Random Thoughts- On Closure

I saw a fantastic quote one time. The person wrote: Glaciers will melt and freeze back over into ice that will be sculpted into swans that will be the center piece at gay weddings in Saudi Arabia before my spouse will ever admit that they are the one to blame for their cheating.

Perhaps I am a cold, heartless creature but I didn’t need or seek closure. Nor did I think I would find comfort in Jerry Lee admitting everything was his fault, or at the very least, that he was sorry for what he did and he was wrong for doing it.

Then again, maybe I just knew it wasn’t going to happen. He’s the smartest man in the world (just ask him!). He’s entitled to everything. He’s always a victim. Nothing is ever his fault.

I’m often asked if I think they did truly end their affair the first time they were caught, or if they continued on the full two years. I don’t know. I don’t care. I’ve been asked if I believe he moved us to get closer to her. Well, obviously I know from previous conversations that the original plan was for him to get closer, but I don’t know and I don’t care, if they were still involved when we did move. I’m often asked if I know when it started. I don’t know. I don’t care. Was she at my house? What did he tell her about me and our relationship? Again, I don’t know. I don’t care. I know the important part of the story- the part where he lied, cheated, betrayed me, abandoned his kids, and left us in a financial pickle. That’s the part of the story I care about. All that other stuff? it’s filler.

Having him admit he was wrong does nothing for me. It doesn’t get me my old life back. It doesn’t get my kids their old lives back. It doesn’t erase what he did to us. All it does is make him feel better about himself. Such a good boy for apologizing.

I’m also not bothered by him telling people I’m the devil. I don’t care if he tries to portray me as the ex-wife from hell. I hope I am the ex-wife from hell! The people who know me and have my back know the truth. Those that believe him can have him. I have no interest in everyone believing I am the injured spouse and siding with me. I’ll take it, of course, but if you think I fucked him over or have alienated his kids from him, I don’t care. That person is obviously not a part of my tribe.

No, this is the part where you really need to trust that they suck. You don’t need them to verify events. You don’t need their apologies. You don’t need them to admit they were at fault. If you truly trust that they suck you already know all of that.

A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

 

This picture is the essence of who my daughter once was. It was taken just a few months after we moved from Virginia to Indiana. A few months after gymnastics was taken away from her forever.

She started gymnastics the first time around as soon as she turned three. It lasted about 3 months. The class tended to take place at the time she was just waking up from her nap and she was a beast upon waking. I decided it wasn’t worth it.

Fast forward almost a year. Her preschool class took a field trip to that gym. She loved it. I asked her if she’d like to take lessons again. She enthusiastically replied, “Yes!”

Her coach was a real cutie patootie. After she had gone through the entire program for kids her age it was time to decide if she wanted to sign up for some more recreational lessons, or if she wanted to start training for team gymnastics. I explained to her that if she wanted to do rec Chad wouldn’t be her coach any longer because he taught the preschool program and the team girls. She wanted to do team gymnastics.

“Do you want to do team gymnastics because you really like gymnastics, or because you really like Chad?” I asked her, knowing that participation on the team would require a much bigger commitment.

“I really like gymnastics,” she replied. “But I really like Chad, too,” she admitted.

That’s how we ended up spending tens of thousands of dollars on gymnastics over the years.

She made the transition from the gym in Michigan to the gym in Utah with a few tears. It was difficult starting over. Meeting new coaches. Getting used to them. Meeting new teammates.

She was at that gym for 8 years. She spent countless hours there. Gymnastics was her life. Her final three years in Utah she was an Optional. She was at the gym no less than 20 hours a week. In the summer it was 25. Her friends were her gymnastics teammates. Very few people outside of the gym permeated that friendship circle.

For eight years she lived and breathed gymnastics. She progressed from a little girl who couldn’t do a cartwheel, much less a back handspring to a young lady who was doing whips and fulls on floor, back tucks on beam, giants on bars and a Yurchenko on vault.

Then we took it all away from her. We moved to Virginia to a town that didn’t have a JO gymnastics program. They had high school gymnastics though and she dove into that. At one point she even did Excel, saying all she wanted to do was compete. But once again she was being asked to trust new coaches, only this time around the skills were a lot more challenging than a cartwheel.

That lasted for two years. We had to leave our home shortly after she found out she was being named co-captain for her high school gymnastics team. There was no high school gymnastics and I couldn’t afford competitive gymnastics any longer. It was over. Twelve years of gymnastics, over in the blink of an eye. Her love, her passion, was abruptly taken away. She never replaced it with anything else.

I love that picture of her. It captures who she was so perfectly. You could take gymnastics away from her but she would always find a way. She lost competitive gymnastics but embraced high school gymnastics. Then that was taken away from her when we moved from Virginia to Indiana. Yet, out there in a cornfield she used a log as a balance beam and leaped.

I feel like this picture represents something I can’t put into words. Perseverance? The ability to soldier on even when everything you care about has been taken from you? The ability to get back up when life knocks you down? A strong will? Loss? Refusing to be defeated? I don’t know.

What I do know is she loved this. It was her life. And now it’s over. Her father took it away from her to meet his own selfish needs.

Keep leaping, my beautiful girl. Keep dreaming and improvising.

P.S. She nailed the landing, in case you were wondering.

He’s Moved On, You Should, Too

I wrote about Jennifer Ball’s blog post, Haunted (By) Houses, a few months ago. One of the things that people have said to her apparently is the title phrase, “He’s moved on, Jenny. Why can’t you?”

That phrase has stuck in my head. I don’t always express myself concisely or as eloquently as I wish the first time around but after ruminating on this blasted phrase for a while I finally figured it out in the shower this morning.

They didn’t have the same experience! It’s not just that he had someone else, ready and waiting. It’s not just that life went on for him as normal. The entire experience was completely different for each of them. He firebombed her life! He cheated on her. He tricked her into getting sterilized. And then he left her and their four kids in poverty and went on to live a life of luxury with his ho-worker and their own two mulligans. He had nothing to get over.

They were not both in a car accident and horribly maimed; he didn’t get on with his life, learning to live this new reality while she continued limping around, hanging on to the memories of pre-accident Jenny. No, he was the one in the damn car running her over!

It would be like someone running over my dog, and then mutual friends saying to me, “Look, that person has moved on after running over your dog. He’s not living in the past. He’s gotten on with his life. In fact, he’s got an adorable dog now. Plus, he’s got a cat. And some chickens. I don’t understand why you can’t move on and forgive and forget.”

Oh really? Let me tell you why.  It’s not the same! I didn’t run over his dog. He ran over mine. We’re not on equal footing; we did not suffer the same loss. This person has done something to me; he’s taken something from me. I have done nothing to him; I have not taken anything from him.

Jenny, if you ever read this I have a suggestion. The next time someone makes that comment punch them in the nose ever so slightly. Just enough to make their eyes water. Or maybe poke them in the eye. And when they react with shock, or cry, or ask you why you did that just shrug your shoulders and reply, “I’m already over it. Why aren’t you?”

Time Flies When You Forget Stuff

Today is August 10th.

As I’ve said before I work at a bank. I have to know what day it is all the time. I’ve got holds to place. Forms to fill out. Service requests to fulfill. These all require dates.

So, I knew when August rolled around. “Oh wow! I can’t believe it’s August already!” I got a little hung up on the 7th, 8th, and 9th. Kept mixing them up. Never sure if I was a day behind or a day ahead. Not a good thing to admit. But I have a calendar- a huge calendar- on my desk so it worked out okay. Then today, the 10th, rolls around. I’m not at work; I’m home, checking out Facebook while I cook breakfast. More specifically I’m looking back at my memories on Facebook.

The most recent memory? This little ditty: Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. Oh crap! Today is D-Day #2, the D-Day that ended my marriage and completely changed the trajectory of my life. Our lives really, because that jackass deeply affected my children as well.

Another momentous occasion that I have forgotten. Had I not checked my memories on Facebook I doubt I would have made the connection.

It’s strange though because only six days ago I came across the memory of our pool finally being filled. There was a picture of Rock Star and Picasso shivering in the cold water, so happy our pool was finally finished. A few days later came the picture of the deck jets working. I’m quite familiar with that timeline and how my enjoyment was so short lived.

Yet, somehow this date completely slipped my mind. Sitting here typing this I feel nothing. I’m not happy. I’m not sad. I still feel like I haven’t made proper progress in four years but that has nothing to do with him.

Hey, come to think of it I forgot my three year anniversary of moving from Virginia to Indiana, as well. Wow- I’m losing it.

Or maybe the significance of all of those dates are simply losing their power over me. They don’t really mean anything anymore. I’d rather concentrate on dates like August 15th, which is the date my son begins his junior year. Or, August 13th which is the date Rock Star has to return for her sophomore year. Or May 23rd and 24th, which are the two anniversary days of the mobster coming into my life.

So fuck you, horrible anti-versary dates. You mean nothing to me anymore. I barely even recognize you. Four years ago today my life fell apart. I had no idea what was going to happen to me and to my children. Today, I am with the love of my life, my kids are doing well despite whatever hurdles are thrown our way, I have a job no matter how little it pays, and I no longer have to worry about a fuckwit and his whore. Tonight I am going out dancing with two of my friends from high school. We’re listening to a band that someone we know plays in. I’m going to have a few drinks, maybe enjoy some appetizers, and dance the night away. Even if I don’t dance I’ll be with friends. Maybe I’ll mention the date’s former significance to them. Maybe I won’t. It’s possible that between now and then I’ll have forgotten about it once again.

Let It Go

I am almost 3 1/2 years out from my final D-Day. You would think I would have everything together, everything figured out, everything resolved and put behind me. You would be mostly right but there are days when some things linger.

I suppose part of it is the fact we are still trying to get support modified for Picasso. My lawyer is taking her sweet time, claiming to be swamped with work. This has been ongoing since July. My patience is quickly coming to a close.

My beef though is with him. This was his responsibility. He has a court order. I used to think that meant something. Instead, he just glances at my texts about modifying the support and not simply cutting it in half and he says, “No.” Calls me a cunt when he realizes I’m not going to roll over and play dead. More importantly I’m not listening to him and I’m no longer letting him have his way. Then he insults the mobster and implies I’m using child support to meet up with him. He haughtily tells me he won’t pay a dime more until he hears from my lawyer. Once he hears from my lawyer he wants to argue with the numbers she gives him and decides to try his hand at playing lawyer. He refuses to pay the legal fees which I have incurred because he is an asshole.

From my perspective he gets away with it. He gets away with all of it. He openly defies a court order. He calculates child support on his daughter down to the freaking minute she graduates. He divides child support in half and dares me to try to tell him that it should be different. When I do, he says, “I know better than you or the judge what happens next.” He drags me through the mud and makes me do all of the damn work and then he says, “No, I’m not paying your legal fees. That’s all on you.” So again, if I want him to pay I have to take him to court again. Which costs even more money.

What can I do? I control only myself. I suppose I can continue to fight him and hope that I win and that by winning I land a solid uppercut right on that smug face of his.

There is a lot of talk of letting go… walking away… being the bigger person… focusing on the big picture…

Yes, I suppose I could drop the rope. Say, “Fine, pay half of the original support amount.” I could eat the legal fees. God knows I have so much discretionary income that another $600-$900 to my attorney is no big deal! <<< That was sarcasm.

Then he wins. He gets away with being a fucking jackass. He gets away with violating a court order. He gets away with talking down to me. He gets away with making me jump through hoops. All so that I can tell myself that some money is just too expensive and it’s not worth it; I can try to convince myself that having him out of my life is worth all of the shit sandwiches I’ve had to eat because of him.

It’s not even about the money at this point. It’s about the fact that I told him very nicely that he should probably contact his lawyer and get this modified. I agreed that it would go down but told him it would not decrease by 50%. He knew that. He was just playing games. He doles out the money when he wants and he pays what he wants. I told him again a few days later after he sent his version of prorated support for Rock Star. It’s not going to decrease by 50%. Please talk to your lawyer and get this modified. Instead he lets me know there are no separate orders for child support and therefore I will now receive 50% of what I had been receiving. He even has the audacity to tell me to read the court orders.

If that’s not enough of a shit sandwich to swallow, once my lawyer finally gives him new numbers he wants to argue. Oh no! I don’t agree with that at all. If we’re going to modify this we need to make sure all the numbers are up to date. I want proof of insurance since my wife is a such a lying, cheater (oops, that’s me!) and I want to see if she got a raise since we were in court last time.

He actually has the balls to scold my lawyer and point out that there are newer forms, which he has used. Finally, he follows all of this up by letting her know he refuses to pay my legal expenses because he is not privy to my business affairs. He has no control over whether or not I choose to get a lawyer involved.

Yes, because my first course of action was to call my lawyer about this. Oh, wait! My first course of action was actually going to him and letting him know he should speak to his lawyer about getting child support modified for one child. He could have had this done and over with in probably 30 minutes- maybe an hour if he decided he was going to look the forms up and do it all on his own right from the beginning. Instead, even knowing that he was wrong and he did indeed owe more he still crossed his arms and stomped his feet and refused to do anything on his own. I had to do it. Furthermore, he thinks I should be the one to pay for it.

I might even be able to shake this all off by telling myself that he looks like a giant ass while I keep plodding along, doing whatever needs to get done. Don’t let him get to you. Pretend you’re a character in a movie. Get to work and just do what needs to be done. Don’t worry about the other stuff. That’s not what’s important.

That’s when the thoughts of, “It’s not fair!” begin screaming in my head.

Because it’s not just this latest thing. It’s the fact that I have had to do all of the dirty work ever since the day I found out he was fucking his whore of a cousin. Who told the kids we were getting a divorce? That would be me. Daddy of the Decade was off fucking his cousin at the time. Probably throwing hundred dollar bills at her kids, too. Who had to break it to the kids that we were going to have to move? That would be me again. He was busy half-ass participating in alcohol treatment and refusing to give me any information. Who had to go through and price all of the items in our house and list the furniture on Facebook? If you guessed me you would be correct! Who held our daughter while she cried because she found out she was going to have to start all over with a learner’s permit instead of getting her license like she had anticipated? Oh, oh! Pick me. Who worked two jobs to pay my bills and attempt to give my kids something for Christmas? Again, me. Who watched as our beautiful daughter became depressed and anxious after being moved her junior year? And who held and supported her as she cried on her Senior Night because she didn’t have much to list on her achievements and didn’t have anyone but me there to support her? By golly, that was me, too! Who had to hire an expert witness at the cost of over $8000 to prove someone was faking PTSD? That money, btw, could have gone towards my kids or a house. It’s me again! Look, it’s a rigged game. It’s always me. Every shitty thing that had to be done was done by me. Every bit of bad news that my kids heard was told by me. Cousinfucker was off doing his own thing with his newly created fake family. They were so much more important than his original family.

It extends back to the entire settlement that I accepted. After more than 2 years, and being told a judge would probably rule this way anyway, I did basically as my lawyer suggested. Now I wish I had fought some more.

There are times that I’m still pissed I had to account for the $27,000 I took. I was told repeatedly by multiple lawyers that as long as I spent that on the household and could prove it I wouldn’t have to split that with him. I faithfully kept receipts for more than 2 years. Still had to account for it in the settlement, which hurt me a lot. It definitely helped him because it mostly offset the stock he cashed in, the 401k he drained, and the money he gave to her. Plus, because his primary 401k was the only asset we had as a married couple everything was rolled into the 401k and how it was divided.

This meant that when I was paying all of the household bills and marital debt while he remained living in the home and paid nothing towards any of it, he was free to blow through tens of thousands of dollars. When I was working two jobs and getting up at 3:30 in the morning he decided to drain his smaller 401k, pocket the $10 grand and was sleeping in and watching TV. Because all of our bills were automatically withdrawn from our joint account I was still paying his insurance. I made his final car payment.

All of that was rolled up into the 401k and then divided. Instead of a big fat check he had to write to pay me my half of all of that, I have less than $100,000 in a 401k, waiting for me when I retire in another 15-20 years.

Our pool ended up being paid off with his bonus check and then we split the rest. His half was already gone by the time he lost his job. I’m assuming the whore blew through it, spending it on Vera Bradley and God only knows what else. I know they got to take a vacation to Florida over Spring Break. I got to use my share to live on when he lost his job and decided he wasn’t going to send another dime until he finally got a job worthy of him.

He got to spend his money on fun things. Vacations. Dresses. Puppies. Engagement rings. Romantic getaways. Bribing children that weren’t his. I used mine to survive while I looked for a job, and the rest of it is waiting for me when I retire someday.

Let it go, right? I can’t control it. It’s in the past. What’s done is done. Move on. Make a brand new life and make it fabulous. Yep, I’ve heard it all. I do my best to follow that advice.

Yet some days I curse, “Motherfucker! It is not fair! It’s not fair that he gets to run around without a care in the world while I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. It’s not fair that he got to spend all of that money on whatever he wanted and got to have fun, and I had to use mine to live on. Goddamn! Sonofabitch! Motherfucking motherfucker! Asshole!”

Add in that he pays support whenever he feels like it and doesn’t think I need to be given a heads up. You want to pay funeral expenses for your mom instead of paying your court obligated support? You go right ahead. Hey, no need to tell me what’s going on. I like the shortness of breath and the tightness in my chest when I think my world might be collapsing again. It’s invigorating. He asked to be allowed to pay every other week instead of in full on the 1st, which I agreed to; however, he pays whenever he chooses with no rhyme or reason. He’s made his first payment as early as the 8th (only happened once) and as late as the 16th. Usually it’s somewhere between the 12th and the 14th. The last two months he’s paid child support on the very last day of the month.

It all comes down to feeling helpless. He walks around doing whatever he wants, paying whenever he wants, thinking he makes all the rules. I can’t do a single thing to change this. Oh, I realize I can take him to court. I can garnish him. That’s where my power ends. And until my lawyer gets her ass in gear I can’t even do those things. Instead I wait and I repeat, “Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.”

Update: Sometimes you just have a bad day and let bad thoughts overwhelm you. I’m doing much better already. He’s an ass. Life is unfair. I’ll carry on. I’m sure I’ll be fabulous as well.

Winning Vs. Losing, Or What I Learned From Michelle Kwan

The fabulous Dolly over on The Queen Is In wrote a provocative post last week. She mentioned someone on Twitter who questioned whether or not she stayed because she couldn’t stand to see the OW win. Dolly admitted she, too, wondered if part of why she stayed was because she didn’t want to see the OW win. Several other people commented that they didn’t want to see the OW in their situations win either. I couldn’t really chime in because as you must know if you read my blog, in my situation the OW did win. She got my husband. They are married now. I was effectively cast out and replaced.

Plus, as I kept thinking up a response it kept getting longer and longer so I decided to do what I do best and turn it into a post.

I can understand not wanting to lose your spouse to another person. I felt that way the first time I discovered what was going on. White hot rage that he had been playing me for a fool all summer long while he sweet talked that bitch. She knew I existed. She knew my kids existed. She didn’t give a shit. She wanted what was mine.

I wanted her gone! I wanted to win. I wanted her broken and destroyed. I wanted her to know that he loved me and he would never leave no matter what plans they may have had; I wanted to show her that all I had to do was snap my fingers and tell him I wanted us to work out and she would be gone without a second thought. I wanted her to know I was better than her and that she wouldn’t win.

I demanded he end things with her. I wanted to see it in black and white. His story was that he called her instead and ended things. He said she cried when he told her he could never leave me. I loved that. I felt great satisfaction in hearing she cried, that she felt discarded. She had been messing around with my husband for more than three months at that point and I wanted to banish her from our lives forever. I wanted her to know how insignificant she was to him.

I told him I had contacted her husband and when he told me to leave them alone and let them concentrate on repairing their marriage while we did the same I hissed at him, “Do not beg for mercy for your whore!” He backed off. I felt powerful. In control. Victorious.

So I definitely get it. I did not want her to win. And yet, I remember when our anniversary rolled around and the reality of everything hit me. I was “celebrating” my anniversary with a man who cheated on me.

About two months later I followed it up with this jewel:

One day I was talking to a dear friend who is wise beyond measure. I referred to the whore as a homewrecker. She pointed out to me that she wasn’t a homewrecker; my family was intact and I had won. I had to think about that. I don’t always feel like I’ve won. It sucks knowing your husband was declaring his love for someone else, someone he considered his soul mate. How do you feel like you’ve won when the prize is a lying, cheating sonofabitch? I’m being melodramatic here. I don’t feel that way now. I’m actually pretty pleased with my life right now. But still it’s that phrasing. Kinda like our marriage is better than ever. You know how I hate that one! I don’t think there are any winners or losers in the aftermath of an affair. Sure, he’s with me. He picked me. He’s a lot nicer. A lot more attentive. But he still lied and cheated. And that’s not a great prize to win.

Much like Katniss who won The Hunger Games only to find herself having to fight for her life once again in an ultimate showdown, I found myself in round two of fighting for my marriage a short two years later; sadly, I didn’t realize there was a round two until it was too late.

So this time I lost and she won. But did she really? What did she win?

She won a man who cheats. She won a man who, when times get tough, seeks out others instead of turning to his partner. She won a man who abandoned his children. Maybe she sees that as the ultimate sacrifice and a sign of how incredibly special she is. Most people see it as an act of cowardice. She won a man who can never be happy. She won a man who, according to his court testimony, can’t drive, can’t be around loud noises, and can’t be in public places with big crowds. She won an alcoholic. She won a man who is always the smartest guy in the room and who demands all the attention and adulation. She won a man she can never rely on when things are tough because for him every small problem is a giant problem; she’ll have to be the strong one all the time because he can’t handle it. She won a man who can’t take criticism and who will demand she is happy and appreciative all the time.

My mother likes to remind me that people can be different with different people. She has tales of her own with my father. As a child growing up I remember him spending a lot of time helping my grandpa out on the farm. Once he remarried though he didn’t spend nearly as much time out on the farm. As my mother said once, “It’s amazing that as his father ages he doesn’t need his son’s help nearly as much as he did when he was younger.”

I, on the other hand, don’t believe in personality transplants. I think my stepmom has something on my dad and that’s why their marriage has lasted 30+ years. And following that logic if she had something on him she could effectively control him.

Even if my ex-husband is a completely different person with Harley what is important is how he was with me.

When I “lost” to Harley, I lost a man who rarely used my name when speaking to me. I lost a man who didn’t want to hold my hand in public (although he thought it was hilarious to grope me). I lost a man who told me on many occasions, “Only one of us can be crazy or unhappy at a time, and that person is always me.” I lost a man who took it as a personal insult if I was unhappy or sad or dared to complain about anything. I lost a man who shut himself off in the basement or bedroom, and then dared to justify his behavior with Harley because I “treated him like a wallet and a handyman.” I lost a man who didn’t really want to go on family vacations or outings with us. A man who didn’t bother to go to parent-teacher conferences with me most of the time (I think he attended two). A man who didn’t really seem to care about being a husband or a father when it came time for the day to day activities. I lost a man who didn’t want to socialize with me and friends together. I lost a man who had no interest in hearing my stories from my life before him, and who didn’t really seem to show much interest in my life outside of him when we were married.

More importantly, “losing” him to Harley led me to finding the mobster. It’s no secret that I would have probably stayed until the bitter end. Her swooping in with her “big win” allowed me to find a love I couldn’t even begin to imagine. Yes, I may have “lost” to the OW but do you want to know what I’ve won?

I’m with a man who thinks I’m funny. He genuinely laughs at my jokes.

He thinks I’m adorable. Seriously. I’ll do something and he’ll say, “You are so cute the way you…”.

He butters my roll for me without me even asking. He makes me breakfast. He wants to please me. He sends me flowers and chocolate covered strawberries.

He greets me every morning with, “Hi, Beautiful,”  “Hi, Cutie,” or, “Hi, Babydoll”.

He appreciates the things I do for him instead of merely tolerating them. He has thanked me over and over again for his “Box ‘O Love” and the surprise party I threw for him. He thanks me every time I drive the entire way to see him.

He thinks I’m smart and beautiful.

He listens to me. He listens to all my crazy stories, both present and in the past. I can tell him anything. And I do. He tells me to never apologize for complaining; he wants to hear everything. We’re partners and he wants to hear the good and the bad. He likes to hear about my day. I work in a bank, for crying out loud, and he treats it like I’m doing amazing and interesting work every day. Hell, I believe he even listened to me explaining Candy Crush to him in detail.

He doesn’t tell me only one of us can be crazy at once and it’s always him. In fact, he calms me down when I’m freaking out and he’s willing to take over if I need him to.

He tells me that I give wonderful advice and I’ve been so good for him and I always think things through and know just what to say.

He ran out to Wal-Mart when we were together for my daughter’s Family Weekend and bought me shampoo and conditioner because I hadn’t brought any and the hotel didn’t have any in the room. My mom told me later she was amazed that he was willing to do that and asked me if I could ever imagine CF doing that for me. Considering he grudgingly made me a lemonade when I was pregnant with his child after three miscarriages I’m going to say, “Probably not.”

He accompanied me to a wedding all the way out in Utah AND met a ton of my friends while out there. Some people would have found that to be much like a lamb being led to slaughter, but he was amazing. He was a bit nervous but he was genuinely pleased to finally be able to meet my friends.

He likes to socialize and have fun. He’s always up for adventure. My daughter has labeled him “the happiest person [she] knows.”

He lifts me up. He wants to be a full-time partner to me.

He’s more supportive and attentive to my kids than their own dad was.

And he’s funny. He makes me laugh and we have the best time when we’re together.

He picks flowers for me from the side of the road. He creates chalk signs for me when I come to visit and he buys balloons and decorates for me. He’s willing to drive 10.5 hours to see me. He sends me song lyrics and creates picture books of our adventures together. He gets me a cup of coffee when we’re together.

He’s also never cheated on me and never lied to me. He has been patient and understanding, especially in the beginning when I was a skittish mess. He is the most amazing man and I never would have met him if I hadn’t lost my husband to Harley.

Years ago I remember an interview the lovely, talented and graceful Michelle Kwan did. It was right after the Olympics, where she had been expected to take the gold, only to have someone snatch it out from under her. The interviewer asked her how she dealt with losing the gold medal. I still remember her response all these years later. I didn’t lose the gold. I won the silver.

Wow- talk about reframing a situation. Michelle didn’t lose anything. She won something that very people even have the opportunity to compete for. What does that have to do with infidelity and Harley and losing CF to her, you may be asking?

It’s simple. I don’t look at it as losing my husband to Harley. I look at it as “winning” the mobster and finally being in a relationship where I am valued, cherished and loved.

A Word About Being Angry

Fellow blogger, Reformed Cad, just gave me a shout out on his blog. It was a very nicely done post and I very much appreciated it. I always like it when people take the time to reblog something I’ve written, or take the time to tell others about my blog. I think he has a closed blog so I’m not going to try to link to it. If he comes over and says it’s open to the public I’ll link to it, or he can link to it in the comments.

I am, however, going to quibble with one thing he says. She is angry. And if you read her journal it becomes obvious why.

Let the record (or blog) show I am not angry. It always baffles me when people say things like that because I think I keep it pretty light hearted when it comes to my situation. I think if you asked my mother she would tell you I didn’t get angry enough. I did indeed get dealt a shitty hand.; however, it’s better than what some other people are dealt. He didn’t attempt to poison me (as far as I know). He didn’t try to pay someone to take me out. He didn’t get physically violent with me once the divorce began. He didn’t kidnap and kill my children. He didn’t threaten me with a weapon or set me up for a domestic violence charge. He didn’t leave me after I was diagnosed with a potentially fatal disease. He didn’t leave me with a nasty STD. And yes, I realize those are the extreme situations, but I’ve heard every one of those over on Chump Lady except the one about paying someone to kill me. I got that one off of ID TV, where it happens quite regularly.

He also didn’t fight me for custody of our children. Granted, that would have been a tough sell seeing as how he moved approximately 300 miles away from them and left them behind, but I know that others are having to fight for custody even when the only reason the ex is fighting is to reduce or eliminate child support.

And, while he did indeed cheat again I only lost two years of my life “wreck-onciling” with him, instead of five, or ten or twenty.

I know that I have written a lot about all that my kids and I have lost. That’s a fact. It has nothing to do with anger. He screwed us. We invested everything into this new life he said he so desperately wanted. He threw it away, and in the process the kids and I lost our home and were forced to move. Fact.

With my daughter graduating recently I was continually reminded of everything that we lost. Again, that’s a fact. It happened, and no matter how happy I pretend to be about everything that was lost, it doesn’t change that.

That’s not anger. If anything it’s sadness. Sadness that my kids had to go through that because of their dad and his crappy decisions.

I wrote the other day about the triggers that still come. It’s not anger. It’s continuing to mourn the life I had. Imagine spending twenty years with someone, living a certain kind of life, and then one day having that ripped away from you. I defy anyone to say it would be no big deal. It’s one thing to decide you are going to make big changes. It is a completely different animal when those changes are made for you.

Even when you’ve accepted that life is gone you still mourn at times. There are still things that smack you in the face and cause you to feel that loss. I’m not angry. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the life I lived for twenty years is gone, and that it was all a lie.

Do I continue to write about CF? Sure, I do. He keeps doing shitty things. I mostly shrug it all off. Nothing he says or does really angers me. Well, except for the fact that he has yet to acknowledge he has a son. That does piss me off. But the shit he says whenever he has to pay me? That’s comedy fodder for my blog. I give him about as much importance as I would a two year old throwing a tantrum.

I did ask my mom if I seemed angry because, as I said, it always perplexes me when people give me that label. She was pretty quick to answer. “No, you just call bullshit when you see it.”

That’s a pretty good explanation. I’m not angry or bitter about my situation. I continue to write because it does make me angry when I hear stories of others who are going through this same thing. It makes me angry when I hear about a spouse who is so desperate to keep a marriage together that they accept bullshit excuses and tolerate the so called “trickle truth” and evasion of questions. I know what I went through; I hate to see others go through that same thing. If I can be a sane voice out there asking, “Is this acceptable to you?” and leading someone through the dark I’ll keep writing.

As Chump Lady reminds her audience over and over, there are many avenues for those who want to reconcile. She is pretty much the only voice that tells people it’s not their fault their spouse cheated and there is a better life out there without a cheater. I don’t go so far as to encourage people to leave; I think that’s an individual choice and everyone has their reasons for staying or going. I will, however, point out when the cheater is blowing smoke up your ass. I’ll tear apart all the psycho-babble explanations for why people do the heinous things they do, and I’ll mock the “affair-y tale” love stories that mistresses share on a regular basis.

I will also never accept the idea that both parties had a part to play in an affair. Both of you were in the same marriage. Only one person cheated. I fully agree with Chump Lady when she says that you may have been the worst spouse on the planet; you may have truly, truly sucked. But you did not deserve to be cheated on and you did not cause your spouse to cheat.

Furthermore, I’m not one who believes you need to be a martyr for the sake of your children. You don’t need to celebrate birthdays with the cheating ex and the new spouse, or go on “family” outings, or look after your ex if they get sick. Your kids will survive even if you’re not pretending that the other parent is the best-est person in the whole wide world.

I’m willing to tell people you don’t have to, and in fact shouldn’t, gaslight your children. Tell them the truth in age appropriate terms. It’s not your job to be your cheating ex’s PR agent. If they didn’t want their kids to know they were lying cheaters maybe they shouldn’t have been lying and cheating. Nothing good ever comes from hiding the truth. It will always come back and bite you in the ass one way or another.

I let people know they don’t have to be friends with the ex. If that’s something you want I think you’re a little bit crazy, but okay. If it works for you more power to you. However, I refuse to perpetuate this idea that’s the way it should be. When you’re dealing with adultery you’re dealing with a person who lied to you and betrayed you. They were supposed to have your back and instead they stabbed you in it. Welcome home, Michael Myers! As Chump Lady always asks, “Would you be friends with the guy who mugged you?” No? OK, then why are you trying to maintain a friendship with someone who essentially mugged your life?

I advocate gaining a support system and leaning on them, instead of relying on someone who betrayed and abandoned you. Even in so-called “good” divorces I advocate for that because you never know how things are going to change once your ex partners up again.

I believe that no contact is a wonderful thing.

I believe that you can focus on gaining a better life without the person who cheated on you and hurt you while still remembering exactly who they are and what they did. Getting on with my life and living a much better life than the one I had with him does not equal forgiving him.

I don’t think that’s being angry. I think that’s using common sense and speaking the truth.

The Pitfalls of Pain Shopping

You’re in for a treat. I knew before I even began that this was going to be long; this here is Part 1 of 5. You know what that means though, right? Five straight days of posts from me!

Hi, I’m Sam. I am a survivor.  I am a fighter. I am fearless. I am kickass. I know my worth. I don’t believe a bit of the bullshit that comes out of cheaters’ mouths, excusing their affairs. I believe there is no excuse for cheating on your partner. I believe the most important question isn’t, “How can I save this marriage?” or “What did I do wrong?”, but “What’s important to me in a marriage?” and  “What is acceptable to me?” I don’t do hurt; I do pissed off. I firmly believe in no contact. I know that cheaters are masters at image management. I know they suck.

I am also not immune to curiosity. I “investigate” social media on occasion. I have recently been pain shopping. I am a dumbass.

I could easily blame this on my mom. She is the one who informed me CF and Harley had gotten married. I could have comfortably lived my life not knowing that. Who could resist sneaking a peak at the happy couple? Certainly not me!

It started with their wedding picture and making snarky remarks about the “happy couple” to friends. Harley looks terrible. She really does. Her wedding picture is maybe one step up from her most recent mugshot.

When she was chasing after my husband and finally landed him she was thinner than me. I’ll admit I was jealous. People complimented her on it. Now she looks like a beached whale. Seriously. I am not someone who usually picks on someone for their weight because God knows I’m not some size 2. But she has to have a good 30-40 pounds on me.

You’d think that would be enough. Yep, there they are. You’ve seen them. Let’s move on from this train wreck. Yes, he actually married the whore; true love won. Move along!

You would be wrong.

Rock Star announced recently that her dad had contacted her, asked her where she was going to school and if she needed anything. I guess he can afford to act like the big shot because he’s got almost an extra thousand dollars in his pocket each month now. He ended up sending her $200 so she could buy her laptop and then ordered the rest of her bedding for her and is having it sent here. What a hero! Cut off support for her the very moment she graduates and then swoop in to save her. What. A. Stand. Up. Guy.

This gets me to thinking about the possibility that he may become a part of her life once again. He and the whore may sneak up to campus and spend weekends with her. He might invite her down to his house so she can live like she used to. He could offer up the use of the pool in their neighborhood. See how nice and luxurious life could be with us?

I’m trying to wrap my mind around this possibility. It does not happen. I have come to the conclusion that I could accept her having a relationship with him. He is her father. But her? Over my dead body. I will not have that whore weaseling her way into my kids’ lives.

The other very real fear is that as he worms his way back into Rock Star’s life he could easily start to share his own version of what happened with her. His version, of course, is that I’m an evil, horrible person who deserved everything he did to me. I didn’t take care of him. I never loved him. We weren’t good for one another. I’m just a bitter, angry person who refuses to thank him for setting me free from the burden of being his wife.

I would like to think that Rock Star is smarter than that and that our bond is deeper than that. But money talks; you hear stories everyday of children who go with the parent that has the deepest pockets.

This is the background story to my pain shopping. Why I chose my next move I am not sure. I suppose I thought I could handle it; I thought I was prepared for anything and figured I could use it as snark in another post.

Oh, there will be snark. But there is also fury and anger and indignation. There has even been some doubt. Doubt that I was a good wife. Doubt that I was a good partner to him. Doubt that I treated him right.

Don’t do what I did! Stay off the social media! No contact is the way to peace and light. Checking up on them is pain shopping. It’s looking for ways to make you doubt yourself; you compare your behind the scenes to their highlight reel and come away feeling like crap in most cases. They are masters at image management; they will never admit when things go to shit. It’s all posed fantasy. I repeat: Do not do what I did!

Frankly My Dear, I Don’t Give a Damn

A little while ago I wrote about my feelings of cognitive dissonance and how I felt like a huge hypocrite. I’m pretty much over that now.

It was shortly after writing that Chump Lady published a letter from a woman who was divorcing her lying, cheating husband. He had cheated many, many times throughout their marriage. The final straw was when she got a call from yet another OW while she was grieving the loss of her pregnancy. She packed her bags and moved away from the area, away from him, and was starting a cheater-free life. After a year of being a hermit (and almost 2 years after her final DDay) she had met someone, they clicked, and ultimately, she ended up pregnant. While there were a few people who tsk tsk’d the fact that she was still legally married and wanted to throw out the ol’, “You’re no better than your cheating husband; you’re cheating on him, too!” most people were incredibly kind and supportive. Some of the things that I read that really stuck with me were the following comments:

It is true that in many states (including mine), having sex with someone before you are legally divorced counts as infidelity. But my state also bans the Encyclopedia Britannica because it contains a recipe for making beer at home. So let’s take laws at face value.

The bigger issue is whether it is morally acceptable to have physical intimacy with someone before one is divorced. As long as the divorce is underway, the two people are living separately, and are not taking actions to reconcile (e.g., in active marriage counseling), that marriage is over, and both people are free to date IMHO.

Many of these narcs drag out divorce for YEARS, even after having wasted decades of our lives. Should chumps chastely sit home waiting for the cheater to FINALLY disclose his or her financials? Or hire a third lawyer because his/her first two lawyers grew weary of the delays and obfuscation? I know a man who, even after settlement obtained in an early October court trial, was not divorced by late December because the STBX refused to sign the decree to which she and her lawyer had approved months earlier. He had been out of the house and NC for 1.5 years.

Chumps waste a lot of time before gaining a new life out of concern for the cheater, whilst the cheater wasted no time boinking strange after the wedding vows. It behooves us not to rush into a relationship before our grief has ended, but I don’t think we should stall our lives again, nor allow the post-filing manipulations of cheaters to continue to control us.

 

And if the divorce takes 3 years, do you watch your life go by and live virtuously alone? What if you do actually want children (I understand this pregnancy was unplanned)? Must you wait until the courts say it’s okay, no matter how long that takes and no matter how obstructive your ex may choose to be?

 

Why allow this cheater and his manipulations to cause any more lasting damage? Why does the pace of a divorce, which he can control, allow him to keep her from ever having a child? Hell to the no!

To my mind, when there are no secrets, there is no obligation. It is all aboveboard. Cheater does NOT get to determine her life choices for one more nanosecond! The minute he broke his vows, he released her from the terms of her sentence.

All those comments boiled down to one theme: Why let the cheater waste one more minute of your life?

I spent a good 10 months wanting to die, thinking that life was never going to get any better. I was alone for almost 2 years after DDay and when I did find someone it wasn’t because I was out actively looking. My legally wedded husband had been living with another woman in another state approximately six hours away for well over a year before I met the mobster. When he lost his job and destroyed our lives I knew nothing about what was going on; Harley, however, was in the loop, playing the dutiful fiancee. The legal wife sat at home, stunned and wondering what the hell was going on.

That doesn’t even touch on Virginia’s archaic divorce laws which basically say you must be physically separated for a year and a day before you can file for divorce, but my “husband” is legally allowed to cut me off financially. He was allowed to buy an engagement ring for the whore and puppies for her kids and blow all kinds of marital assets on his cunt face cum dumpster because hey, we’re living physically separate lives. But, don’t have sex with anyone else if you want spousal support. And, as the mobster has experienced, if the cheating spouse wants to come on inside your house, the one they abandoned, and grab a few things or just look around, they can still claim marital assets and marital residence.

Prior to DDay I had spent many years with a man who was never happy. He was drinking more and more. I really believe that Blockhead telling him about my Facebook page was what sent him spiraling out of control. He couldn’t go anywhere with us. He cried constantly. He wanted to shut himself upstairs in the bedroom. It was horrible. Even before then he rarely did things with us.

The kids and I vacationed without him; we went on outings without him. I handled the day to day care of them pretty much without him. We didn’t do date nights. After all, as he asked me once when I suggested it, “Why would you want to do that with me?” We spent very little time together.

I am completely good when it comes to my decision to date before I was legally divorced. I didn’t rush it. I didn’t look for it. I certainly didn’t lie to and deceive CF in order to do so. Once again I will point out that he lived in another state hundreds of miles away with another woman.

I am also good with my decision to date the mobster even though he is still legally married. I read his blog. I know it was over. I know he filed for divorce before we ever knew the other existed. He filed because he was done. Period. Not because I was sitting there, batting my eyes at him. Not because he thought the grass would be greener over here with me. No, he didn’t know me. He was done because he could no longer tolerate her behavior.

I don’t believe I would have ever agreed to text if he had still been living with her. I’m not sure I would have agreed to it if he hadn’t already taken steps to end the marriage.

I don’t shout it from the rooftops that he’s married, but I also don’t feel I’m doing anything wrong. He wasn’t (and isn’t) sneaking around behind her back. He wasn’t lying to her or siphoning off marital funds to give to me. She, like my husband, had moved out of their home and in with her boyfriend. There was no marriage left to preserve.

As the commenters from Chump Lady ask: How much more of our lives are we supposed to allow them to waste? Why are we expected to uphold vows that mean nothing to them? Why are we supposed to sit on the sidelines, alone and broken hearted, while they run around with their new plaything, safe in the knowledge that we’re chastely waiting for them to return to the ruins of our marriage? Why are we expected to handle the day to day running of life and pick up the pieces of all the lives the cheater has ruined, alone, halo all shiny and straight, while the cheater makes a new life with someone else? Are we masochists? Martyrs?

I know there are people out there for whom it is extremely important to be able to say they didn’t date until the ink was dry on the divorce decree. Good for you. I used to be one of you. I also know there are people out there who would criticize people who did wait but began dating immediately after the divorce was granted, because hey, you didn’t wait long enough. Why aren’t you mourning? Why aren’t you concentrating on something else besides dating? There are definitely people out there who would get the vapors at the thought of someone dating a person who was not yet divorced. Where is your decency? Do you not value the sanctity of marriage? Furthermore, I have no doubt that CF and all those who run with him are calling me all sorts of names and convincing themselves that what I’m doing is no different than what he and Harley did. Eh- I’m over it. I really don’t care. I know the truth.

I don’t need a shiny halo either. After reading so many stories for years and years I’m beginning to think that the only thing keeping your halo shiny does is make you feel good about yourself. It doesn’t lend itself to a better outcome. Usually you end up putting up with copious amounts of shit while the cheater merrily skips along his or her cheating way, leaving a wake of destruction behind. But you can pat yourself on the back and tell yourself that you did things the right way. Turns out, I don’t need an untarnished halo to feel good about myself.

Much like I get no personal satisfaction from putting chairs together, or doing yard work, I also don’t get a great sense of satisfaction from being able to say, “I followed the rules precisely at all times.” That’s actually pretty funny considering the fact that if you asked anyone who knows me well they would tell you that I am a rule follower.

Years ago I would have said you shouldn’t date until you’re divorced. Of course, it’s one thing to make life rules for yourself when you think you’ll never be in that situation. You can safely judge from the sidelines. Honestly, had my divorce not taken more than two years I wouldn’t have dated before I got divorced. Unfortunately, little things like being forced to move out of my house and sell off all of my stuff (or leave it behind), finding out my husband was in the psych ward again (or so I thought), being forced to get a job and then two jobs, working 16 hour days and 20+ days at a stretch, feeling like a horrible mom because I wasn’t around for my kids anymore, wondering every day if he was going to get away with everything, having to procure an expert witness because my husband was claiming PTSD to get out of paying sufficient child and spousal support, paying out the ass for lawyer fees, and dreading every day I woke up, ended up taking precedence.

I lived in a state that required me to be separated from him for a year. Two months before I could file he went off the deep end and lost his job. I had no idea what kind of a settlement I could expect when he wasn’t even working. Truthfully, I think him getting a job and still not paying his modified amount of support for more than six months ultimately ended up working in my favor. I would have just been seen as a horrible, unsympathetic bitch if I had taken him to court when he had just lost his job and been hospitalized. I thought he was back in the psych ward. I thought he had had a nervous breakdown or could make an excellent case for PTSD because of his latest hospital stay. I wouldn’t find out for six months that he wasn’t suicidal or that it had nothing to do with PTSD. Only when I took him back to court for a show-cause hearing did I find out the truth- that he had been repeatedly drinking on the job and he had been forced to resign. And he had not entered a psych ward; he had gone to the VA and done a mere three day in-patient program. The rest of his time was spent in outpatient therapy and he didn’t even always attend those.

The mobster can say pretty much the same. He forgave her for her previous affair. He endured years and years of her drinking and lying about it. He put up with a lot of shit in order to keep his marriage intact and to give his kids a home with two parents. He suffered through a lot of humiliation in order to keep her happy and to make things work. Finally, she took up with yet another affair partner and eventually left him for that guy. But not before she introduced him as “a friend”. Not before the guy invited him up to join their volunteer firefighter department. Not before the guy gave the mobster’s daughter a ride on his motorcycle. Not before he got to watch his wife ride on the big, shiny firetruck with her “friend” in the Christmas parade. Not before she disappeared for days at a time. The mindfuck was strong with that one.

She made her decision and she doesn’t get to whine about him getting on with his own life. He is not an indentured servant. He does not have to sit faithfully waiting for her to return.

There has been a moment or two where I started to really feel like I was interfering and that if I wasn’t in the picture maybe they would reconcile. It wasn’t often and it’s non-existent now, but when those moments would come he would tell me pretty much the same thing: I am never going back to her. If you left me tomorrow I still wouldn’t go back to her. I am done with her. She is crazy. She is toxic.

He also reiterates that his kids don’t want them together. His oldest son told him when it first happened, “Dad, it’s been over for a long time. You just finally called it.”

Finally, he is very wise. The last time I brought it up he pointed out that despite what she says when she hoovers around, it doesn’t mean anything to her. If she really wanted him back she would take steps towards that, steps like ending it with the other man. Instead it is all talk and absolutely no follow through. She will tell him she will call him the next day, and she doesn’t. She will say she wants to talk but she won’t follow through. She tells him she misses his voice and yet, she’s still with her lover. She’s never made an actual move to go back to him. She merely dips the hook in the water to see if he will still take the bait. If he ever called her bluff and said, “Oh my God yes! I’m still crazy about you! I realize now how much I miss you and I will do anything to make it work!” she would have endless excuses for why now wasn’t the right time and why she couldn’t extricate herself from her relationship with her boyfriend in order to rekindle her relationship with her husband. She doesn’t want him; she just wants him to want her. She wants to keep her Plan B around in case the new boyfriend doesn’t work out.

He, too, lives in a state that requires a one year waiting period. Unlike me, he tried to do an online divorce and get things rolling (again- before we ever met). She refused to sign the papers. She refused to tell him what she wanted. She refused to discuss the divorce with him. Unfortunately for him, the online lawyer he hired only did uncontested divorces, so if she wouldn’t cooperate nothing would happen.

Approximately four months ago she informed him that she had a lawyer and she would be serving him with a divorce petition. They’ve never arrived. Around that same time she made a big show of calling him and yelling at him, telling him she wanted the house she had deserted, and custody of their daughter, a child she abandoned. Nothing has happened since except her continuing to come inside his house and randomly grab things. Sometimes those things were dishes or sentimental items. Another time she came in just to take a light plate. Other times she has taken things like the TV he bought his daughter for Easter. Yep, she took it right out of her kid’s room, and then had the audacity to say, “Did you see me take it? Did you see me walk out of the house with it?” That same day she took the blender he bought after she had already taken the one that was bought while they were married. Also found in her possession? Her son’s baseball mitt.

I can understand those who might think I wouldn’t want to involve myself in the middle of all that crazy, but I don’t understand people thinking that he needs to be faithful to that kind of crazy. She’s a horrible, despicable person. She steals from her own children. There is nothing to work with here, and I don’t think he should be coerced into trying.

With all that said I still think there are situations where you shouldn’t date. If you’re leading your spouse to believe that there is a chance your marriage can be repaired, you shouldn’t be dating.  If you’re in marriage counseling you shouldn’t be dating. If you’re still living with your spouse, you shouldn’t be dating. When you’re telling your spouse you love him or her and you just need some time to think, you shouldn’t be dating. Basically, any time you’re going through anything even resembling reconciliation I would say you shouldn’t be dating. I would even say that in a situation where you want out and there’s no one else, but your spouse is desperate to repair the marriage, you shouldn’t date. You leave your spouse for another person? Well, “dating” is a foregone conclusion although you shouldn’t. But if you’re the one being cheated on? Honey, you do you!

If you don’t want to give your cheater the satisfaction of saying, “He/she is dating, too! See! I’m not doing anything wrong,” then by all means stay single. I think you can live a very satisfying life without being coupled up.

I, personally, don’t need that kind of validation. I’ve come to the conclusion it wouldn’t have mattered what I did in my situation. I would always be the bad guy. And really, I’d much rather he be pissed off because I’m seeing someone, than for him and Harley to be laughing about how pitiful I am, all alone while I work two jobs. He’s going to hate me regardless so let’s give him something worth hating. I find that to be much more satisfying.

Quite honestly I feel like all of the above is way too much explanation for what I’m feeling now. I’m good with what I’m doing. I’ve done nothing wrong. I didn’t lie and sneak around to be with the mobster; he didn’t lie and sneak around to be with me. I was married in name only; I can say the same thing about the mobster. I didn’t destroy their marriage; he didn’t destroy mine. Our spouses did that all on their own when they cheated on us and then left us to be with their affair partners. The only thing we’re guilty of is not letting them steal another minute of our lives. My conscience is clear.

Another Year Gone By

June 10th came and went yet again. It happens like clockwork, once a year.

It’s a funny day for me, June 10th. It used to be nothing special. Just an ordinary day. And then the year 2016 hit. June 10th became probably the worst day of my life. Even worse than DDay #1 and DDay #2. I can still picture myself in my car; I can still picture the road I was on. I received a text that would change the course of my life and the lives of my children.

I lost my job today. I won’t be sending you anymore money.

That was it. That was all the explanation needed in his opinion. He had upended our lives as we knew them but those two sentences had it covered.

With that he checked himself into an alcohol treatment program at the VA for three days, a fact I wouldn’t discover for another 6 months. I was only the discarded wife. I didn’t need to know what was going on. Harley, the fiancee, had it all covered. She was the important one. She was entitled to all the facts. I got conjecture. And stomach ulcers!

To this day I remember the awful feeling, knowing I needed to keep it together because Rock Star’s friend who had flown in from Utah for her birthday was still here and I didn’t want to ruin her visit. Rock Star was going away to camp for a week as well only a day or two after I got the news and I didn’t want to mar her experience. I remember her friends coming over and talking about how they had heard she was amazing at gymnastics and they really wanted to go to a few meets next year to watch her, and me knowing that she probably wouldn’t be here much longer. I remember emailing my lawyer, and her first emailing me back immediately, and then calling me. I remember getting the email from his attorney telling my attorney that he didn’t know how long he would be out of work and that he was attempting to qualify for disability. I knew then he wasn’t planning on going back to work any time soon.

After that, I remember breaking the news to Picasso, who took it pretty well. And I remember Rock Star coming home from camp, happy and excited to tell me all about her experiences, and me changing her life in an instant. I remember her crying and telling me, “I don’t want new friends! I want to stay here!”

I remember going through my house and deciding what I would take with me and what all I was going to try to sell. I remember days spent out in the sweltering heat having a garage sale to pad my bank account because I was living on savings at that point. And I remember packing up my few belongings and loading them up in a UHaul and driving 600 miles away from my home, leaving most of what I had ever owned behind.

It was tough for a very long time after that. The world was dark and gray. I felt no joy. I was resigned to my fate and waiting for death.

Finally, about 10 months later I began to feel better. The world began to look a little brighter. I had a tiny bit of hope. I could imagine a future. And then a mobster fell out of a tree onto my head and I’ve done my best not to look back.

June 10, 2017 was a Saturday and it was part of that first weekend I met the mobster in person. I wrote a post about it. We went up to Lake Michigan; I spent a lot of time sharing pictures of my family and friends with him. We had a delightful time; it was a much better day last year than in 2016.

This year June 10th was our one year anniversary of meeting and it was spent in Utah together with my kids. We flew in for a wedding and I happily showed my mobster off to my closest friends.

It is my hope that we will spend every June 10th together, although that may be a little more difficult next year when it falls on a Monday. Come hell or high water I will take that damn day back. I will never forget what happened that day in 2016 but I’m going to make sure that every June 10th from here on out is a marvelous day for me. Suck it, cheater!