Chapter
Twenty Eight: Adjusting, or not
It was nothing short of touching
and angelic when Amellia was brought home and her big brother Dorian got to
hold his baby sister for the first time.
For months people warned me to beware of Dorian and a jealousy that was
bound to develop with the arrival of the baby, but Dorian from day one put
those comments to shame as he immediately became Amellia’s advocate and
protector. He was always asking to hold
the baby and was generously giving her kisses at all times, but what melted my
heart and proved the compassion of my little man was when I saw he selfless act
of kindness: after the fire Dorian attached to a blanket that he quickly became
inseparable with. He lovingly named it
his Knock. He would become enraged and
inconsolable whenever the beloved blanket needed to be washed and was never
willing to share it with me or with his dad.
One day while I had walked into the other room to get a drink Amellia
began fussing. When I came back into the
room Dorian was placing his Knock on his sister and rocking her chair saying
“Ok baby. No cry”
Moments like these kept me grounded
even though I still felt as though my world was a swirling whirlwind. Although Amellia was an easy baby, as I
didn’t have to worry about a protein allergy like I did with Dorian,
transitioning from two children to one was difficult for me. In fact, It was more difficult going from one
child to two than it was adjusting to motherhood with one. For the last two years Dorian and I spent our
days one on one. Even though Dorian and
I had been evenly numbered, one on one, I still had days that I was overwhelmed. To now be out numbered two to one was
something I was not readily prepared for.
Dorian, being only two still required a lot of assistance including
diaper changing’s, help with feedings, and constant stimulation and
interaction. To then add the needs of an
infant on top of that was downright overwhelming. I had such a difficult time leaving the house
as I was fearful of attempting to manage both kids, out of my environment, in
public. I felt constantly ganged up on
as all day long I was expected to give and give and give, meeting these growing
humans’ needs. I loved my children and
the role of mother, but such love comes at a cost of our time, emotions and
some days, our sanity.
I tried reaching out to Josh; I
tried to communicate my difficulties, but it was obvious Josh was drowning as
well. He would come home and interact
with the kids for a short while, but his patience was shorter than I had ever
seen it when dealing with the children and he seemed to hit his threshold after
only an hour or two before he would turn on a video game and lose himself in
it. His temper was short and little
things seemed to set off an anger I had not seen very often. I tried not to get lost in the stress the way
I had after the fire and the miscarriage and again tried to reach out to
Josh. I tried not to demand time or
attention from him, but would sit by his side and help him watch his life bar
while he played. I had already learned
what would happen if I pushed him too much, so instead, I tried to show him
love all the ways I knew how, but it was very clear that that chasm I had
experienced between us seemed to now be an impenetrable wall. I began to doubt there was a way to fix our
relationship as I felt I was the only one trying to save it. I continued to reach out in small ways by
sending Josh to work with goodies, buying card packs for a game he played, or
even making meals I knew he would enjoy, but all of that became lost to the tension
and contention that seemed to permeate in our bedroom each night.
After getting the children in bed,
I would take the time to read a lesson for church or my scriptures. It was a habit that somehow led to
discussions or discontent. As I sought
to always learn more and keep the spirit I felt from my religion with me, I felt
Josh was doing the opposite. I didn’t understand
how something so precious to the both of us could just be forgotten, distrusted
and discarded. The simple truths we had
agreed on for years were now being explained away and his explanations just
didn’t make sense to me. I felt confused
as I tried to understand his loss of faith and unintentionally, I made him feel
I was judging him, making him feel like I was telling him he was not good
enough. Oblivious to this fact thought I struggled, wanting only to understand
in the hopes that we could move on despite this huge difference in belief.
There was no intimacy between me
and my husband and it was a strange thing going to sleep next to this man I had
been with for years and feeling like he was nothing more than a roommate and
feeling lonely and lost even though I still had him by my side. I never gave up hoping that he would roll
over and hold me. Kiss me. Tell me he loved me. Because if he would do that, then that meant
there was still something worth fighting for.
He never did though. And stubbornly,
still I hoped. If for no other reason
then because the kids deserved having a mom and a dad. I was trying so hard mentally to let go of
the religious differences that still haunted me. I was willing and working on letting that disappointment
go so because despite this deepening disconnect with Josh, I still loved
him. I knew I would always love
him. So despite it all, I hoped this
little family of mine could still be victorious over this invisible force
trying to ruin it all.
So, even thought it was difficult and
I wore out and got frustrated and fatigued, I did the best I could every
day. I loved and played with my kids, I
kept house and I tried to let my husband know I loved him. Day after day after day. I truly believed that as long as I was doing
everything I could, eventually everything would right itself. Then reality hit. And reality taught me that unless both people
are involved in a relationship, it will fall apart. This reality hit me one night when I was very
close to drifting off to sleep and I finally got what I had been hoping
for. Josh had rolled over and was
touching my body in ways I had longed for.
He was intense and loving and I relished his touch. Yet, something in the back of my mind nagged
at me harshly, that before I even know why I was saying it, I whispered, “Say
my name.”
“Tasha.” Was the name he whispered back
to me.
I sat up enraged and feeling like I
needed to vomit. My movements woke Josh
up and he began to piece together what had happened, trying to back pedal and
explain why he would utter her name in our bed, but there no excuse other than
the obvious: It wasn’t me he wanted to be with.
The sting of it made me sick, especially as out newborn slept only feet
from out bed in her crib. I demanded he
leave my bed and my bedroom, which he did once again with no objection. He collected his clothes for the next day and
his pillow and walked out of the room, leaving me there to sob most the night
for the betrayal I felt. I hated myself
for believing him when he said she was only just a friend, but I hated myself
even more for justifying his emotional affair with her teaching myself to think
that it was an emotional attachment, at least it wasn’t physical because what
happened tonight proved those thoughts were very wrong as for him, in his mind
it was physical as well. This, by far,
was the most hurtful thing Josh had done to me yet. This went beyond the lying and the betrayal
of our religion, this was very much a personal attack against our love; the
very thing I had built my life around.
How could I still make myself still believe he loved me? Yet, how could I walk away from the marriage
when my relationship with Josh was the one constant in my life? When it was what I was comfortable with,
despite our emotionally bereft marriage?
How was I supposed to accept and let go of the one things that for years
made me feel like I was worth something?
Nothing about this seemed fait to me and I seethed and loathed at his
selfishness because how dare he do this to me.
To the kids!
The next morning I confronted him,
enraged. He promised he wasn’t still
talking to her, that it was just a dream.
One he admitted was wrong, but just a dream. I was not pacified with his explanations. After he had already admitted to loving this woman,
how could I get over his obvious physical desire for her? This was still an emotional affair if even in
his sleep he wanted that closeness with her rather than me. I felt as if I dagger had once again been
thrust into my heart and before I knew what I was doing, I was packing a
suitcase for me and the children. All
day long while he was at work, I packed and cried, trying to gain the courage
to just pack the car and leave, but I was scared. Where would I go? What would I do? How could
I be a single mom when even with his limited help I felt like I couldn’t do
it? I found myself yet again trying to
justify his actions so that I wouldn’t feel forced to leave him. After all, it was only a dream and you can’t
control dreams. Yea he had hurt me
beyond anything I had experienced beforehand, but couldn’t he still apologize
and prove to me once and for all he was sorry and that he did love me? Was it really fair to the kids to walk out on
their father due to my injured pride and broken heart? So instead of leaving as
a part of my prompted me to, I stayed. I
prayed for strength for guidance and felt that if his apology seemed sincere
and if he asked me to stay then I would, but that this had to be the last time
I ever heard the name Tasha ever again.
When Josh arrived home he saw my
packed suitcases and I could see the anger cloud his face. An anger I had grown very used to over the
months. I waited for him to start
yelling at me so that I could then unleash all my furry, but instead we both
stood silent. Finally, he asked, “Are
you leaving me?”
I let him know it al depended on
him. Again I waited for him to give me
anything, but the silence pounded in the house along with the hurting
hearts. Finally, he began to talk about
how he was sorry. He wasn’t trying to
hurt me. Don’t go. I shouldn’t be taking the kids away from
him. It wasn’t the sincere, heartfelt
apology I had been hoping for, but it was enough to keep me from facing my fear
of ending my marriage. Although I had
decided to stay, I wasn’t over the hurt or ready to unpack my suitcases just
yet.
Weeks passed, but the hurt and
anger between us remained the same. I
just couldn’t fix it on my own despite my best efforts as so rather than grow
back together, I saw us spinning apart even further. Desperate to survive my situation, I once
again focused on the blessings that were my children, receiving joy from their
innocence and love. These sweet babies
of mine gave me a purpose I had never felt in life before and while I was
desperate in searching for hope in my relationship with Josh, I was validated
and fulfilled in my motherly tasks, reminding me that despite it all, I knew in
my heart I was doing what was right for my children. I potty trained my son successfully soon
after he had turned two and loved every day I got to see a new skill Amellia or
Dorian develop. Despite all the unhappy
that troubled my heart, I was attempting to still find the good and the happy
and I always found it within my children.
One evening while Josh and I sat
silently next to each other, engaged in our own work Josh mentioned that the
deadline to re-enlist had passed which meant he was getting out of the
military. My heart soared at once again
having something to hope for. Maybe,
just maybe if we could get away from the bad influencing military friends and
life Josh would be able to dedicate his time to our family and learn to love us
all again. Maybe this meant he still
loved me if he was willing to give up the military after all. With hope restored, I began looking forward to
the quickly approaching Christmas season as this year maybe we could enjoy it
without a tragedy, especially as we prepared for Amellia’s first holiday
season.
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