Anger. Anguish. Self-doubt. A bit of Hope...Then the cycle repeats itself.
I must be in some sort of time warp. When I think back to when this madness started, it felt like it was just days ago. Feeling the grip of both shock and disbelief, the searing pain of my heart ripping, the burden of shame and self-loathing, then the temporary relief of apathy.
Twelve years ago, I went through the loss of our first child. Though I may have come to terms with it, the pain could still be felt.
In dreams, I look for that angel's face. I'd call out his name while in tears.
About twelve weeks ago, I went through the loss of a husband.
The husband I once knew was lost to this angry, vindictive, foul-mouthed, adulterer who abandoned the family that he once belonged to. Though the loss was not physical, it might as well have been, for I bear the brunt of his hatred. He has wished even for my own death. And in understanding where that hatred stems from, I realize that it is from an inability to believe that I could still love him despite what we've gone through. And at its core, the immobilizing poverty of a damaged self-esteem.
The enemy I now face bears the visage and the name of the person who went missing from my life, this person who I fear will not be coming back.
And just like with my baby, whom God gave wings to, I look for his face in my dreams, call out his name while in tears. And my heart keeps searching, waiting, and praying.
Searching for reasons to restore our failed marriage.
Waiting for a message from him, wishing to give it another try.
And praying that he would begin to heal from within.
We once made a vow and shared some hopes that we could build our dreams upon, and throughout the years we managed to weather life's numerous demands and challenges.We were blessed with a daughter that constantly brought us joy. But even this other angel was not reason enough for him to keep fighting.
There are many memories that I dwell on to remind myself that those twelve years were not lived in vain. Every happy moment, smile, laughter, embrace, from the successes we shared, all stand in the way of my ability to erase him forever.
I was once told that, as the wife, I would not need to worry, because at the end of the day, he would need to find me when he tries to find his way home. Though hollow as this thought may seem, it's the one thing that stands out from the rest of otherwise obsessive thoughts.
Anger. Anguish. Self-doubt. Once in a while, a bit of Hope...Then the cycle repeats itself.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Regarding Yet Another Fading Memory
I cannot exactly recall the real reasons anymore. I tossed and turned that night, mulling over whether the details of yet another argument. When morning came, a faint sense of understanding settled. I recognized, once and for all, that my husband and I have given up on each other.
As I exchange angry words with my estranged husband, my mind searches for the fellow that I fell in love with a long time ago. The face of this man before me resembled that of the figure in many of our treasured family pictures --- either smiling or wearing a goofy expression, with arms around my daughter and me.
Regret now comes whenever I think about every hurtful expression that both of us could have taken back, about how one more day of patience and longsuffering could have prevented our relationship from failing.
My mind is on aimless overdrive, focusing on nothing but a dull black. I do not know which words to utter when praying. I do not know whether there is any more cause for believing. I cannot lash out at God, for I know there are others who suffer worse. I just know that there’s more suffering to come. Pain lingers like a worsening migraine or heartburn, sometimes overpowering the desire to eat or sleep.
Hard to think of long-term solutions as it is, I am able to manage on a few mundane decisions at the very least, such as rearranging the furniture at home or deciding on a new hairstyle that I could try. In time, I would know exactly just how I could rearrange my life or decide on letting the court mandate on the legalities of our separation.
These days, as sadness hovers over me like a heavy cloud, I am straining to see whatever light remains along its edges. Hope illuminates in the support and understanding of friends and loved ones. The moments spent with them over coffee gives me that sense of unburdening, only to be replaced by this awareness that I had revealed the details of my problems far too much for my comfort.
I am surrounded by a houseful of reminders of a shared life: wedding gifts, framed photos, favorite home movies, and so on. On the other hand, the sights and sounds outside of home set off flashes of memories: our family wandering at the malls, dining, trips out of town, activities in school, etc., etc. If there is no way for a neurosurgeon to find a “Delete” button or press “Restart”, then I would gladly accept a prescription pill to suppress all those ill memories.
Two months ago marked our 12 years of marriage. I had some scant hope that after all the anger has worn down, we’d slowly find a way to reconcile and rebuild our family.
And then that moment changed when I heard him on the phone mutter “I love you, honey.”
It wasn’t me that he was talking to.
.
As I exchange angry words with my estranged husband, my mind searches for the fellow that I fell in love with a long time ago. The face of this man before me resembled that of the figure in many of our treasured family pictures --- either smiling or wearing a goofy expression, with arms around my daughter and me.
Regret now comes whenever I think about every hurtful expression that both of us could have taken back, about how one more day of patience and longsuffering could have prevented our relationship from failing.
My mind is on aimless overdrive, focusing on nothing but a dull black. I do not know which words to utter when praying. I do not know whether there is any more cause for believing. I cannot lash out at God, for I know there are others who suffer worse. I just know that there’s more suffering to come. Pain lingers like a worsening migraine or heartburn, sometimes overpowering the desire to eat or sleep.
Hard to think of long-term solutions as it is, I am able to manage on a few mundane decisions at the very least, such as rearranging the furniture at home or deciding on a new hairstyle that I could try. In time, I would know exactly just how I could rearrange my life or decide on letting the court mandate on the legalities of our separation.
These days, as sadness hovers over me like a heavy cloud, I am straining to see whatever light remains along its edges. Hope illuminates in the support and understanding of friends and loved ones. The moments spent with them over coffee gives me that sense of unburdening, only to be replaced by this awareness that I had revealed the details of my problems far too much for my comfort.
I am surrounded by a houseful of reminders of a shared life: wedding gifts, framed photos, favorite home movies, and so on. On the other hand, the sights and sounds outside of home set off flashes of memories: our family wandering at the malls, dining, trips out of town, activities in school, etc., etc. If there is no way for a neurosurgeon to find a “Delete” button or press “Restart”, then I would gladly accept a prescription pill to suppress all those ill memories.
Two months ago marked our 12 years of marriage. I had some scant hope that after all the anger has worn down, we’d slowly find a way to reconcile and rebuild our family.
And then that moment changed when I heard him on the phone mutter “I love you, honey.”
It wasn’t me that he was talking to.
.
Reposting My Notes on a Slowly Fading Memory
A FATHER who tells his 8-year old only daughter that he already has a girlfriend just weeks after breaking up with his estranged wife does not know just what psychological damage he is causing her.
Nor does he know how her longing for his presence would soon be replaced by distrust because of the numerous promises that he has already broken.
My husband failed to show up for my daughter’s voice lesson recital early in December. He had no idea that his daughter was anxiously searching for his face in the crowd all afternoon.
The Christmas break that followed gave very little opportunity for him to spend quality time for her, despite my prodding. Our little family spent a quiet New Year’s Eve celebration at home together, highlighted by the sheer joy of watching her overcome her initial fear of handling some sparklers. When morning came, I was dismayed when he got ready to leave again once again. When was he ever going to spend time with her now that only a few days were left before school resumed? The angry reply that I got was that he would do it when it’s convenient, and not whenever I would so dictate it. Speaking to our daughter, he explained that I didn’t love him anymore. The remainder of New Year’s Day was spent in tears. Right away, I longed for the newly started 2010 to be over.
“When is daddy coming home?” is frequently asked by my daughter. To help her reach him, I gave her a cell phone. She sent him a message when he failed to come home as promised one Saturday, “Daddy, be here now.” I saw her struggle to type the words, because she was not familiar with such a gadget. His reply came back, saying that mommy should realize all of her mistakes and to be sorry for what she had done.
I texted right back, asking why he couldn’t believe that it was our daughter who actually sent that message? Disgusted that he even had the nerve to think that I was trying to manipulate him, I stressed that if all he does is focus on my faults such that he could not say anything uplifting to her, then he would be not be receiving any message from that number. Shortly, he called our house phone and spoke directly to her. Whatever he said only left my daughter crying.
And so, crying has become common for my daughter whenever she was on the phone with her father. When I wasn’t sure of what to pray for anymore, I asked her one night to pray on our behalf, her father and me. My own tears poured out when I held her as she tearfully asked God, “Lord, help my mommy and daddy to be good...please...” Hearing her sobs only made me decide not to allow her to see me cry around her any longer.
To be honest, I don’t know of any other way to comfort her but to tell her “Mommy still loves your daddy. And right now, we need God to help us because we could not solve our problems on our own.” Neither do I know of any other way to explain, that why, for the fourth time, my husband did not arrive on the day he said he would be coming home. By this time, I had opted not to have our helper tell her in case he calls to say that he planned on seeing her. I thought I’d spare her from anticipating that he would be walking through the door ready to immerse her in his undivided attention. So far, the supposed “quality time” he spoke of came to mean arriving the following day, gathering his personal belongings, and then leaving her with yet another promise to see her on the next weekend.
THIS AFTERNOON, my daughter was berating me for arguing with her dad just two nights ago. Had the idea planted by her father finally taken root in her innocent mind, that the reason he walked out on us was that I was I did not love him anymore?
Right before I left for work (my work schedule shifted to the evening), a phone call came for my daughter. My husband explained that he was feeling too dizzy and so he couldn’t make it that afternoon (his usual excuse was that he had some things to finish). After a few exchanges, my daughter echoed in puzzlement what she heard him say, “You have a girlfriend?” I hastily scribbled a line and then showed it to her. “What’s her name?” Apparently, he refused to name this “diversion” that he was seeing.
We went upstairs to the bedroom. With a forlorn expression, she relayed the brief conversation they had. I asked about the girlfriend part. “Do you think it was right for Daddy to do that?” She weakly shook her head, eyes reddening with the tears that were about to fall. After offering some motherly comfort, I told her I’d go downstairs so she could pray, adding that whenever her father mentions the subject one more time, she must respond by saying, “I don’t want to talk about that.” As an afterthought, I gave her a spiral notebook to use as a diary, explaining that every time she felt sad (or anything else she felt for that matter) she would write it down. I had to help her find an outlet to express the sorrow caused by her father's absence.
A prayer, a diary, the repeated assurance that this 8-year old daughter will always be loved by her parents. How far could these really help to counter her slowly eroding emotional security? And what of her faith? How long will her hopes of a restored family withstand the barrage of negativity coming from her father? Will my comfort as a mother be enough for the sadness and longing crouching to overcome her?
I don’t have the answers.
I can only pray.
* * * * * * * * *
Even a little child can learn to find her voice. Coming from work the following morning, I am approached by our helper, who finds a note written by my daughter:
Dear Daddy,
Please you do not say if you merry another wife. I don’t want to have a new father. You cannot say that to me and I don’t want to hear about that. Mommy will be alone. I don’t want to have a new father and believe that of what I say. I love you.
For you and me,
(my daughter’s name)
Happy New Year, Daddy!
Nor does he know how her longing for his presence would soon be replaced by distrust because of the numerous promises that he has already broken.
My husband failed to show up for my daughter’s voice lesson recital early in December. He had no idea that his daughter was anxiously searching for his face in the crowd all afternoon.
The Christmas break that followed gave very little opportunity for him to spend quality time for her, despite my prodding. Our little family spent a quiet New Year’s Eve celebration at home together, highlighted by the sheer joy of watching her overcome her initial fear of handling some sparklers. When morning came, I was dismayed when he got ready to leave again once again. When was he ever going to spend time with her now that only a few days were left before school resumed? The angry reply that I got was that he would do it when it’s convenient, and not whenever I would so dictate it. Speaking to our daughter, he explained that I didn’t love him anymore. The remainder of New Year’s Day was spent in tears. Right away, I longed for the newly started 2010 to be over.
“When is daddy coming home?” is frequently asked by my daughter. To help her reach him, I gave her a cell phone. She sent him a message when he failed to come home as promised one Saturday, “Daddy, be here now.” I saw her struggle to type the words, because she was not familiar with such a gadget. His reply came back, saying that mommy should realize all of her mistakes and to be sorry for what she had done.
I texted right back, asking why he couldn’t believe that it was our daughter who actually sent that message? Disgusted that he even had the nerve to think that I was trying to manipulate him, I stressed that if all he does is focus on my faults such that he could not say anything uplifting to her, then he would be not be receiving any message from that number. Shortly, he called our house phone and spoke directly to her. Whatever he said only left my daughter crying.
And so, crying has become common for my daughter whenever she was on the phone with her father. When I wasn’t sure of what to pray for anymore, I asked her one night to pray on our behalf, her father and me. My own tears poured out when I held her as she tearfully asked God, “Lord, help my mommy and daddy to be good...please...” Hearing her sobs only made me decide not to allow her to see me cry around her any longer.
To be honest, I don’t know of any other way to comfort her but to tell her “Mommy still loves your daddy. And right now, we need God to help us because we could not solve our problems on our own.” Neither do I know of any other way to explain, that why, for the fourth time, my husband did not arrive on the day he said he would be coming home. By this time, I had opted not to have our helper tell her in case he calls to say that he planned on seeing her. I thought I’d spare her from anticipating that he would be walking through the door ready to immerse her in his undivided attention. So far, the supposed “quality time” he spoke of came to mean arriving the following day, gathering his personal belongings, and then leaving her with yet another promise to see her on the next weekend.
THIS AFTERNOON, my daughter was berating me for arguing with her dad just two nights ago. Had the idea planted by her father finally taken root in her innocent mind, that the reason he walked out on us was that I was I did not love him anymore?
Right before I left for work (my work schedule shifted to the evening), a phone call came for my daughter. My husband explained that he was feeling too dizzy and so he couldn’t make it that afternoon (his usual excuse was that he had some things to finish). After a few exchanges, my daughter echoed in puzzlement what she heard him say, “You have a girlfriend?” I hastily scribbled a line and then showed it to her. “What’s her name?” Apparently, he refused to name this “diversion” that he was seeing.
We went upstairs to the bedroom. With a forlorn expression, she relayed the brief conversation they had. I asked about the girlfriend part. “Do you think it was right for Daddy to do that?” She weakly shook her head, eyes reddening with the tears that were about to fall. After offering some motherly comfort, I told her I’d go downstairs so she could pray, adding that whenever her father mentions the subject one more time, she must respond by saying, “I don’t want to talk about that.” As an afterthought, I gave her a spiral notebook to use as a diary, explaining that every time she felt sad (or anything else she felt for that matter) she would write it down. I had to help her find an outlet to express the sorrow caused by her father's absence.
A prayer, a diary, the repeated assurance that this 8-year old daughter will always be loved by her parents. How far could these really help to counter her slowly eroding emotional security? And what of her faith? How long will her hopes of a restored family withstand the barrage of negativity coming from her father? Will my comfort as a mother be enough for the sadness and longing crouching to overcome her?
I don’t have the answers.
I can only pray.
* * * * * * * * *
Even a little child can learn to find her voice. Coming from work the following morning, I am approached by our helper, who finds a note written by my daughter:
Dear Daddy,
Please you do not say if you merry another wife. I don’t want to have a new father. You cannot say that to me and I don’t want to hear about that. Mommy will be alone. I don’t want to have a new father and believe that of what I say. I love you.
For you and me,
(my daughter’s name)
Happy New Year, Daddy!
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