Silence

A week ago Saturday, I was staying at a friend's house.  I needed a break from my husband while he pulled his head out of his ass.  I needed sometime where our conversation did not consist of me yelling "You fucking asshole."  I am sure the texts traced backed to Seattle saw a measurable uptick in the count of those two words.  The CIA might be alarmed.

In the case of who should have left, me or Jack, it had to be me.  The man needed to be broken from his addiction to work.  If he left, he would have holed up in a hotel and worked.  Checked his email and text messages 24/7.  It would be like leaving a boozer at a bar to sober up.  Nope.  I needed to go.     Our heated conversations needed a break, and it wasn't healthy for me, him or the kids to have to experience the rush and flooding of emotions.  The kids needed a break when they were getting ready for school.  They didn't need to leave on a note of acrimony.

The night I left, we talked on the phone.  "Talk" here is a misnomer.  I mostly screamed.  He was mostly defensive. 

"What should I do with the kids?  I have to work," he said.  "I have call of these nights..."

"Figure it out yourself," I said. 

"But..."  

"Figure it out," I said.

Silence.  

Since the day our daughter was born, I have been the one figuring it out.  I have been his backstop for all things work.  I have been the one waiting at home with the kids while he is on call or working over night at the hospital.  Out of town for conferences. 

He is a smart man with great organizational skills and executive functioning.  He needed to figure it out.

+++++

The second round of silence was far more painful.  I left Thursday night, and Saturday I met the Boy for breakfast.  We went to Specialty's Cafe, his choice.  Since Tuesday, I had been talking non-stop about the situation of my marriage and try to figure things out.  It was a roller coaster.  I'd settle, then a new wave of understanding and then anger and heartbreak would flush through.

The Boy was different than talking to all of my friends.  For the previous few days, it had been all about me.  This time, it was all about the Boy.  In the car to the restaurant, I asked him a few questions about the past few days at school.  I had seen him Thursday before I left, and I talked to him Friday night.  

At the restaurant, we sat in silence.  While we were waiting for the food, he had his back to me, looking at the counter, waiting for the servers to call our food.  When the food came, I asked a question or two to start conversation.  He shrugged, and I let him be.  His sadness was palpable.  He needed to be quiet, and I let him.

When we got home, he showed me his new lego train.  He showed me how he used a piece with the wrong color in one spot, and had to take it apart and rebuild it.  Later in the afternoon, he insisted I watch Parks and Recreation with him.  He knew I needed the distraction.  He told me he loved me first, before I told him I loved him.  At the time I appreciated his tenderness and attentiveness.  

And then I was haunted.  He was taking care of me.  Yes, children need to learn responsibility and need to learn to give love.  That is why we got a dog.  But I am the parent.  Until he is grown, I need to take care of him.  Not the other way around.