat to that of Whitney Houston’s. And while I don’t want to be one of many who associates her with addiction on the day after her passing, I can’t help but do so since it relates to the subject at hand. And in the end, maybe that’s the struggle I’ll always have – trying to look past someone’s faults and frailties because I want to honor the good and the beautiful. I never really thought this was a bad quality – seeing only the good in people. In fact, I always wished I could pass that message along to the world. To some extent, I still believe it’s a good way to live. But when it gets in the way of the bigger picture, when it clouds one’s vision to the sick and unhealthy, the destructive and downright wrong, you simply have to retire the rose-colored glasses.
Journal Entry October 25, 2009: He moved like the sunset
We all have those people who occupy a huge place in our hearts, even though they aren’t present in our everyday lives. I certainly have my share of those. But one in particular has weighed heavily on my mind over the past year. I’ve mentioned him briefly on a few occasions – once as a reminder of how deeply I tend to involve myself in the “messy lives of others”, and another in my entry about my dry spell. Yes, the man in question happens to be the last to go there. And while I’m sure we could all use a nice, juicy entry right about now, that is the furthest thing from my mind.
If you haven’t noticed by now, much of my actions follow from intuition and strong perceptions. I’m lucky enough to be blessed with a high level of connection with others – or rather a deeper connection than most – and I do my best to not ignore when I feel something in the pit of my stomach. That feeling hit me this afternoon and didn’t let up until I began to do a little searching…searching that led me to the address of a prison in Hunstville, Texas.
Lost? Of course you are.
Around this time last year I found myself incredibly connected to a gem of a man who embodied that perfect combination of sweet and strong that every woman looks for. But what sealed the deal for me was the way this man interacted with my girls. Rarely did I find someone who not only stimulated me mentally, sexually, etc., but who made my girls feel so comfortable and so valued at the same time. Too good to be true? I don’t like to think of it that way, but when all the cards were laid out, I really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
Not long after we met, he got arrested with his second DWI and was facing certain prison time. Being the optimist, I tried to keep his spirits up the best I could, but I felt him slipping away almost as quickly as he came…until he eventually disappeared altogether. It would be easy for me to write off someone in a similar situation if I didn’t feel the least bit of respect for him. But we’re talking about a man who knew the position he was in and communicated his reluctance to get involved not only in my life, but in the lives of my daughters in light of his circumstance. Not that I disagreed, but I found it very difficult to disengage completely. I dropped him a line every now and then letting him know I was thinking about him, but that was the extent of my interaction.
Until today.
I felt that unmistakable pull of the universe this afternoon – with his name in the center – and I began to search for any sign of his whereabouts. It didn’t take long before I was staring at his date of sentence, current location, and date of projected release. Somehow I was surprised… as if I never really thought it would happen. The interesting thing is that the last time I felt a similar pull – and let him know he was in my thoughts – was the day before he was sentenced and taken in – a reality I wasn’t aware of at the time.
So I sat there – looking at the screen with his new form of identification and his potential parole date – thinking about how shitty that must be – and hoping that this ends up being a positive thing for him. I know the statistics. I know the potential. And I know that if there’s anyone in the world who can come around, it will be him.
One of my readers at that time left me the following note: “Don’t be surprised if you find yourself incarcerated someday.”
I immediately sought clarification for metaphorical versus literal meaning and my suspicions for the metaphorical side proved to be true. But I didn’t seek further clarification – an act that I know was a necessary evil. I’m a huge advocate for asking “what do you mean?” And 9 times out of 10, it’s an appropriate and healthy way to respond. But this time? In this context? It just happened to be one of those unknowns that needed to remain that way. It’s a truth about myself that he couldn’t define…only I can.
In the two years that followed, I wrote him on a regular basis while he served out his prison sentence. He taught me a bit about being realistic during that time, but he never wavered from his constant encouragement of me as a woman, as a mother and a professional, as a human. He was a brilliant man – well read and practical. Our letters were anything but surfaced and I suppose you could say we actually got to know each other within those pages. There was a time when my writing stopped because I was feeling that all-too familiar feeling of foreboding – not knowing what was to become of this thing we were doing. But I got over that and our written communication continued on a regular basis until I received a text message one day that read simply: “I’M FREE!!!”
Since that time, we spoke on the phone a few times and he said he’d be in my area sooner than later to visit family and wanted to see me as well. I felt so happy for him for having done his time and for sounding like he was making a change in his life. Two text messages later, he is gone. Calls go directly to his voicemail now – something I realized when the girls and I called to wish him a happy birthday back in December. That fact alone – that he didn’t respond to us singing him happy birthday – makes me fear the worst. And I honestly don’t know how to feel about that.
Is it wrong to let optimism take such a front seat? I am aware that one of my biggest personal obstacles to overcome is the need to make a difference in lives – to encourage improvement. Fucking hell, I live for helping people through tough times. Most of the time, I can tell when it’s something that isn’t worth my time. This man, however? There’s just something that has kept me drawn in and motivated. I’ve always had this great deal of faith in him, without really…. I mean really knowing him.
But today? I’m letting it – and him – go.
Like this:
Biting my lip
A girlfriend once said to me that she loves calling and catching up with me because there’s always some new story to be heard – some new interesting chapter in my life. A boss of mine once said to me that no one could tell a story like I could. My best friend once told me I should wield the pen and change the world. Truth be told, encouragement for my continued writing abounds, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the pressure on a daily basis to create something magnificent – and powerless to know what that something really is. I know what I do have – and it’s been happened a hell of a lot more in recent years than in the many eons ago when I started writing.
Stories of Men. Loads of them.
If I could encapsulate each and every story surrounding the men that have come in and out of my life over the years – the kinds of stories I’ve shared with each of the three people mentioned above – I’d have a collection for every woman’s side table and every man’s bathroom. It’s always being said to write about what you know – and boy do I know men. Every gritty, grimy, dirty, sexy detail.
How do I claim to be an expert, you ask?
- As a former “cam girl”, I spent over a year learning their fetishes and could easily write a book on taboo sexual fantasies alone.
- My marriage was relatively open, which brought the kinds of encounters with men (and women) that allowed for much observance of the male approach to unorthodox situations.
- I have a pretty insane intuition and way with reading people.
- Men open up to me about things they’d never share with their buddies.
- I’ve spent the years since my marriage trying every approach a woman could possibly try with men and have seen just about every possible reaction.
While I think that the first two points are enough to keep the interest high, I know the more down to earth, everyday involvement with men at different levels is just as, if not more, amusing. I’m not sharing this to introduce some new direction or goal with my writing, because god knows when I do that I never make it happen. Instead, I’m just throwing it out there – to the universe – and whomever might be reading – that I could practically burst at the seams with all the gems of male behavior I could serve up.
Let’s get started, shall we?
Remember the guy from this entry? Oh, and this one? It’s okay, I can wait while you catch up.
…
All good? Great!
So the other night I sent him a text message that said the following:
Thinking about you! 
Now… before we move on… this was nothing different for me. Our messages have ranged from overtly sexual (and even visual) to really innocent. So the next morning I got two calls from an unknown number at 8:00am (still in bed and without coffee obviously) followed by the following text from said number. NOTE: Spelling has not been corrected – my apologies for that. Oh and names/employers have been changed to protect the innocent. Here goes:
Unknown texter: Who is this and r unseeing my boyfriend, Jack? No angry, just saw ur text this morning and need to know please
Me: Just a friend
Unknown texter: Why oil u send Gina text saying thinking of u?
Unknown texter: A text
Unknown texter: Did u know he has had a GF for 2.5 years?
Me: Similar issues and frustrations at our jobs maybe?
Unknown texter: Issues? I work at Acme too. Maybe I can come by and chat with you.
Me: That would be great. Always nice to have.
Unknown texter: So u don’t work at Acme? Where did you meet Jack? Last question I promise.
Me: Work. Sorry you’ve misunderstood my intentions.
Unknown texter: U should never send a man Ina relationship a text like that. U never know who may see it.
Me: Lesson learned. Thank you.
Unknown texter: Did he say he was single?
[Enter radio silence]
Sorry, darlin’ – methinks you already used your last question. First of all, this is wrong on so many levels. I would break up with a guy if my level of trust was such that I felt I needed to check his phone. I don’t invade your privacy, you don’t invade mine. The last boyfriend who found the need to check up on me via my text messages and emails is long gone (and probably fucking someone else over as we speak). No thank you. So, by reading Jack’s text message without his permission was just plain nasty. Contacting and interrogating me was beyond stupidity. Can I also say how fucking proud I was of myself for keeping my cool – especially pre-coffee?
Yes, I spent one night with him. Yes, we do keep in touch. I’m hardly “seeing” him. But that’s all beside the point. Whether or not he told me he was in a relationship is of ZERO consequence. The subject never came up, which means that it wasn’t important to either one of us at this point in our friendship.
So, where is Jack during all of this? Well, he did leave me a message that morning which was hard to understand, but was essentially a warning that those calls would be coming. He did end up calling me after the flurry of text messages finished and I told him exactly what was said so there’s no way either one of us could be incriminated. He thanked me for being so sweet and said it was a blessing in disguise actually – that things have been going downhill for a while and this really needed to happen. ”I guess we’ll be getting together for drinks sooner than later,” he said.
“I’m kind of curious though, why you didn’t mention being in a relationship before,” I said.
“Well, we’ve only seen each other once. And if I recall, there’s a little something you didn’t tell me about either,” he said – with an obvious smile.
Touché, Jack…. Touché
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