Last night my ex-husband and father of our 8 children called on a video chat. He and our daughters were laughing and sharing silly drawings, only to have him ask everyone to gather –including me and the older ones if they were around. I felt a cold drop in my belly. Was this where he tells everyone he’s marrying his girlfriend? Are our children to have a new little brother or sister? What do I prepare my soul for?
As I trembled beside the tablet displaying my past mate’s bushy, bearded face, he spoke, “I have a patch of skin on my thumb that I finally had looked at. It’s Melanoma.” I felt relief and worry rush over me, all at once. I wasn’t at all braced for this.
“Can’t you just get rid of it? How did it get there? Is it Cancer? What can we do??” the kids all chimed in with well meant advice and desperate questions. He listened, patiently. I could see the worry on his face, although worry is his constant face, these days.
He told us he’d had this mark on his thumb for over 2 years. Our 13 year old said she recalled it from when she was 9 –that’s 4 years! He said he’d finally gotten health insurance and recently got it looked at.
“The doctors told me that I may have waited too long to get it looked at.” We all looked at each other, searching each other’s faces for any answers. He went on, shakily, “I asked them if it’s too advanced, how long I’d have left to live. They gave me 2 years.”
Truly, I didn’t know what to say. Two years…
He said to me, “See honey?” [woops, he called me my old nickname] “Sorry about that. I should have just kept on smoking.” His face was smiling a terrible, forced wince and his eyes began to cry. I didn’t know what to say. I was stunned. I was moved with great compassion to help. I was pulled this way and that way. This man has hurt our children and me so much in the last 10 years… How do I let my compassion run the show?
I heard my mouth start offering hope, “You don’t know for sure? You’re still waiting on the 2nd biopsy results, right? Maybe, like my sister in law, you can just simply have it removed? I know she was worried it had gone too far, too, and it went well, remember?” He nodded. He was wiping his wet cheeks. “And my step-dad, he has had several patches taken off. Remember?” He nodded again. “Thank you, I forgot about them,” he said in a squeaking voice.
I kept telling myself he’s over-reacting, he’s scared, he’s just worried for the worst, it’s not going to be the worst… …that’s denial; the first of the many stages of grief. Our children are going to face the kind of loss I know everything about. This kind of loss is the most devastating pain I have ever endured –and they’re going to have to go through it! I shrink at the thought of it. I swell with terror as I shrivel into nothingness. We have maybe 2 years to prepare…
I may be in shock.
We are all in shock, most likely.
I hoped he was exaggerating; blowing things out of proportion. I keep thinking the 2nd biopsy will show he will make it. He’s been homeless for the passed 5 years; sporadically employed. He’s a fairly gentle person, it took everything in my power to detach from him when I did in 2014; he’s that needy. But I don’t want to mother him, again, either. Will his care fall on me? Will I be forced to take him in as he slowly fades away??
Due to his mistakes, he’s been forced to take home 20% of his minimum wage paychecks, having the state take their cut, then hand over the rest — after taxes, to our children; it’s not much but it helps. His mistakes were caused by mental health being unchecked …by childhood trauma being left, untreated. –and that’s not to say he wasn’t treated, either. He was, but by people who didn’t understand children so traumatized, nor their needs.
In the 80s and early 90s he was dropped into a Christian drug/teen facility, beginning at age 9; for outbursts at school; for hating his father who molested his older sister; for violence against his siblings; for drug abuse; and for being forgotten by his own mother. The treatment center let him blow off steam, smoke cigarettes, and swear all he needed to, forcing bible studies and sermons, too –but they sent him right back home to the family that tortured him. They offered him classes, tried group therapies, took long trips, had fun outings planned –but he was too far gone in his pain; he was “emo” at the cusp of Emo. He didn’t connect to “treatment” so they sent him home, again and again. Home: where the dysfunction that programmed him lurked.
Again, as an adult, I recognized the neglect and pain his mother had wounded him with. I held him close and comforted him, offering him the best I could offer, becoming the best cook for his tastes, and spoiling him, like I felt he’d deserved long ago… but that made a monster out of him. He started deserving, and taking until there was nothing left from this already traumatized being (me). I couldn’t keep giving what I had no wealth of; self love. I, too was battling wounds I’d held since childhood. Neglect and invalidation had taken tolls on my worth; being taken advantage of was the last straw. I couldn’t support him and me at the same time, and he wasn’t trying to help himself.
I let go of the rope. He went under.
We’ve chosen to try to fix the child and not help the parents. Why? How can anyone be expected to heal fully when dropped back into the trauma that caused their troubles in the first place? But what is the alternative? Build homes that families can come to? Create a facility to deprogram and educate entire families?? Yes! And single moms, if they have the will to raise their children –should we just let them struggle and try –while all the while, their children pine away for a parent who’s too overcome by outside pressures and issues? We need to ban together; this country is filled with agonies and atrocities caused by familiar traumas. We need to support weaker ones, to make the whole network strong from the inside out.
Our children miss their dad. He’s not able to see them, due to his desire to keep them safe from Covid19. His will to see them has diminished, greatly… he doesn’t feel worthy of their love. He’s really messed things up. And there’s no respite for him.
One thing I’m glad for is the fact that he can rest at this time. He’s been running, nonstop, trying to stay above water, but the system is created to hold men like him under until they collapse –it’s equally set up for mothers to scrounge and scrape just to make it, even in pro-people states like Minnesota. Covid19 has placed a hold on the doings of humanity, so my ex-husband can get the rest he’s been wishing for all these years. His unemployment is taking good care of him and his kids –like it should have been all along. He can take his issues up now, and look through them, sort them and get the mental help he’s been needing –and he’s doin that! Finally!
Not too late.
We aren’t certain what tomorrow will bring, and hearing my 8 year old whimper in her sleep reminds me that some things will be sorrowful. We already need to be living each day as if it were our last; but knowing it’s certain that in a decade you’ll not be here –that’s humbling and scary. We all cling to this life; it’s all we know.
We’ve been here before though; the very ground we stand on is remnants of our past endeavors, a collection of our discarded bodies, left to grow our new lives upon. I am sobered and full of sorrow.
So many could-haves, so many dreams he and I created together and left behind, unmade.
I grieve the loss of a marriage I tried so hard to hold together. I grieve the loss of a friendship; he and I were the closest I’ve ever let myself get to another. I grieve the loss of a father for our children; the pain from his traumas and his physical pains from carrying them were too great for him to father without impatience and rage. I grieve the loss of a family; the loss of the strength a good family can have. I wish it would mend itself, but it won’t. Piecing it back together in the state that it’s in won’t work, either.
Adults need compassion. We’ve made huge mistakes. We are learning. Please, don’t shame and make us feel inferior for mistakes! We have fucked up our children’s lives. I take accountability, who else is with me?
Our children need our comforting eyes, our loving hugs, and most of all our compassionate, quiet listening. The future needs parents involved, invested in and willing to bend over backwards for their offspring to flourish and grow.
Parenthood is a job, 24/7. Let’s let parents do their jobs. Let’s give parents 10 years to create awesome youths for the future, with no attachments. No job. Support and support, that’s the only way humanity will restore and revive. 10 years invested in youths, so that they’re ready to face this world, provided with all they needed, 100% of their 10 years of life. A lot of hard work in the beginning equals smooth sailing later.
WE NEED HEALING.