However, there was another way in which
my now ex in-laws hurt me. I don’t think any of them ever realized it. One year
for Christmas I decided to make cookies as that was cheaper than buying gifts
and I thought they’d all appreciate some homemade goodies. Then I decided to
buy some little things to go with the cookies. I stayed up really late
Christmas Eve packaging the cookies into individual baskets for everyone. The
next day we got raves for the store bought gifts, but not one fucking word
about the cookies I’d worked so hard to make for everyone. I decided then and
there to never, ever bake for them again. The only person who said anything was
his Aunt Donna and she loved them so much she wanted a recipe for one of them.
I always meant to get it to her, but never got around to it, which I do regret.
I see now there were other signs he
didn’t care about me. There was the matter of pocket change. I once told him
that I needed his quarters for laundry money. He told me he needed them for
parking while doing things for his company. I remember thinking that his work
should provide him money for parking while on the job and besides he had
nickels and dimes too.
I know now he was buying coffee and
lunch with the change, while I took lunch to work. How do I know this? I made
him a lunch on a couple of different occasions, which he didn’t eat. Later the
food got so moldy he threw it away, Tupperware container and all. He told me
the food got so moldy, I wouldn’t have wanted the container back. The first
time it happened, I told him to bring me the container and let me try anyway.
Of course, he didn’t care enough about me to respect my property or me for that
matter. The next time it happened, he just threw away my container again.
Another thing he did was to leave the
driver’s seat pulled forward in our car, even when he knew I would be driving
it after him. Pat was shorter than I am and he needed the seat pulled forward.
I repeatedly asked him to put it all the way back when he knew I’d be driving
it after him, but he never did. I don’t know how many times I banged my hip on
the steering wheel getting into the car after him. That hurt!
Within three years, our marriage was
so bad, I suggested we try marriage counseling. The first time I brought it up,
his response was, “For who? You or me?”
I told him for both of us. The next
time I brought it up, he agreed to it. We found a marriage counselor and went
to see her about once a week, but to no avail. The counselor made me feel as if
she was on his side because she kept asking why I wanted children and talking
about how expensive it was to raise a child. She never in my presence anyway,
questioned Pat about his lack of desire for children or the fact that he never
made any real effort to make it possible for us to “afford to have children.”
Looking back on this, I realize she
was talking about the total lifetime cost of raising a child from birth to
adulthood. That’s kind of silly, really. Yes, it can cost hundreds of thousands
of dollars or more to raise a child, but those costs don’t hit all at once.
They come as the child grows. I mean think about it, babies need diapers,
cribs, etc. A toddler/child will need a bed, clothes, toys, etc.
Preteens/teenagers need clothes, etc. My point is that although these costs add
up, they aren’t paid the moment your child is born. They’re paid overtime as
the child grows and the new needs arise. Not all at once, as the counselor
implied.
I also realize now that I knew at
some level that as I got older my chances of conceiving and carrying a child to
term would get smaller and smaller. It’s a natural fact of aging for women that
as we get older, our fertility declines. That’s also at least part of the
reason I wanted children so badly then, I knew if we waited too long I might
not ever get pregnant.
I learned later through another
counselor, that for some women, the desire to have children is an inborn need,
like breathing. That helped me understand that I simply wanted a child.
By the time we separated, I hated my
husband so much; there were days when I wished he would die. If I was a widow I
wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. Then I’d feel guilty for feeling that
way. Not only that, but we quit talking. He’d ask me what was wrong. I’d say,
“I’m just tired,” but I would be thinking, “I’ve
told you over and over what I need and want, but you refuse to try and meet my
needs. I’m done talking. I’m done doing anything I don’t have to do.”
One day while at work, I decided I’d
had enough. Something had to change. I couldn’t live with him the way things
were. So, I wrote him a letter. Friends warned me that I was taking a huge
chance, but at that point I didn’t care. I wrote that he had 30 days to change
or I was leaving. I couldn’t stand
living the way we were. He read the letter, told me he was going out to get his
hair cut, but he hoped I’d be there when he got back. The minute he was out the
door, I called my mother and told her I was coming to her house. Then I packed
a bag with enough to get me through for a few days and left.
No comments:
Post a Comment