“Would you take this for me and put it away somewhere?” she asks as she hands her mother her wedding ring.
“Sure, I’ll just wear it so it doesn’t get lost,” replies her mother, with surprise.
“I want Nyah to have it when she is old enough to take care of it.” With that over, a sigh of relief escapes her. Six months ago is when he left. That odd and painful time is one she won’t forget.
The anger that welled up in her throat was one that she had felt thousands of times before. He was about to get on the bus to Florida for his eleventh attempt at rehab. All his bags were packed, in her personal luggage of course. Here she was, the summer heat beating down and he had asked her, not just to take him, but to escort him into the bus station. What was he thinking? She was going to have to park in a seedy part of town where the stench of vomit, body odor, and urine attacked the nostrils before escape could be made. It didn’t feel safe to be walking downtown after dark, especially dragging three little bitty kids into the freakish downtown bus station. Cigarette butts and empty beer cans littered the streets. More than one stranger eyed her and her babies with looks that made her cringe inside. Allowing herself to be convinced to wait with him at eleven o’clock at night was not on her agenda. Once again, he was getting his way, at all costs.
As she stood there next to him while he made his goodbyes to the children, she thought about the many times before that he had left her or caused problems. It was a vicious cycle. He asked her, “What’s wrong, baby?” Her glare of frustration didn’t need interpretation. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” he whimpered. “Goodbye, call me when you have a chance,” she replied with disdain. She was so tired of the manipulation. His leaving for Florida was his own getaway, an open-ended, indefinite vacation! The bastard! She’d be stuck as a single parent, AGAIN!
This was it. Although she wouldn’t recognize it until later, this was it. She could have made her exit many times before. In her own little way, she didn’t really want him to go. The feelings of abandonment set in. She sensed the deep sadness of what she was about to experience with him gone. Within days, she knew she wouldn’t be able to prevent the inevitable visit to the Emergency Room. Her life was going to end. She couldn’t believe he was gone. Tears just kept rolling down her face all day long. How could she live without him? This was her husband. He was her life.
Once at the hospital, she told the ER doctors that she wanted to die. She explained that she knew she needed help and that she had been asking God to take her out of the pain. Within an hour, a psychiatrist was at her side. Tall, with mousy brown hair and kind brown eyes, he looked like someone she’d be comfortable talking to. He said he could help. Giving in to therapy wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be, but would she be able to overcome her fear of rejection? Would she be able to grow past her juvenile infatuation and “being in love” with a narcissistic, foolish crack addict? The fight she experienced within herself during group therapy was foreign and upsetting. Her therapist asked her several different times if she was really ready to let go of him and move into recovery. Uncertainty choked her with a death grip. Sometimes she would say, “Yes, I can move on.” Then, other times, the sense of overwhelming fear would pull her back to the fetal position for a little more growth. She just wasn’t ready to be re-born yet.
Her days at the psych unit made her re-visit the hard days she endured. The last few years that had passed had been difficult. She mustered up the courage to share something that would help her to realize what she needed to do. Telling of her 2004 summer would be a turning point. They lived in a single-wide with two bedrooms, which was a pretty small place for four people and a dog, much less an added fifth person who was about ready to come into the world. For nearly three years that little trailer was their home. It held secrets of deception, rejection and infidelity in between the paper walls and, ironically, it also held a sort of sanctuary.
With zinnias bursting from their stems in the hot Texas sun and a young cottonwood tree stretching itself to see above the top of the house, she found great solace in the plants that blossomed. Who would have thought that the hitch could serve as a flower bed?! She planted and watered those bright baby blooms all by herself. Under the large pear tree she planted moss rose and caladiums, which thrived in the heat and humidity. The rocks she had gathered from road trips and along side the road leading up to the trailer park were some of her favorite possessions. The red ones came from the mountains of Oklahoma, and the clay ones from the rocky soil surrounding her home. She arranged them in a semi-circle around the tree and in a rectangle next to the cottonwood for her flowerbeds. Every day when she got home, before she went inside to greet the darkness that hid there, she would turn on the water-hose and spray the plants back to life since they had withered from the over-bearing sun. The quiet joy from her garden was about to be over.
She would not be able to avoid the pain and depression that would overtake her once she set foot in the door. HE was in there. He would control everything when she went in. If she was fortunate, he wouldn’t notice her presence and ruin this moment in the hot breezy oasis she had built for herself. She did not want to go inside. She could look forward to him leaving as soon as she came in only to return in the wee hours of the morning with the stench that only the combination of sweat and crack cocaine can produce. It always went something like that. Soon she would have the baby. It was already planned for a Friday. Huge salty tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of being around him for one more day. She was afraid he would miss the birth of this baby, just like he missed the first two. Her feelings were mixed. Should she go in? Or should she get in the car and drive away before he notices she is there? Her feet carried her up onto the porch, and she slowly opened the aluminum door.
She always went in, even though her conscience told her not to. Fear and uncertainty consumed her, but then, ambiguity was his modus operandi.
The six weeks she spent in therapy was a struggle at times. It took a nervous breakdown to reach an epiphany. Finally, she is clear minded without him there. Letting go isn’t difficult anymore. The breakthrough and decision to stop allowing him to be in control is empowering to her. Now, friends and family mean more to her. She appreciates them as never before. The fog that lifted and the new energy she feels says that it is time to move forward. The insane bonds that kept her from leaving him so many times are falling off. The ring is a reminder of the power he used to have over her. It will no longer reside on her hand. She doesn’t even feel obliged to answer his phone calls. Freedom is at hand. Freedom is her new companion. Individuality and independence become her own again. She has never felt so exhilarated. She intends to plant those zinnias again for the summer, but this time, no more darkness or pain, only bright blooming possibility.