Life the Second Time Around

It was time for an intervention. I called the girls and they agreed to come home for the weekend. Saturday evening, after we had a rare family meal together, we sat her down and spoke our minds. I had told the girls everything and they were as troubled as me. We talked about the importance and the needs of our own family and our marriage. I tried to impress upon her the fact that as husband and wife we needed time together. The girls wanted to know that their parents' marriage was strong and that we were living our lives as one family. What was her response? She denied it all, spoke for thirty minutes about how the children needed her, and went to David's house to tuck the children into bed. For the first time in years, as far as I knew, my girls cried that night.

* * * * *

As I sat on my back deck, I shifted in my chair and pulled my coat close around my neck. The sun was past its zenith, and its warming rays were failing to defeat the cold winds about me. As I took a sip of beer and let the cold amber liquid coat my throat, I remember when I was a teenager and my aunt had a magnet on her refrigerator that read, "Insanity is hereditary. You get it from your kids." Well, I'm here to tell you that you can get it from your wife as well.

I was too close to the problem back then, but now with time and distance I thought I saw it clearly. Joy never got over the loss of our son. There was a hole in her soul that needed to be filled and she had chosen to fill it with these two lovely children who were not her own. I could never fault them for her choices. They were innocent. At that point, I honestly think that Joy was innocent, too. She was wrong, and she was damaged, but I don't think she had crossed the line at that time.

The Monday after the failed intervention, I made an appointment with a psychologist. There is a common mistake that many people make when going to a therapist. They think they can get advice about how to fix another person. They can't. All a therapist can do is help the person sitting before them. I quickly went from a husband seeking help for his wife to a man in need of help for himself. We talked about my needs and my hopes for the future. He asked me what I would do if my wife didn't return to the marriage. That was when I knew he saw more than he was saying. Before long, we were talking about my plans to survive the end of my marriage.

"I can't diagnose her without talking with her, but my best guess is that she's suffering a form of post-partum depression where instead of struggling with separation from her fetus, she is feeling the loss of being a daily parent to young children."

"No shit. I'm paying you for this?"

"What I mean is it sounds like she has needs that only the children are meeting. I don't think she's in love with this other man, but I can't be sure."

"I think she's accepting them as a package deal."

"That may well be true. If she can't set boundaries and keep them, it's possible that she may form a shared parental relationship with this other man and that could lead to something more."

"You mean she could wind up in his bed."

"Yes, it's a possibility. What I want you to understand is that if she does, it's because of her bond to the children and not a fundamental attraction to him. Could you deal with that?"

"No."

"What would be your response?"

"Divorce. Frankly, being divorced wouldn't be much different from my current life except I wouldn't be watching the clock and wondering when she'll get home."

We sat in silence for a minute as I gathered by thoughts. "Is it possible that she could realize what she's doing to the point that she could break off her ties with this family?"

"Perhaps. She may come to the precipice and realize that she's about to lose the family she has, or she may be drawn so strongly to being the mother of young children that she loses her way completely."

"What can I do?"

"Continue to talk with her, tell her how you feel, make sure she knows that if things don't change there will be consequences."

"And that won't push her over the edge?"

"It may, but what choice do you have? It's important that you stress that your needs don't preclude a reasonable relationship with the children, but that she needs to come home to have dinner and spend the evenings with you. You need to make her see that you can accept her being a nanny to the kids, but that she is foremost a part of the family you two have formed together. She needs to be willing to set boundaries; and if she does not, then she risks losing the family she already has."

"We tried that. Our daughters joined me for an intervention, but she denied anything inappropriate and ran back to the other house."

My therapist was quiet for a long time. "In the end, we cannot force our wishes on others. I think you need to prepare for the possible end of your marriage. It may not come, but if it does you want to be ready. I can help you with that."

I nodded and we ended our session in silence.

* * * * *

These memories were a struggle for me. By now it was growing cold on my back deck, and I was reaching the climax of my story. It would get worse before it got better, and I could feel the knot in my stomach forming as if I were living it all over again. Hell, I was. It had been five years and the pain was not as intense as it had been when I was living it, but the struggle to understand was still there. I got up and I poured myself a bourbon. I was going to need it for the home stretch.

I continued to see my therapist after that, and he prepared me for what might come. Meanwhile, I continued my attempts to engage Joy in meaningful discussions of our marriage. Joy was staying later at David's house and growing increasingly quiet when she was home. I couldn't tell if she was feeling angry with me over my attempts to keep her at home or guilty over her actions. One month after I started talking divorce with my therapist, Joy failed to come home at all. She didn't even call, and I knew beyond a doubt that my marriage was dead.

Still, I tried. She argued that Peter was sick and needed her. I argued that David could take care of his own children.

We talked. We fought. She denied.

"Joy, are you still my wife?"

She didn't answer.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"No! He wanted me to, but I slept in the guest room."

"That's it. I can't take any more of this. You need to choose. You can't be my wife and continue spending all your time over there. It's clear he has ambitions toward you and why wouldn't he? You're spending every waking hour in his home instead of ours and sending him a message that your husband isn't your priority. You cannot continue to spend your time there with David thinking he has some kind of claim on you!"

"He apologized this morning. He said he's just lonely and he misses his wife."

"And you spent the night there?"

"Jon Henry needed me!"

"Jon Henry? Joy, Jon Henry is dead. He died twenty years ago."

"I mean Peter. Peter needed me!"

I looked at her. She seemed confused and deeply troubled. She wasn't alone. "Joy, do you know the difference between Peter and Jon Henry?"

"Of course I do. I'm not senile."

"Joy, you stayed in a house where the man tried to seduce you. He tried to get you into his bed. Joy, you are my wife. This cannot continue! You must set boundaries, or you can't go back there."

"I slept in the guest room!"

"Not good enough! You still stayed there instead of here where you belong."

"You don't own me!"

"Really? You're going to throw that childish excuse at me? This isn't about me owning you; it's about you honoring your vows."

"I didn't sleep with him!"

"That's the letter of the law. The spirit of the law is commitment to your marriage, building a life with your spouse, and to everyone you meet being the wife of the man you married. Can you honestly say you're doing that?"

"I'm just taking care of the children. They need me! David needs me! I..." She never finished the sentence. She just bowed her head. After a long stretch of silence, she went to our bedroom and closed the door.

I tried to talk with her through the door, but she ignored me. With no real choice, I went to work. I needed time to figure out what to do. I developed a strategy. I would approach her calmly, lovingly, and discuss my fear that I was losing her. When I walked in the front door that night, I was ready. I was calm. I was prepared for whatever might come, or so I thought. Her closet was empty. The drawers of her bureau were empty. There wasn't even a note. Once again, I felt the life drain away.

It was dark by the time I was again aware of my surroundings. The rage returned and I fought the desire to march down to David's house and kill him with my bare hands. I would kill him in front of his kids, in front of my wife, and I would do the time gladly. No, no I would not. She made her choice. My choice was to live.

It dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't at David's house. Maybe she'd gone to stay with her sister where she could think things through. I called her sister, but she hadn't heard from Joy in months. In fact, once I had her on the phone, she asked me what was going on. I gave up. What was the point in trying to preserve Joy's reputation with her family? I told her sister everything. To say the least, she was shocked. I even told her about Joy not coming home at night, about David's attempted seduction, and about the empty closet. I'd always liked and admired Joy's sister, and she cried over the phone as we talked.

When I hung up, I knew it was either go over to David's house or call there on the phone. Was I a coward, or was I trying to diffuse the situation? I chose to call thinking it might minimize the confrontation. After seven rings, she answered. I hoped she would talk with me, but she was quiet.

"Why did you clear out your closet?"

No answer.

"All your clothes are gone."

No answer.

"Are you coming back?"

No answer.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" I waited after that question and let it hang in the air until she finally answered.

"I don't know."

I realized later that her answer had multiple possible meanings.

"Do I need to file for divorce?"

She whimpered but said nothing.

"Come home, Joy. We've made a family together. We have a history. You need to come home."

I heard crying and the line went dead. She hung up.

I called my daughters, and they called their mother. She tried to explain herself, but she wasn't getting the support she wanted. When my daughters told me what Joy had said to them, I knew she was lost to me. Still, I persisted. I called her sister and she called Joy. After an attempt to deny the facts, Joy gave up and gave her sister much the same excuses that she'd given our daughters.

The next morning I went to David's house before he had time to leave for work. David was a coward who denied everything. I told Joy it was over and that she needed to make a choice. It was our marriage or her new family. There could no longer be a middle ground. She cried, but she would not leave. I later talked with my therapist about possibly having her committed long enough for an examination, but he wasn't optimistic.

I waited a few days and did the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I sat down with a lawyer and started the divorce papers. A week later she was served. I thought that maybe, just maybe, that would be the wake-up call that she needed. Maybe it would shake her from the delusion that had taken over her life, but it didn't. For the next week I got calls at night. When I answered them, all I could hear was sobbing on the other line and then the line would go dead. I called and when someone would pick up, I would beg her to come home. I never really knew if I was talking to Joy or one of the kids, or maybe it was David. Either way, nothing came of it. The divorce papers were returned to my lawyer signed and witnessed. My therapist's words came back to me, "In the end, we cannot force our wishes on others." My wife had made her choice.

It was the most surreal experience I could have ever imagined, not that I would ever dream of it. My wife was living in a house just one block down the road with a new family and another man while I rattled around the home we had shared, the home where we had raised our girls. With some effort, my lawyer managed to get us into a room for a last talk before the divorce was final. I never did know how he did that.

"Don't you owe me at least an explanation?"

She just sobbed and stared at the table, never lifting her eyes to look at me.

"Joy, please, tell me why you threw away our marriage? Was I a bad husband? Was I a bad lover? Did I ignore you or disappoint you? Don't you owe me at least that much?"

After a long wait, she slowly raised her head and between her tears she said in a voice almost too quiet to hear, "I missed being a mother."

"You are a mother. We have two girls together, remember? In a few years they'll be getting married, and they'll need their mother as they begin their new lives as wives. Then they'll be starting their families and they'll be new mothers. They will need you more than ever. You are still a mother to our girls, and in a few years you'll be a grandmother to their children."

She just sobbed and shook her head. "I want more."

I was racked with the pain of loss and inadequacy. "Do you love him?"

She shook her head no. "They need me."

"But do you love him?"

The question just made her cry harder.

"Joy, it's not too late. Come home. Be a mother to your daughters. Be a wife to your husband. We'll go to a therapist. We'll work it out. Come home where you belong."

That was the end of it. With a burst of tears and muffled screams, she jumped from her chair and fled the room.

After a few minutes my lawyer returned to the conference room. "I'm sorry. I guess she has made up her mind?"

"I don't think she knows her mind. I don't think she's well, but I know I can't reach her."

"You told me you've seen a therapist?"

"Off and on. He prepared me for this possibility. He told me he couldn't diagnose her without meeting her, but he's been spot on all along. If anyone ever asks you, when a therapist says, 'I can't be sure, but...', it means he's sure. He called it and the only thing he didn't predict was the timetable."

"So what do you want to do now?"

"File the papers. She has a new family now. She doesn't want me."

"I think you're wrong. She wants you very badly, but she can't give up those two kids."

"And their father."

"No, I think he's just part of the package."

"Whatever, I'm done. Whether she wants him, or he's just the price she pays to get the kids, she's in his bed now and I need to move on."

He leaned across the table and looked me in the eyes. "Make no mistake about it. He isn't the price she's paid. You are. You are what she had to give up and you are what she will miss. On those cold winter nights when the kids are in bed, it's you she will be longing for. She will go to his bed, but she'll be dreaming that it's yours." Those words have stayed with me since that day and in a strange way they give me comfort.

* * * * *

My glass is empty again. Two cups of coffee, two glasses of beer, a long, slow sip of bourbon, and my time of remembering was complete. The sun was going down behind the trees and the wind was now truly cold. Winter was coming, but it was not here yet. I still had time.

I heard the commotion in the house. I guess the girls were back. As I sat there, now thinking of my girls, I heard the door open. "How long have you been sitting out here?"

Without turning around, I said over my shoulder, "I don't know. How long have you been gone?"

That brought a little chuckle to my ears. "Not that long. We hit the mall, then walked the shopping district downtown, had lunch, and then a few more stores... You know, just the usual."

I could actually hear her smile. "Do I need to help carry the packages into the house?"

"No. We got it in two trips." And with another quiet chuckle, the door closed. From inside I heard her say, "Your father spent the day on the back deck again. Go see if you can get him to come inside before it gets too cold out there."

The door opened again. "Daddy, we got you a bottle of your favorite bourbon. Why don't you come inside and make sure it's okay?" Now that wasn't a chuckle. That was an out-and-out giggle.

As I rose from my chair and made my way to the door, I muttered to myself, "A father's work is never done."

As I walked through the kitchen, my wife said to me, "Dinner will be ready in about a half hour. Why don't you wash your hands and pour yourself another glass? We'll take care of everything else."

That's right. I said, 'my wife'. It took me a year to work through Joy's abandonment of our marriage and another year of dating before I met her. She walked into the room, and I was smitten. I told you being smitten is a dangerous thing. I took it slow, and I struggled to keep my eyes wide open. I lasted maybe six months and then admitted to myself that I had fallen hopelessly in love. I waited six more months before I admitted it to her. She just smiled, put her hand on the side of my face, and said, "I know. I love you, too."

She's a widow with a daughter between the ages of my two girls. I tried to take my time, hoping that her daughter would accept me more as her mother's husband than her father. When we told her that her mother and I were engaged, she jumped up, threw her arms around my neck, and yelled, "Dad! What took you so long!" So much for taking it slow.

So now I am a man with four girls in his life. They had bonded from the very beginning and today they had spent the day shopping as only women can. As I washed my hands, I heard a lot of laughter and giggling from the kitchen. Were they recounting their day, or planning a surprise for me? No matter, I'd probably find out soon enough. Life is good and I have the family I always wanted. In fact, I have a little more than I started with and that was even better.

You know, as I think about it, I may be entering the autumn of my life, but it feels more like spring.

Epilogue:

When you're happy, truly happy with your life, you can forgive the past. Living with the pain doesn't bring you joy (no pun intended). At the same time that my girls were preparing dinner, my ex-wife's young family was nearing ten and twelve years of age. She still had the young children that she needed, and I was happy for her. If I were honest, I'd admit that I wasn't terribly optimistic for her future. In eight more years, her youngest would be in college, and she'll be back in the same position she was in when she left me. Would David fill that void better than I had? I hoped so, but I doubted it.

Time passed, our girls got married and gave us grandchildren. The little ones had two grandmothers on their mother's side and never batted an eye. To them, it was perfectly normal. They just wished they could see their grandmother Joy more often, but I think Joy felt that she could never get back what she had once thrown away and lived in a sort of self-imposed exile rarely seeing her first family.

As expected, Deborah and Peter went off to college and a year later Joy and David quietly divorced. I never knew the details of the divorce, who filed, or why, and if my girls knew they never told me. Joy wound up living in a very nice condo in a community of people her own age. From what little I know, she seems to fill her days with activities, but she is lonely. Deborah and Peter will eventually marry and give her grandchildren, but that time is still years away. I honestly have never known if she regrets her decision and I'll never ask. A part of me wishes she'd admit that she made a mistake and draw herself closer to her adult daughters, but like my therapist said, "In the end, we cannot force our wishes on others."