The skeletons can no more hide,
Had we made it to the end of the ride.
Then up from the floor bursts the biggest scare of all.
Kindness! My new coping strategy.
I was done with the stress of conflict. It didn’t help anyone. I was done with passivity, that didn’t make any difference either. I made up my mind from then I would kill my husband with kindness.
Meltdowns and hostility played into the Grey One’s hands, as he found it easier to meet me head on with the offensive.
I felt the tension to keep the Grey One hidden while I was benevolent from my heart.
I meant every word when I told him, he lights up my life when I see his face approaching when I picked him up in the evening. How it was my favourite time of the day when he messaged to say he was on his way home. That I was happy to wake up beside him every morning with a hug. There were many more ways I could genuinely show my love and appreciation to him. I meant every word.
I intentionally began to hug him for longer, he would pull away after a couple of seconds, but I would pull him in for more, I practiced this with purpose, to love our marriage back to health.
Everything within a marriage covenant that is so easily taken for granted and it should be, I expressed my genuine love and appreciation for.
I embraced the next few months; there were no arguments, no conflict or division between us.
Thursday 28th July 2016 was our date night, my stomach rolls when I think back to this date. A table was booked at a favourite Indian restaurant.
It was a wonderful evening, we chatted together as we ate.
We talked about our retirement. We laughed together too, silly things that no one else would find funny.
The night ended beautifully, this was the last time we were intimate.
As the lights went out on our date for us to go to sleep, little did I know the lights also went out on my marriage, which at the time, was
34 years 15 weeks and 4 days.
It was Friday ~ it began as usual, it was a beautiful sunny day, and I dropped my husband off at the station at six fifteen am.
I was meeting a friend for lunch at twelve midday. So I set my alarm and went back to sleep.
There was post on the mat, two or three letters.
Deep abandonment aroused from its dormancy when I read the envelope that had lay on the door mat for most of the morning.
The letter was addressed to my husband and her. In black ink on a white envelope were his name and her name, then our address.
What was I about to find out from this post?
There was not a doubt that I should open it, I had no idea what to expect.
I was not prepared for the biggest horror of my married life.
Dear Mr Grey and Ms her, I am writing to confirm that your offer on a one bedroom flat has been accepted. The keys will be available for you to collect on Friday 12th August 2016, when you come into the office to sign the contract, please bring with you your passports and a utility bill.
It continued to address the financial expectations from them plus all other necessary details when renting a property.
I was propelled into a tailspin,
as an aeroplane that is rapidly spiralling out of control descending into a crash landing.
I was in denial to all the implications. I couldn’t think past this moment.
I felt, as nothing made sense. Time hung there, swinging in the chill of slow motion balance between confusion and disbelief.
I was on the outside of my life, looking on in absolute dismay.
As if in a terrible dream I couldn’t wake up from.
I phoned my husband. Without any small talk I began to read the letter to him.
Oh dear, was his response.
He said he would phone me back when he was alone.
I couldn’t stay in the house, I had to drive away, and find space and fresh air.
I needed to be where no one could watch me deal with the elephant that landed on my chest. I was seriously eratic! I could not think properly, I felt empty of reason.
I was sitting on a bench that was situated on the edge of a lawn in a village square about five miles away from where we lived.
He confirmed that he and her had been looking for a flat and that he was going to tell me next week that he was leaving me and they were moving in together and that he was sorry.
I wasn’t angry, I was shocked and numb, but calm. We rang off saying we can talk later.
In the space of an hour my husband had time to work out, with her help no doubt, another face to face crisis between his dual personalities and the impossible task of pleasing both worlds. To devise an explanation of yet another exposure. this was his worst attempt of fake honesty
I didn’t believe for a moment that was the truth around the flat.
The events that unfolded over the following few weeks, and now that today I do know the truth and circumstances surrounding the property, my initial disbelief is confirmed.
I immediately called a friend; there was no answer so I left voicemail. I’m not sure how I was able to do this due to all the years I have kept his secrets. I didn’t rationalise the situation or weigh up the pros and cons, I simply left a message on a friend’s mobile telling them the details of what had just happened.
I was only able to work out much later that had I not told someone immediately I might well have weakened with a few hours and begged him not to go through with it.
Then he would most likely have cancelled his interest in the plan…
Which I believe is what he would have expected me to do, as it had been my reaction in the past.
I had rescued us enough times from the brink of total wipe out, why did it not cross my mind this time? I still cannot answer that.
It was as though i had arrived at the end of a long and difficult road.
I was worn, torn and tired.
I have spent years, recovering over and over again from an emotional mess. Making allowances, broadening the path.
This was the last time I would be at the direct mercy of my husbands’ grey identity.
I sincerely and prayerfully hope so…