It started slowly. The huge, hulking, heavyweight boot of depression was haltingly moving down to squash me once again. Although 2010 was adding on new items for my menu of woes: my medical problems & medical bills from my visit with Deep Vein Thrombosis in April, followed by the Husband’s medical problems & medical bills for his lovely Dupuytren’s Contracture in June, mixed in with other debt, the Husband’s decision to leave his company to start doing design work on his own, my dog-Larry’s decline into late canine years, & the vision of the animals & people of the Gulf suffering because of Mankind’s greed. I still felt like I was dealing OK with issues that could depress anyone, especially a guy who is officially swallowed up with bouts of clinical depression. I have a little help from, of course, an antidepressant, & a anti-anxiety pill (for the barrage of needles I face every week).
Because it has been the Husband’s wish that I not worry so much (I am a life long worrier), & as an act of self salvation, I had started to meditate, along with medicate, I felt some impunity for my efforts.
Yet, on Sunday, July 11th, the dark boot stomped me into the ground & I was shrouded & squelched, & dropkicked by the dark boot. WCK3 & the Husband left me alone to wallow in the Boys’ Fort. I waved off any company or comfort & retreated to a a bottle of tequila & my tears. An hour later, with a short nod to my spouse & house guest, I went to bed & covered my head with the smart & stylish duvet cover.
I felt my eyes roll back in my head & my body turn heavy, just as I heard the Husband’s phone ring, followed by a muffled conversation that sounded foreign & fretful. I sensed I should come to the surface. It was then that I recognized that I had allowed my misery to complicate & add to a very bad moment. The Husband had just been notified that his father had died.
I felt extraordinary remorse for having slipped away to the dark side, just when I was needed the most. I splashed psychic ice water on my face & soul & I did everything I could to comfort my Husband. He was deeply wounded, both grieving & dealing with the guilt of having not seen his father in the past few months. It had only been a few days since he had suggested to me that he needed to see his father, who was 6 hours away, a suggestion that I countered with: “there is no way that we can afford the time or the money for that trip”. I realized at that moment, that the time had come to have my figure represented in Madame Tussaud’s Hall of Shithead Husbands.
The Husband asked me not to go with him to the funeral, & who can blame him… I was already a walking, breathing human funeral. He explained that he would better for me to not cancel my assistant’s long planned vacation & that it would be a comfort for him to know that the house & dogs would be taken care of while he was away. I accepted this explanation as logical, not remembering that we were not in a logical moment. As he & his daughter left to go to Spokane to face what is left of his family, deal with the business of death in the family, & stare down his grief, he touched me & looked in my eyes & stated: “I will have no one to hold onto". I was horrified to grasp that I should made this journey with him.
The Husband stayed with my parents, who love him (sometimes, I think more than me) & took care of him & accompanied him to the service. After the funeral, he didn’t linger, & opted to drive all night to come home to his inept, selfish, but open hearted husband.
No comments:
Post a Comment