What happens when you discover secrets about each other?
Looking for an ATM code of my deceased husband’s BCR account I am perusing a notebook (one out of maybe 100) he kept. Lawyers take copious notes and Arthur wrote notes, daily notes, on everything his brain could or would consider.
Seems village hubbie was not happy with me since 2007, and he was considering moving to another locale to get a perspective on his life, without me. Funny, he never mentioned his intentions. He never hinted at same, except for the fact during sixteen months (July 07 to Oct 08) I saw him maybe a total of five weeks and two of those were in California.
Dumb Bon. Slow on the uptake, or what?
What I am learning from finding this truth for him is he had a Walter Mitty thing going. I am the opposite. I am a loud mouth about everything under the sun, moon, beach umbrella, and on FedBook. Why? My sobriety depends on it.
I can’t take the stress of living a lie. He died. I am breathing. He smoked. I don’t. He seemed happy go-lucky. I don’t put on a smiley face preferring to do the Gurdjieffian method – dig holes, plant, and watch clouds make shadows across the jungle below – and be fully awake, yet apparently not as astute as I thought.
My heart protected me from his emotional betrayal? Arthur was an exceptional human being who lived his life exactly how he wanted to without any conferences with God or any advisor. I take solace in knowing at least, he wrote down what he felt and yet made no actual changes. Too bad he did not open up and share what was eating at him about me, or himself. Instead, he made himself quietly sick over a case of the whatevers and took a classic way out of his supposed hopeless situation. Death by denial.
Over the years of our marriage, I witnessed his emotional affairs. I invested no emotional reaction in them. It was his stuff, not mine. Possibly me finding his thoughts on paper, is his way of directing me to let go and move on. I am one of those females who never lacks for male attention, and believe it not, I am unsure why this is true. I do attract a cadre of like-kinded men. Whatever the future (Doris is singing again) I hope I am not so naïve and dip shit about whom I emotionally commit to in the next round, next life, next eon.
I am mostly happy because I keep it in the here and now. I rant as therapy. I love unconditionally and care about, not for folks. Do not assume I am beating myself up with this revelation about Arthur. I am not. My faith is deeper than Lake Tahoe and my understandings do not like the shallow end of the pool.
My heart is taken hostage by love, honor, and duty. I deal no cards under the table. I am cautious yet spontaneous and because of an inbred artiste personality I visualize but do not project.
Time. Things I must earn. Things I must experience. Things I must endure.
There is a Felucca coming down the Nile so until the next time we chat about justice between a man and woman, may your awareness spread, your life pay it forward and your love bloom with endless options.
Me? I am the widow on the hill considering options and listening as the jungle talks and teaches – personalized home schooling via inter-species communication.