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The kids are asleep (thank goodness) and I have quite the laundry to do. But besides that, things are actually starting to get better. It's only mid-afternoon and I already miss him. How is that possible?
The first great thing I did last week (and a decision I will not regret) was getting enrolled in school. It sounds pretty silly, me dreaming of going back to school. But, for those of you who understand the thirst for education, maybe it isn't so silly afterall. Someone once said that after you are enlightened, your mind can never go dark again. I suppose that's what it is all about. I graduated high school with an impressive GPA and was at the top of most classes (well except for math). I fell in love towards the end of my senior year, a year and a half later I was married and pregnant with my first child. I never regretted having children and a family. But every mother knows how you go through maintaining a household, caring for your husband and children, and always putting yourself last. This change is going to be amazing and though we really want more children, that isn't going to stop me from going to school. Who says you can't be pregnant and attend college all at once? Besides I'm taking night classes and it's only part time. But it's a start and a good start at that.
The second great thing I did, was excercising forgiveness. I am not one to hold a grudge, but I was enraged and heartbroken over this issue. My husband is an intelligent man, hard-working, and solid as a rock, my rock...literally. He recently returned from a 15-month deployment in Iraq. These boys and men are completely disconnected from the outside world and everything in it. I could never imagine the things he went through: getting shot at, missles flying over the metal boxes they slept in, driving a humvee every day and eventually becoming the gunner on missions at least 6 times a week, fighting and protecting the country they love. I don't know how he did it, and equally, i'm not sure how I did either. I could picture him in this desolate country, 120 degrees, sweating in all his gear with his M-4 by his side indefinitely, and somehow still smiling. Maybe not on all days, but most of them. That is just who he is. His soul is like that of a child, playful and carefree, yet so caring that he actually hurts when someone else is hurting. He has this tremendous capacity in his heart to love unconditionally. I realize now that I have so much to learn from him.
I remember the day he called to tell me their humvee had been hit by an IED (improvised explosive device for all those who don't know. Another acronym in the army, yet again). I felt a deep knot in my stomach, working its way towards my throat and evolving into tears and frustration. More than anything I was scared. He was invincible. At least that's what I told myself, maybe to get through those long months, or for my sanity. And now my ignorance had completely shattered by his shaking voice over the phone. He's not invincible, never was. And no one ever is. He was the gunner, the only one not protected by the metal frames and bulletproof glass in the uparmored vehicle. As he went through the events of that night, it seemed impossible that something like this could happen. The blast left a giant crater below the vehicle and completely destroyed it. There was a light, and explosion, and then his ears began ringing. That's most of what he remembers. His goggles completely flew off of his face and shrapnel cut his cornea. But that was it. Luckily he wasn't standing during the blast, otherwise, who knows what could've happened. Angels were with him that day. I do not doubt that.
All of this crossed my mind as I peered at him sitting across the table, his emerald eyes and his perfect mischeivous grin setting off his square jaw and the stubble that lined his face. I cringed as he took another shot and another and another. I didn't blame him. I couldn't could I? We had this talk a thousand times. We were going to stop drinking, and he said he wanted to. The hangovers, the fights, not remembering the night before, it wasn't worth it. And our girls, our lovely little girls. Even though they were in bed when our friends would come over for cards and other various games, the drinking would begin and I didn't feel right about doing it with them there. I can hear most of you thinking: It's just a drink, what on earth is wrong with a few drinks? And my response is nothing, nothing is wrong with it. But for me, the impact it had on our spiritual and emotional relationship with God and eachother, was enough reason we both knew we needed to stop.
He kept at it the rest of the night, laughing with the friends we had over, enjoying the night (or what of it he could remember). But to me he was cold, shut off, and a total stranger. The longer the night drew on, the more we started fighting. And being the sober one, I began playing on his lack of ability to do...well anything at the moment. The way he walked and talked, I was outright making fun of him and people were laughing. He was laughing, mostly oblivious to it all, but part of him knew I was trying to hurt him. I looked at him several times and told him he was cut off. No more shots. I hated when he got this way. How he looked at me but didn't see me, how he acted so cruel and loud and like a complete asshole. I hid the bottle, 3 times actually. In the oven, the laundry room...but his buddy kept egging him on. And the drunker they got, the more upset I was. I couldn't handle him like this anymore
By 4 a.m. I had enough. The girls would be up in 3 hours and I really really had enough. The friends went home as I cleaned up a bit. But I wasn't prepared for the fight that ensued after they left. I was using the bathroom downstairs as he was stumbling around turning off lights and locking doors. He opened the door of the bathroom where I was and almost fell into me (it's a small space, just a toilet and a sink). He then proceeded to step on my feet, turn out the light and shut the door. Did he seriously just do that? He didn't see me at all? Even after he stepped on my feet? I took a deep breath, trying to figure out my next move. Usually this would've been funny, perhaps it would have been had I been drinking. But there was something wrong, more than him just getting drunk. It was deeper than that.
This is where I would describe the details of the fight, but it wasn't pretty. And frankly, I don't have enough energy to think about it, let alone write about it. But I will tell you that forgiveness is far better than sleeping in separate rooms and ignoring each other. It is better than crying and yelling in frustration, it is better than a lot of things. Of course we did have the night in separate places, him on the couch, me alone upstairs. And there was the yelling and screaming and cursing, waking up the neighbors. Forgiveness might not have come until the next night. But all the same it came. That was definitely the second greatest thing I did last week. And perhaps receiving forgiveness from him all in the same instant, was equally as satisfying
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Posted by Skatrose on 2007-12-10 17:09:09 | Rating: | Views: 59
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