MY SEARCH BEGAN...
** Please note that I am typing away here, trying to answer my own questions, but this isn't a planned blog! There is no outline, no plan and I may end up taking a few 'wrong' turns and get away from my questions, but it will all come out in the wash :)Thank you for reading! Please accept my apology for not replying to your lovely comments yet, I need to write this without any distractions. I'm afraid that if I read your wise comments, I will be swayed from actually working this out for myself.
As a child, I was inquisitive, energetic, and highly creative. I drew and drew and drew pictures to my heart's content and although I was a very social child, I also had a vivid imagination. I think this came from being a well-traveled, bilingual child and loving story telling in the forms of the spoken word, art and writing. I loved nothing better than listening to my Puerto Rican grandmother, Meme, tell her wonderful stories of early life in Puerto Rico, her life, her adventures and the spiritual lore of the island where I spent every summer. (No big surprise that this is my first novel...)
My grandmother was a master oral storyteller which is a dying art, I'm afraid. This isn't going to be my autogiography, though and I suppose there are other adjectives that describe me, my spirit and my character, but these are a few to get us started.
I continued to draw in high school and in college and by the time my children came along, my art consisted of kid's crafts, making ships from cardboard boxes, telling them Meme's stories. I was an at-home Mom and I just loved it. I was also an older mother. I was 28 when my daughter H was born and 30 when M was born. Just right for me. I was settled down enough and ready to start my family with my second husband. My first marriage had ended after a year and I'd been single in the DC area for seven years.
After my mother's death, I found myself in the quaint town of Occoquan, Virginia browsing through shops and found myself staring at a beautiful watercolor in a gallery window. I went inside and found out that this artist lived in Lorton, VA and gave lessons. My spirit soared and I wondered if I could do this. My good Catholic 'guilt' entered at this point and I also wondered if I was being a good mother for wanting 'more.' I decided that since my days were my own, I would contact Elaine and see where things went, BUT if it at any time, my painting infringed on my family life or my kid's lives, I would quit. I would put my needs aside and focus on them. A few days later, I called her and studied under Elaine for two years. This led to exhibits, juried shows, awards and selling my watercolors. I was finally drawing, painting and enjoying a modest success. I was very, very happy. My children were happy, my marriage...was not so great.
My husband had cheated on me when we were engaged and again, when I was pregnant with my first child. I suppose our ten year difference gave him somewhat of an advantage and I now know that my self-esteem in those days and a 'til death do you part' attitude were a part of me remaining in my marriage. But, like they say, if I hadn't stayed, I wouldn't have had my son who I can't imagine my life without. I never fully trusted my husband again however, which is not a way to live, but that's what happened.
Two years later, we were sent to Brussels, Belgium. My husband and I were excited at the prospect of an overseas tour which we thought would be our last before he retired. My mother's death had left a huge void in my life and I didn't feel the pull to remain in the US any longer. Had she lived, I know I would have happily remained in Virginia. However, I knew that my art 'career' would have to be put on hold with the overseas move and getting settled. And, I would be leaving my local art community where I was now co-President of our art guild. All that I had built personally would end in Virginia. I would now be going into unchartered waters. I was okay with that and was excited about the prospect of living abroad again. Stupidly, I also thought a European posting would help improve my marriage...dumb.
My father, in his grief and shock of my mother's, sold our family home and took a trip to Florida and one day, called us to say that he was staying. My sister and I were shocked. Our family had already gone through the tremendous loss of my mother and now, my father had apparently, moved on to try to heal himself in a new state. My sister and her young family were as busy as we were and we didn't see each other much, so my husband and I uprooted and moved our family to Belgium.
In Brussels, I continued to paint, exhibit and work on my craft during the day while also remaining a constant in my kid's daily lives at home, school and during the summers. I wasn't selfish, but the idea of following in my mother's footsepts as a selfless mother and wife was beginning to take its toll on me. I began to wonder if that was all life would have for me. I knew I would always continue to support my kids and my husband, but I had a fear of dying like my mother had - with needs, dreams and goals possibly remaining unmet.
Being an Army wife was frankly, boring me and I found as an artist and a writer that I had little in common with friends who went on ladies tours, got together for coffee and gossip and played Bunco once a week. My art and interests led me to museums, traveling to see favorite paintings in other European cities and taking art workshops from other artists. I began teaching art and creative writing to teens as a way of giving back to my community. I began facilitating "The Artist's Way" creativity and self-discovery workshops which I loved once a month, always during the day so that it wouldn't infringe on my family time.
At that time, my husband retired from the Army and entered NATO as a civilian. He was a workaholic and seemed to love his new job and his role as co-coach for the football and wrestling teams (which I encouraged him to do). We followed our very active, sporty children around Europe and supported them in their every endeavor. But, I was beginning to feel more restless and out of sorts.
At this time, my kids were both in high school. Now, I was alone from 7-5 and my children had very active social lives which made me happy for them. My husband was away doing his passions and I was doing mine. We came together for family meals when possible, family trips and US visits, but our couple time was becoming strained. He was a basic guy and loved, breathed and lived for sports as he had as a kid. He played football and wrestled in high school and college and I was very happy to have been instrumental and encouraging that he experience all that again. He was less happy and supportive of me and my art and writing, however.
Actually, he became more upset when I told him I wanted to go back to school for a counseling certificate and began volunteering at a Belgian refugee center as a Spanish language coordinator a year later . "Why was I working again?" he'd asked me, wondering why I'd bother with volunteer work when our daughter went to college in the US and my son was a junior in high school.
I replied that this was 'for me'. For every good in my life, I balanced that with giving back. My husband couldn't see that or understand me. Now, that our kids were older and we could enjoy relative comfort? His questions remained constant.
"What are you searching for, Ellie?"
We entertained dignitaries, visiting diplomats and high level military members and honestly, we could have busy every night of the week. I hated it and my husband thrived on the attention, the glory and the lifestyle. Invariably, I'd sit down to a formal dinner next to a total man who didn't know a thing about the refugee situation in his own country or a woman who raised eyebrows and went back to her sherry when I asked what she did for a living!
"THIS is what I do for a living, my dear!" she seemed to be saying as if entertaining, getting your hair done and vacationing was life enough!
I finally told my husband to take these people to lunch, I was not entertaining NOR going to another formal, plastic, fake dinner again. And, I didn't. My husband wanted to live that life and I knew then, that I was at a major crossroads in my life. How long could a NATO diplomat last without a wife to do the representational dinners? Now that I wasn't putting him and his job first (or second, really. My kids always came first.) how long would it be before he began his wandering again? He always put his job first, so we were used to that.
I felt guilty, sure I did. We'd both made the decision to return to Europe and it felt like I was renigging on a deal we'd both made. I was bailing on my husband, but then again, he'd bailed on me by cheating...yes, all this old crap was resurfacing for me and I was having a very hard time pushing it back into the recesses of my mind like before.
I had a choice. I was a GREAT mother. I was a GREAT wife despite his cheating, followed him around the world and raised his two beautiful kids. I was a GOOD person with a lot of talents and interests. I was a contributing member of our ex-pat and international community. I worked as a counselor and refugee case worker two days a week until my son graduated from high school.
Would I continue to live 'the life' in Europe, bow to my husband and live HIS life by his side in comfort and posh surroundings? Being the trophy wife for all to see or leave Europe and return to the US, closer to my kids who were both in US colleges?
My husband and I talked about a separation for two weeks. I was in favor of a separation and he was adamant against it. After a trip to our house in France with a very good girlfriend who listened to me cry, rant and question - I decided to remain in Europe and work at my marriage. But, life has a way of surprising the shit out of you...
I was left with NO CHOICE...
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