Getting It Right ... Part 1

Over and over and over, again... I can't seem to get it right.

When my husband shot himself, it was ridiculousness, really, that met with his demise.

It had to do with respect. Respect that I wanted. Respect that I felt each of us were due... that each of us are due, always. And a choice, that I was making, about what I was willing to live... and what I was not, ever again.

We were sitting in a restaurant, having frozen peach margaritas, and looking through the newspaper for a house to move into, since the small place in the country was, literally, over-flowing with waste... emotional waste... and the septic tank, which is where further waste goes. The landlady was either unwilling, or unable, to take care of the situation, which was a continually flooding basement area, every time it rained hard (and it always does in these parts). My son lived in the basement, so you can see this was not acceptable, under any circumstances; we had stayed too long, as it was, given the unsanitary conditions.

Tim and I had worked through a lot of emotion, together, since his arrival to the country two years, prior. You know the kind, new relationship stuff, step-kids, interfering families, etc. This is what I refer to as waste... the worked over, dragged out and drained out shit, that's unless recycled into another form. Now our finances were looking up, so we didn't have to continue to try and pretend that things were ideal, in our country setting.










I will never forget that place. It was ideal, in many ways... a majical place, where fairies danced and owls paved the way through the cool dark night air. Whispering pines, and song birds, rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, and graceful deer... these fill my memory, of those days... short lived, yet precious all the same.

At the restaurant, we had the place to ourselves, aside from one lone man who was sitting in the opposite isle, behind Tim, one table back. I turned up the check the waiter had lain on the table, glanced at it and handed it over to him, for a quick look, as we discussed the price of housing in Carolina, compared to housing in San Diego. He didn't think $90,000 was unreasonable, in fact, he thought it was fantastic! Who knows, perhaps we would be buying our own new home, once he settled into his new job... for now, we just needed to flee the country place. It was beginning to close in on us, everything around us was dying, the stench was everywhere. The color was even draining from Tim's heart, the one that had once been dyed SunnyBlue, now set out in the bright sun to bleach out to whiteness... nothingness, seeping in, as the color faded to dull gray, and a fine crack upset the once perfect balance.

That's how I felt, then, anyways... as our puppies disappeared one by one... and then the vultures found one of them, before we did. And then we found him, too. He had been just a few yards from the house, but we hadn't been able to find him, then. Poisoned. Someone had been poisoning the puppies, some of them just never came home, and the mama and one baby stabbed in the hip with a knife. Deer hunters... it was time to go.

I forgot that he thought it was rude to lift the bill up and have a look. I guess I must have stepped over the line, by handing it to him, then. Small town me, in a questionable little two-bit restaurant, and with only one other person, in the place, didn't think anything of having a look, I'd always been free to do so, before. He snatched the bill from me and slammed it back down on the table, piercing eyes stabbing at me. I had been shocked at this display.

I was also hurt. It would have been obvious to anyone who might be looking, that he had been displeased with something which I had done, and this made me feel uncomfortable. I didn't feel as though I had done anything to warrant such a response and asked why he had done that. I can't even remember what he had said, but he was arrogant and not gentle. I told him that he was acting like an asshole, and I made my way to the car, told him I would be waiting there when he was ready to go.

He gets into the car, I begin to drive, and again I ask why he had to act like such an asshole. Maybe I thought that by asking, again, something good would come of it, or maybe I was just being a nag, who knows what it boils down to, I just did it, is all. We were supposed to be going to look at a house, after lunch, but I was in no mood, now. It was spoiled, so we made our way back to the country, about a 25 minute ride. It was not pleasant, there was bickering the entire way.

As we argued down the final length of the 1-mile long drive, I remembered the time he had been angry, when he had been driving, instead of me, like now. He had stomped on the gas peddle, and began driving carelessly down the eroding, hap-hazard, gully-filled drive. He had barely made the curves, in my estimation, and I could envision my car going up an embankment and smashing into one of those long, slender pines. We might not die, but my old car would be ruined. I saw the look in his eyes. He seemed possessed with anger, I don't even remember what about. I was protesting, I told him that it was ok if he wanted to endanger his own life, but it was not fair of him to endanger mine, and I begged him to please slow down and drive right. It was as if a light bulb came on, and he immediately let off the gas.

I don't know why he did this, but he decided that what he wanted to do, now, was flip me a bird, and so he did. Child's play. His hand movements were very emphatic, as he added, "Fuck you!" to the mix. And not just one bird, but a double whammy, a two handed bird. And he didn't do this once, but twice, in the course of this bad exchange. I burst into astounded exclaim. How could he do that, for what reason did he feel that it was necessary to act that way; it seemed the epitome of low-life, left over remnants from ill fed previous relationships, that I wanted no part of, in my life, now. I had misunderstood. I thought that he was through with that left over stuff, too, from his own previous marriage. And here we were, this junk spilling over into our own, now.

I began crying and whining, and crying some more. My heart was hurting, I was so disappointed in the way things were transpiring. I couldn't believe that my life was here, again, in this ugly place. And I wasn't going to agree to this, I never agreed to do this with him. In fact, our agreement had been quite the opposite, we were seeking wholeness, and wholesomeness. We were turning the page on the past that we had both sprang from, dedicating our relationship to one of good mental health, happiness and joy. With visions of his double birdie scorching my brain, and the sound of his "fuck you" still fucking with my ears, I quite regretfully took a stance, "I can't do this anymore!" I cried, then took off my ring.













It was an engagement ring, my beautiful ring, that I had been wearing for 6 months, back then. We considered ourselves to be married, though we had not yet spoken official legal vows. We had lived our lives as such, however. We would probably have made it official that following April, only 5 months away. At least that's what he had told his brother, in an email I found after he had died, and pretty much as when I had expected it would occur, as well. He had mentioned an expected wedding date as being one that had been special to us both, sort of like an anniversary, already, as it was then, set from our first days of realizing and expressing love to one another... the day that we had "spiritually" wed... having felt such love and wonder, from across oceans' tides. We had considered ourselves spiritually wed, many months before he drove in from California... in our hearts and eyes, then, we had been wed for well over two years, closer to three, actually.

We had still been searching for his perfect ring. For myself, we had found a small diamond, with a beautiful hand engraved antique style setting... for a wedding band, for myself, we had chosen a tri set of Russian rolling rings, in tri-gold, that were also individually hand engraved, matching the diamond almost perfectly, which was white gold. They had not come together, but looked wonderful together, as if meant to be; nothing else would quite do, and I often allowed myself to get lost in the reflection of that ring, and all the dreams that came along with it. He had said I could wear them now, the rolling rings, along side the diamond, if I wanted to... but I wanted to wait until we had found his, then we would properly exchange... and, most likely, standing on a beach. Just any ring would not work for him, though he was leaning closely towards a hammered look. Time was on our side, no need to hurry... the right one would find it's way to us, we knew that it would.














Hard formed words already spoken, and with tears streaming down my face, I took my ring off and handed it to him. Without a word, he took off his silver and turquoise pinkie ring, that had been an engagement ring, from me; he then placed my ring inside his own and laid them down in the car. That was not what I had wanted. This was not the response that I had wanted, from having taken my ring off. I began to cry more, as he jerked the car door open, threw the mail from his lap, scattering it across the lawn, and slammed the door back closed. What I had wanted was for him to realize how unhealthy that sort of behavior was for any relationship... and to understand that I was not willing to be disrespected that way, then apologize, ease my heart, and hold me close. But that is not what he did.

I did not take the ring off to solicit response, do know that... I took the ring off because I truly was not willing to live that way, again. But I would have accepted... and appreciated... a healthy response. But, it was not to be that way. Instead... well, you, those of you who have been reading here, know what happened next. He went inside, while I was still crying, outside, and took his own life.



















... this chapter ends here.