April 10, 2003

I woke up this morning feeling inexplicably bad about something that happened many years ago.  When I opened my eyes, the image was clear in my mind of me walking into my (then) husband, Paul's office on Mountain Home AFB, asking where he was and having 4- 5 different people tell me he was in a meeting and would be out soon.  I waited for half an hour, got tired of waiting, opened the door to where he was to let him know I was there and found him alone, huddled over the phone, talking to his girlfriend that he swore he'd cut ties with so we could work on saving our family. 

That moment, of opening the door, seeing him there looking sheepish and the bottom falling out of my stomach has, all morning, been as clear to me in memory as having dinner last night.    I could have dreamed about it and not remember dreaming about it.  I tend to take the approach that when something is pushed forward in your brain, it's because there is something in that event that you need to examine, relearn from, release... whatever. 

I've been thinking about this through the morning, wondering what could have caused this long dead bone to float to the surface.  I forgave Paul a long time ago.  It still is sad that he treated his family as something very disposable at the whim of his fancy.  I'm still very sad that he also insisted on dumping any hope of a friendship between the two of us because his new wife felt threatened by he and I communicating in any way other than shouting.  I know that people get into impossible situations and then have to fight their way out trying to take as few causalities as possible.  He wasn't terrifically bright in human interaction, so especially in retrospect, I can see what wrong turns he took when.  I still am extremely disappointed that he wasn't more truthful in talking to me, always assuring me that he was happy and all was well.  I wish he'd told me he was dissatisfied with our marriage before it came to the heartbreak that it was.  Funny that I regret that he didn't make different choices.  The thing is that without his input, I didn't know what changes I might have been able to make to help him feel more valued and interested in staying.  Honestly communication is just so vital.

I've thought back on that moment that for some reason was so iconized during my sleep.  Did I need to be reminded of how devastating, destructive, humiliating and demeaning adultery is?  I don't think so.  That lesson was pretty well driven home to me when I got to be on the receiving end of it.  I know what it does both to individuals and families.  Did I need to be reminded of the importance of honest communication?   Maybe and I'll be sure to act on that.  Not that I've been particularly untruthful or that I suspect Eric is, but it can never hurt to do an honest "state of the nation" address and make sure he knows how much he means to me and be sure he's satisfied and feeling cuddly.  We've had a couple of minor scrambles in the past few months, so I could be good to clarify.  Are there still unresolved Paul feelings lingering around that I haven't put to rest?  Maybe.

Honestly, I think it might be about a relationship I was considering ending.  Maybe I needed to be reminded of what it feels like to have a treasured relationship end when you didn't even realize there was a problem.  I was just following the dynamics of the relationship that Paul and I  set up.  He never told me (until he told me very loudly as we were divorcing and it was no longer negotiable) that he had a problem with it.  I would have done the same thing to this person and maybe not have remembered how that felt, so I'm grateful to have been given that info.

See how helpful journaling is?  I get to ramble like mad and start out not knowing what a feeling is about and by the time I'm finished talking to you guys, it has all fallen into place.  For the record, I'm not someone who feels that every feeling and every dream is noteworthy and of major significance.  I think sometimes, the ol' subconscious is just bored and running the projector.  :)~

I had another owie moment this morning (guess it's the day!) when I realized I wanted to know if my birth was on time, early or late.  The owie came when I realized (*gasp!*) there was no one left to ask.  That information is forever lost in history.  Damn.

My birth was a bit of an odd one.  My parents were living with my grandmother and grandfather at the time in Augusta, Kentucky.  Grandma (my father's mother) was a minister there and the parsonage was the basement  of the church.  It was like an old gothic movie because my mother was young (18 and 7 years younger than my father) and my grandma was a dark, foreboding creature who despised her.  Grandma spouted Bible verses like punctuation, most of them to identify some sin or another my mother was guilty of that day.  Dad and Mom were having first year financial problems and both were eager to be out on their own.  In addition to being a minister, my grandmother had completed RN training and was free with advice on pregnancy and child care. 

On the day I was born, there was a storm and the bridge into and out of town was washed out.  Mom promptly went into labor and the bridge kept Dad from getting home to Mom and Mom from getting to the hospital.  Dr Marquardt, her physician, was stranded on her side of the bridge and came to the church basement to deliver me.  He and Grandma attended Mom and I was born as the noon whistle sounded.  I was little, only 6 pounds, but babies were smaller back then.  Grandma used to say that regardless of how I turned out, I at least started out in the house of the Lord.  I can only imagine what it was like for my mother to be living there.  I could barely tolerate my Grandmother on infrequent visits.  I think living with her would have ruined me.  Not long after that, Mom and Dad moved out and relocated to the same town as my Mom's parents and siblings and stayed in the same area after that.

I suppose I should get busy before I get totally lost in the past.  That's easy for me to do because there are a lot of doors to explore.  I still have a huge pile of pictures to sort and album from the project I started after Mom died the end of January.  The weekend is coming and I sure don't want to spend it cleaning house, so I should get busy with The Project.  Yesterday, I started on the kitchen, stowing things into cupboards (the can opener, the toaster, the percolator and other things that are routinely left on the counter.  Today, I have to scrub the kitchen, get some laundry done (people are reusing their dirty clothes and not realizing... "Mom!  Do I have any socks?"  "Yep, just a sec!" *digs for the ones that look stained instead of dirty.*) 

There are a number of areas where I need to begin demanding more of myself and the house is definitely one of them.  I play the martyr so well that it sometimes takes a lot of me to demand more of myself. 

Instead, I've just got to do it.  Thanks for listening to my ramblings.

Let's all start right now projecting to have an absolutely stellar weekend, shall we?

Love to you,

Good God, She's Verbose!  There's More!