A Softer Side?

For whatever reason (I'm hoping it doesn't have anything to do with masochism), I am caught in a river of grief. I theorize that because I'm doing so well, I am "free" (so-to-speak) to begin truly FEELING some things I did not have time/capacity/safety/whatever to feel at the time those things happened. So, I'm grieving. And I'm dumping my grief here.

(The good thing about grief is it makes you tired, and since the running only temporarily cured the insomnia, maybe this will help? Yeah... right. Who am I kidding... I've been a chronic insomniac my whole life.)

So, one of the many times I had to go to court, now years ago (boy is it nice to say that!), I had a feeling I might get stuck in the courtroom with nothing to do while the lawyers went off with the judge to speak in private quarters. Legally, Richard could not have any communication or contact with me so I knew I wouldn't be shooting the breeze with him. Therefore, I brought along a notebook and, to pass the time, I wrote my way through that anxiety-ridden hour or two. It is only a snapshot - one of many, many others - and it is from a long time ago but here it is nonetheless...

11:17am
How sad it all is. How much I really want to be able to just lean over and talk to him, sort these things out, let him do the yard-work at the house I know he wants to do… But it won't gain me anything. That would be to his gain, not mine. And while it would make me feel better momentarily – for trying to reach out to him and demonstrate I care – he'll simply take advantage of that and I can't let that happen.

We don't belong in this place. All these verbally slick and quick suits spending other people's money yammering on their cell phones about life insurance policies and visitation schedules. What's wrong with us? How is it that we need to pay someone else so much money to communicate for us? And about such basic things as our daughter's well being, where she lives, where she goes to school, etc.

We don't even look at each other, except when we know we can't get "caught" by the other for doing so. I stare at his back, watch the way the only suit he still owns (the one he wore when we got married) hangs on him, how it still fits him. He looks good. He looks sad. I think he does believe he's the victim in all this. I hear him opening a briefcase, something he hasn't carried since his insurance-selling days, which were long before we ever even met. I can't believe how much money this is going to cost us. Will either one of us ever recover from it? Is it bad I don't feel guilty about it costing us money? I wish it wasn't but I don't know how else I could do this.

I over hear another lawyer talking with a man who must be in a similar situation. A woman, I presume to be his wife, is standing by and hasn't spoken to him but has a lawyer who's spoken to his lawyer. They're discussing weekend visitation(s) and getting a market analysis of the house.

This morning when I stood at the roll-top desk, I remembered, for a moment, how nice our life was – when it was nice. I liked sharing the house with him. I liked our house – a house I wouldn't have purchased but Richard had the foresight to see it was the right house for us. We prayed about it and while praying didn't seem to change anything for him (in fact, I'm the one who actually prayed), I realized that I didn't have any good reason not to agree to buy the house. So we did. It was in the neighborhood we wanted, for the school district we wanted, with neighbors who became friends. Everything seemed fine. But it wasn't. I was dying inside.

I hear the woman actually speak directly to the other man. It sounds like they have three kids together. Wow – three kids. I'm so grateful I only have one. It's tempting to judge her for having three kids with a man she can now barely speak to but shame on me. I actually CAN imagine how that would happen. Wouldn't that be like the kettle calling the pot black?

I'm trying to manage my anxiety. I'm missing a life we never even really had together. I'm worrying about money and also wondering what might be getting decided behind those closed doors.

The other woman's lawyer goes over their order for visitation, making reference to "the children's advocate and representative." I can't help but wonder if domestic violence is or was an issue in their case, too.

I'm so sad. This is the 5th time I've been in the same room with him in the last six months and just like all the others, we're present but silent.

Here they come. Oh God, what did they decide…