Shameless Survivors

Fifteen years ago today I had my first child, a beautiful girl. What a special gift she has been. 

The ‘deal’ was no kids. Since he had children from a prior marriage, he would marry me only if I agreed to no children. I’m the youngest in my family, among the youngest of my cousins, and was never much of a child person. It seemed acceptable. I took the ‘deal’.

Eight years later, the moment I held his oldest son’s first child, I knew my life would be missing something without a child. At 38 it was more than a loud gong of my biological clock; it was a longing that I can’t describe. I told him I wanted a child. Much to my surprise, he agreed. I knew the marriage was on shaky ground. I didn’t fool myself it would improve anything. I also knew if I left I definitely wouldn’t have children. But he agreed we’d try. I stayed. He was a gambling man so he was likely counting on the odds in his favor. I got pregnant, against the odds. I figured I could handle it, him.

I was excited when we found she was a girl, thinking she would get more attention than if she were a boy given he already had two sons. He seemed excited, too and I took it to be a good sign. I was in labor 32 hours. When my water broke he was at work and met me at the hospital. When it was decided I needed Pitocin to bring on full labor, he left to finish up some things at the office. He checked on me early that evening, then left to get dinner. He came back the next day at lunchtime, then again in the evening as my labor finally began progressing. For a long period of time he stood outside the hospital room door to chat with a friend whose wife was also in labor. The nurse went to get him when it was time to push. Our beautiful daughter was born and when he held her, I thought everything will be okay. We can do this, together. He loves her, so he will be good to me. He went home to sleep, I went to a room.

We took her home and she slept in a bassinet next to our bed. A few days later he said she made too much noise and began sleeping in the guest room. My hopes were dashed but I was too busy and too tired to deal with it, him. He never returned to our bed.

Two days before her first birthday he was headed to Atlantic City, stating “she’ll never know what day we celebrate, she’s one. Why are you making such a big deal?” I pleaded that I would always know. He left anyway. My best friend came from out of state to be with us and celebrate. When she left I realized how alone I was in parenthood. It was then I began emotionally checking out. I had a child I loved more than life, who needed a mother, and I couldn’t give them equal attention, a grown man and an infant.

Over the years, when I’d ask for help, his line was always ‘you wanted them, deal with it’. I worked to pay for their clothes, childcare, carried and paid for their medical insurance, paid for their birthday and Christmas gifts. How many times I heard “You wanted them.”

Yes. I did. I wanted my children and I was the parent to my children, and have done, and continue trying my best to wade through the mess, then and now. On this day of my daughter’s birth, I am on my knees thanking God. I was made to feel like I was wrong for wanting and having them, but in the end my marriage would have been the same, things would likely have ended the same. I cannot contemplate what my life would be without them, these two beautiful blessings, my children.

We have decided to buy an oriental rug for a recently completed master bedroom/bath addition, so head to Green Front in Farmville which houses an entire warehouse of oriental rugs. The addition itself is cause for continual harassment as it was a choice I made without him to spend money my mother had left me rather than give it to him. I felt it was an investment that would (and did) greatly add value to our house. By the time the addition was complete we had been sleeping in separate rooms for about six years, and in our three bedroom home it was now time for my daughter and son to have their own rooms.

My inheritance could have purchased me my freedom, yes, but at the time it was a quiet part of the cycle (remembering I didn’t realize at the time it was an abusive cycle) and I was again hopeful that the painful experiences would maybe be a thing of the past.

Not remembering until it started again that nothing, absolutely nothing, could be easy and relaxing. He could never join in my excitement about anything, nor was he able to let me be in it. He had a way of deflating any enthusiasm with his attitude, his words, purposefully making sure I was ‘in line’.

We drive to Farmville, park close to the rug building, and enter through a smaller storefront into a cavernous room brimming with oriental rugs. Pile upon pile upon pile of rugs filling two floors of an old tobacco warehouse. A salesperson shows us to the area with rugs the size we are looking for and another climbs atop a huge pile and begins pulling back the corners of the rugs so we can see the pattern. Twenty minutes into it my husband firmly states, “Pick a rug!” I haven’t seen anything that I like yet and struggle with the sinking feeling of where things are headed. I ask is there one he likes. “I don’t care. Just pick one and let’s get out of here.” I am exasperated. Feeling pressured I stick firm as this is a major purchase, thousands of dollars. I plead we’ve come all this way, I’d like his input. He walks out.

The salesmen are uncertain what to do, and look at me. I shrug. I tell them I’ll chose a rug without him, privately knowing full well if it is a choice he doesn’t like, and he will not like it because he likes nothing I choose, I will hear about it for years to come.

When I do decide on some options I exit the building and walk to where the car was parked. Only it is no longer there. This, by now, is rather normal. I simply find a bench along the street and sit and wait. He comes back about an hour and a half later. I don’t ask where he’s been, but meekly say I’ve picked out some rugs for him to ‘approve’. I ask can we go see them? Understanding that isn’t going to happen, I get in the car, and he drives off. I am beyond the point of argument.

A few months later we purchase a rug privately from an ad in the paper. I don’t care for the rug, but I want something on the floor so I buy it. Yes, I was buying the rug, yet I needed his approval to avoid his perpetual disapproval.

After the shooting, when I was released from the hospital I was fortunate to be able to spend a few weeks at a friend’s house until I had recuperated enough to live independently and care for the children. Days before we were to come home, my friend accompanied me to my house. When I mustered the courage to go back into the bedroom I noticed the rug missing. I later called the cleaning company that was dispatched after the shooting to inquire where the rug was. They said it was ‘unsalvageable’, meaning they could not extract the blood stains.

Unsalvageable. A word that describes my marriage as well. Irrevocably stained at the end, unable to extract the pain, to be made clean.