Two More Days

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I went to bed last night, in my bed, but my room is empty. Everything that made it mine is packed away. Still, it felt safe, and reassuring, and then I realized it was the last time I will go to sleep in that bed in that room. Which brought on a flood of tears, just a flood.

I WANT to go to Florida. I am not second guessing this decision in any way. But, my God, I have loved this place, this house, this town, and I love so many people.

I took a bag of cassette tapes to my ex yesterday. I had about 25 of them. I was driving around with them in my car for the whole summer almost, intending to drop them off, but never being able to pull it together to go to his house. But I don’t have room in the car for a bag of cassettes that I can’t listen to because I have no cassette player. So, I sucked it up and drove over. His cars were all there, so he was home. But I didn’t knock on the door, I just set them down beside the door to his tiny cottage, and left them. As I set them down, all I could smell was the must, and mold, and memories of a life that should not have turned out that way.

He lives next door to the scene of the crime, our old house, where for at least the last 10 years of our life together he emotionally tortured me and my son. The house is in such disrepair, the people who bought it have left it as is. I have no idea what their plan is. I would suppose that at some point they will tear it down and rebuild. But in the meantime, the acre of grass on the lake front has not been mowed all summer. Nothing, absolutely nothing, has changed since my ex lived there.

I drove away in such sadness, for the loss of what was our dream, for the wretchedness of my ex’s life now. For all that never was, but could have been, and all that was, and shouldn’t have been.

I called him to tell them I left them there. He said, “You should have knocked on the door, I could have said hi.” He doesn’t have even a clue how I feel about it all. I just said that I have so much to do, the movers are coming tomorrow.

I have told him 3 times now what the plan for myself and our son is. And still, he asks again, and can’t remember. His mother died from Parkinson’s an Alzheimer’s. I fear it’s setting in with him, and he is alone and far too secretive to tell anyone. I asked him for his email, and he began to go into an epiphany about why he doesn’t have email, but is on the computer all the time. And nothing he says makes any sense. i.e. that he didn’t have the right equipment for email.  That he had set it up many times but it was always hacked.  That he explained all this to our son, and started going into detail about a conversation that never took place.  I asked him if he talked to my son.  And he kind of stopped, dead in his tracks and said, oh I don’t remember when I told him this.  I haven’t talked to him in a long time.

Yeah, like 6 years.  This is what I mean when I say, he just makes up stories and believes them, or assumes everyone does, stories that have absolutely no basis in reality.  Stories that rewrite history in the way he’d like it to be.

Luckily the movers called, and I had a reason to cut the conversation short.

He wears me out, emotionally. Not good emotions either. Triggers, and sadness, and incredulity at the life he’s chosen to live. Yet, I feel I do him some good, talking to him, that somehow it offers him some kind of consolation that I can still care enough to do the right thing.  But it takes so much out of me.

It will be so good for me to leave all of it 1500 miles away. I would be so much happier if I was leaving a situation knowing he would be ok, but I am pretty sure his life will end as a tragedy. He will die in that cottage, and no one will know for days. Or he’ll be found wandering the streets, non-sensical. Or trying to get into the house next door, thinking it’s still his. There is no indication from him that it will not be that way, and every indication it will.

The day was tough, between that, and the Salvation Army not taking my couches, and finishing up all the packing, running up and down stairs many many times.

Then one of my oldest friends came over with my old next door neighbor, (she lives on the other side of my old house from my ex) to say goodbye, and we visited for about an hour on my couch in my boxed up house. It was nice.

This morning, though, I woke up as I went to sleep, weeping again, knowing it was the last time I would wake up in that room that has been my sanctuary for these last 5 years.

I can’t wait til I’m in Florida, and settled in, and can have that feeling again. I just need to get through these last 2 days in tact.

I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m not. I am so blessed in this life, to be able to do what I’m doing, and have friends and family who totally support me in every way possible. But there’s always a ying to the yang and I guess I’m finding it in these last days.

Time for a nice long meditation, and then onward, toward my new life.

Love and light, everyone.

2 responses to “Two More Days

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