A Journey of Matrimony

My Story: ‘Til Death Do Us Part

A Journey of Matrimony

 

            My story begins when I was eighteen years old.  I was in college, on a full academic scholarship; studying biology and chemistry.  I worked part time at the bookstore in the mall and had a work-study job at the campus radio station (NPR).  Neither job paid much, but it paid what few bills I had as a teenager going to school full time and still living at home.  I had just a handful of friends, but those where like family to me.  Romantically, I really wasn’t interested in dating. 

            But all of that changed one day as I was shelving books in the Science Fiction section of the bookstore.  As Anne McCaffrey (or was it R.A. Salvatore?), graced my finger tips, I did what I always did as I noticed a customer tickling the shelves next to me—I asked him if there was anything I could help with him.  After all, we never knew when we might be mystery shopped, and I didn’t want to get a bad “grade”.  The customer made a joke about trying to stay broke, I responded by confirming that he picked a good spot to do so, and a conversation about books, coffee shops and music transpired.  He had to go pick his mother up from work and I had to get back to work, so after a tantalizing conversation, we parted ways.

            A few days later, the customer came back into the store.  He apparently had been looking for me, but I hadn’t been scheduled to work.  The KISS reunion concert was coming to town, and he had tickets from the local radio station.  He had painted some art pieces and given them to the station for decoration, and as a result was gifted tickets often.  I agreed to go to the concert, but in my haste, had failed to realize that I barely knew this guy!  So, I ended up calling him and asking him to go out to get to know each other before we went out of town with each other for the concert.

            That first date was great!  We met at the mall, and decided to go to Taco Bell and then a movie.  Conversation came easily with him, so easily that we actually lost track of time and missed our movie and had to go to a later showing.  I started to realize that there might be the potential for a great friendship here, because talking had never been so easy for me, especially with a member of the opposite sex.

            Over the following week and a half, before the concert, we went out a couple more times, but more than anything we spent hours and hours on the phone talking.  We easily averaged 4-5 hours on the phone every day.  By the time the concert came around, we were really good friends.  This was just a short two weeks!  And a week after the concert, just three weeks after meeting, the customer in the Science Fiction section of the bookstore, proposed to me.

            I couldn’t have asked for a better proposal.  It was private, just him and me.  He had made a tape—for you youngin’s, who only know about mp3s or even CDs, cassette tapes are really old school!—of soft-pop 80s music, had the room full of white gardenia candles, got down on one knee…the whole shebang!  Our “song” played in the background as he asked me—“Angel Eyes” by The Jeff Healey Band.

            Michael knew how important my schooling was, and so we had decided to have a long engagement, not setting a date until after I was set to graduate.  However, when we broke the news of the engagement to family, they were none-so-pleased.  I don’t blame them.  Now that I’m a mother, I understand completely if my daughter, or son, came home after just three weeks of meeting someone and announcing that they are engaged, I’d probably react the same way.  But we knew it was for real.  It’s against all logic, but he was my “one and only”, and I was his.

            Our plans for a long engagement soon changed because it became clear that our family would continue to try to break us apart.  After six months, in April 1997, we eloped to the Justice of the peace at the local courthouse, with plans to have our marriage convalidated soon.  I was just nineteen years old; Michael was twenty one.  But we were madly in love and the best of friends.

            Right before we got married, Michael was contacted by his Army recruiter.  Before we met, he had looked into enlisting, but because he had congenital anosmia, he was requiring a waiver from the Surgeon General.  That waiver had gone through.  The following six weeks was a whirlwind as we prepared for him to go off to Basic Training.

            Although we spent the first year of our marriage apart due to his military training and my need to finish my degree, we talked on the phone as much as possible and used that time to continue getting to know each other.  Everything we learned about each other over that time, only solidified our love for each other.

            Once I joined him at Fort Bragg, we were the happiest we could be.  He did work a lot, but when he was home we played cards and watched movies.  We genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.  It wasn’t long, and we started building a family.

            We had our ups and downs, but our love always helped us navigate back to each other.  In January 2000, after finding out that we were pregnant with our second child, I decided I wanted to take a trip home back to Texas.  We decided to use up some of the leave hubby had saved up, and were planning on taking thirty days to go home and spend time with our families.  However, during that time that we were planning to be gone, Michael’s jump status would expire and he’d be due to make a jump.  You see, when you are airborne, you are required to make a jump at minimum every three months, otherwise your status would change and you would loose the hazard pay.  But Michael’s NCO (boss) made arrangements for him to jump with another group.  It was going to be a nighttime, mass-tactical jump.  One of the more dangerous jumps.  But I had all the confidence that Michael would be fine.  He was well trained, had several jumps under his belt already, and didn’t play around.

            The night of the jump, Thursday, when the time I expected him to be home came and passed, I started to grow worried.  Finally, I got the dreaded phone call from Michael’s Commander.  There had been an accident.  We only had one car at the time, and it was at the company.  So I still had to wait six hours for Michael’s NCO to come onto post for work in order to pick me up.  Fortunately, my neighbor, who was coming in late that night from a fashion show in Raleigh, NC that night, saw that I was still awake and sat with me while I waited. 

            After getting the car, I drove up to the hospital.  When I got there, Michael was still unconscious.  He looked terrible.  He was black and blue.  As I sat there by his side, I couldn’t imagine how bad it really was.  I hadn’t been told much at this point, and thought he was just sleeping.  But, he didn’t wake up, at all that day.  I had to leave and take care of our daughter, who was only 11 months old at the time.  But I made plans to return the next day. 

            The next day, not expecting anything but to see my husband and take him home, I dropped our daughter off at a friend’s house, and headed up to the hospital.  Michael was still asleep.  I stayed with him as long as I could, but had to go be a mother to Anastasia after a few hours, so I returned home with her.  This went on for three days. 

Finally, on Sunday morning, as Anastasia played quietly at my feet, beside her daddy’s bedside, Michael woke up.   But it wasn’t the happy, he opens his eyes, looks over to me and smile moment that I had dreamed of the past three days.  When he woke up, he had a look of terror on his face.  He barely glanced in my direction, and before I could react, he was jumping out of bed, pulling all his leads off and bolting towards the door screaming.  It took several of the orderlies to restrain him.  After they restrained him and calmed him down, the doctor came over and started asking him questions.  This was when reality really started to kick in for me.  I still had no idea how much my life was going to change, but I grew scared.  He didn’t know that he was in the military.  He didn’t know that he was in North Carolina.  He didn’t remember his family.  He didn’t remember me.  His wife.  The mother of his child, with another child on the way.  What child?  He didn’t remember Anastasia.  He had complete amnesia, as rare as that is, my husband had it.

He went home with me because he was told it was okay, that I was his wife.  Over the course of the next few months, I constantly worked with him.  Showed him pictures of family, my family, things we had done together, his friends.  Basically teaching him the parts of his life that he had shared with me prior to the accident.  It’s a good thing we spent all those hours just talking, getting to know each other!  It was hard and it was so anxiety-filled.  I yearned for the life I had lost so suddenly.

By the time Michael came up on PCS orders to Fort Polk, as far as I knew most of his memories had returned.  It seemed to get easier and easier and memories started coming back on their own, without my help.  But there was still something different.  You see, he hadn’t only forgotten who I was, our life together, our dreams for the future.  He had forgotten that he was in love with me.  I think his love for me grew over time because he saw how much I was doing for him.  I was his rock.  Between the gratitude he held for me and the knowledge that he was “suppose” to love me, a genuine love did develop.  But it was never the same as before.  The passion was gone.  We were friends, almost out of necessity.  And I was still madly in love with the man I married.  But he was no longer IN love with me. 

I tried and tried, but no matter what I did, I just couldn’t seem to get him to fall back IN love with me again.  I tried everything I could think of.  After moving to Louisiana, I even did things that I never would have before, and regret doing, in an attempt to gain his love.  Over time, we grew comfortable.  We were married with two beautiful children.  Our family worked and he did love me….but it still wasn’t the same as before. 

After 9/11 and nineteen months of constant deployments, Michael decided he wanted to change his MOS.  He did what he had to do and we got orders for Fort Belvoir.  By this time we were pregnant with our third child. 

Fast forward a bit because the next four years or so, the fact that I felt like there was still a piece of my marriage missing was put on the back burner due to the need to care for the special needs of Connor.  The roller coaster that was Connor’s medical journey was difficult because, although I had my best friend, there was still a distance between the two of us.  Physically, Michael really stepped up to the plate.  I would not have been able to take care of Connor with out him.  Michael is a FANTASTIC father.  And for that I am forever grateful for.  But, had he grown to be “in love” with me again?  No.  At this point, I had lived close to eight years with a man that I was completely, head-over-heels in love with, but didn’t return the sentiment.

But the time came when the Army started looking at Michael.  He had been stagnant in his career for almost five years, the possibility of another compassionate assignment at Belvoir was slim to none, but Connor’s needs could only be met here in the MDW area.  So after a lot of research, soul searching and planning, Michael left for Korea.  The hope was to boost his career and find a way to come back to the area.  But, when he got there, as with many promises made in the military, all of our plans fell through because none of the promises made to us were kept because the job he was suppose to be able to come back to after Korea was done away with.  Suddenly, we were being told that he was going to have to stay in Korea indefinitely and not be able to return to Belvoir, or his family.  Couple this news with being worked like a dog; working 20+ days with no break for 18+hours at a time, only to have one day off and then do it all over again.  Communication back home was difficult due to the time change and the fact that I was pretty much doing the job of five people by myself. 

Michael grew depressed.  He started drinking again, a habit he stopped cold turkey the day he met me.  And some of my friends, some of his, started exchanging in inappropriate conversations.  I had no knowledge of this at the time.

After seventeen months in Korea, he left and went to Missouri for the prime power school.  This was what we had been needing.  He was changing his career and would be able to stay in the DC area so that we could be a family again.  But some habits had been created and continued.

Finally after two and a half years, Michael finally returned home.  My concern for whether Michael “just” loved me versus being “in love” with me had been shadowed by my desire to just have him home with me again so we could be a family.  After all, he might not be passionately, madly in love with me, but he did love me.  He provided for me and his children, and we were good friends.  I had grown content with what I did have, which is more than many women.

The first year Michael was home was great.  We finally had our marriage convalidated, got pregnant, and hubby’s career was finally moving forward again.  But bad habits die hard, and right before Christmas, my life fell apart.  I found out about all the conversations he had been having in Korea and Missouri, and found out that they were still going on.  I could no longer ignore the fact that something was missing in our marriage.  And the side note that many of the women he was talking to were my friends too.  Suddenly I found myself with the loss of quite a few friends, and not feeling like I could trust anyone. I was completely alone.  Isolated.  It was terrible.

A lot of good came from the devastating news that my husband had been sharing a part of himself that he would share with me.  We started counseling.  Things were pretty good.  He realized how much his behavior hurt me and vowed to stop.  I started seeing some promising behavior to make me believe that maybe he did love me in a similar way that I loved him.  And we were talking and sharing again.  I learned about the drinking and the depression that he suffered while apart from us.  We were moving in the right direction.

But that was short lived.  It seemed that shortly after the counseling ended, so did the ‘honeymoon”.  Declan was born about this same time, and so again, the “issues” were put on the back burner.  Not to mention, over the past thirteen years, Michael had grown very good at not talking with me; not sharing with me his feelings or what he was really going through.  I really had no idea.  NO IDEA.  So here we are, finally at the present.

When Michael returned home from Korea and Missouri, he stopped sleeping.  I knew that he had gotten into the habit going to bed with me, but then waking in the wee hours and not going back to sleep.  This was when many of those before mentioned conversations would take place.  What I was not aware of, was just how bad it really was.  I knew he had bad dreams.  So do I.  After all, life has thrown us a few scary loop-de-loops.  But what I wasn’t aware of was that for some reason, when he came home something clicked in his brain.  He was remembering traumatic experiences from his past in the way of his dreams.  Things that I didn’t necessarily know about, or at least didn’t know the vivid details of, but honestly wouldn’t have “helped” him remember in the first place.  He was waking up soaking wet from sweat, even peeing and pooping on himself, he was so terrified.  The night terrors were coming on almost every night.  They were relentless.  Depression started to set in.  I knew he was having bad dreams.  I would wake up and help him change the sheets.  I washed them.  I’d ask him about it and all I would get is “had a bad dream, go back to sleep.” I had never been around anyone who was depressed, so didn’t know what to look for.  Life went on.  I had already spent so many years feeling like I was just a convenience to him, by washing his clothes, cooking his meals, taking care of his children and house, etc.  What else was new?  After all, I said “until death do us part” and “through good and the bad”.  I meant it.  And I wanted to keep my vows because, I was in love with him. 

Last fall, my husband was verbally attacked by our son’s baseball coach.  The coach is a real jerk.  He curses and calls the boys names, and had no understanding for special needs children.  He was out of line with Bryan, and really showed his rear end towards my husband.  Unfortunately, although the coach was in the wrong and the assistant coach was his “buddy” and lied about my husband, the coach is also an officer.  Despite the fact that the coach got up into my husband’s face, had to be pulled back so that he didn’t hit my husband, cursed and insulted my husband and all my husband did was disagree with the coach’s decision to pull our son out of the game (coach was angry that the team was loosing and took it out on Bryan), my husband was asked to go through anger management.  Ironic I know.  Imagine if you will, two men.  One is standing still, arms down by his side, not saying anything.  While the other one is getting within inches of the calm man’s face, cursing, yelling and insulting him.  And the man who kept calm is made to go to anger management. 

But, God works in strange ways.  Mandated anger management has turned out to be one of the best things to ever happen to my husband.  Although it was agreed by the moderator of anger management that Michael didn’t need anger management based on the details of the situation that prompted it, it has opened up a flood gate that is long over due.  I’m not sure of all the details, but things moved very quickly.  Finally, after fourteen years of suffering, Michael is finally getting the treatment for his injuries that he sustained in the jump accident in 2000.  In fact, just today (Feb 6, 2014) the doctor he saw today apologized for him not getting treatment until now.  He’s been diagnosed with TBI, PTSD, depression and insomnia.  He’s at the TBI clinic practically every day of week.

So what’s the problem?  Where do I start?  The inappropriate conversations had stopped. That is, until the second week of December, when he had one of these conversations again.  Since then, that person has no contact with my husband.  But I’m being told that that behavior happens when the depression is bad.  Add that to the fact that I’m dealing with the fact that my husband is going to be on anti-depressants probably for the rest of his life.  I get to constantly worry about his “go to” when the depression is bad.  Yay me.  And now, if he forgets to take his meds, or decides that he doesn’t need them, 90% of the people who do this commit suicide within 48 hours.  I get to live with this too.  Great.  As if being married to a man who is accident prone isn’t scary enough, at least I knew I had insurance just in case.  But suicide is a game changer. 

And then there’s this…..after he was on the meds for about two weeks, things were GOOD.  He was happy.  The happiest I have seen him…well, since before his accident honestly.  He was attentive to me.  Talking and sharing with me.  Being affectionate.  Seriously, I was getting spontaneous kisses for the first time in years!  I loved being around him, and he seemed to like being around me.  Actually, he seemed like he was IN LOVE with me again.

But that didn’t last.  The past week or so, although he’s been taking his meds, he’s pulled away again.  How am I suppose to deal with this roller coaster?  What I’ve been yearning for for SO LONG is dangled in front of me for a week or so, and then suddenly taken away, and I’m suppose to “understand” that it’s the PTSD and depression, or TBI?  I’m suppose to continue to be the strong one.  The one that keeps this family together.  The one to “take care” of him, even though I do not get taken care of.  For example, guess who is going through a really hard time dealing with the fact that my father is in the hospital and not going home, ever again?  Yeah, but I haven’t gotten any support from him.  No empathy.  I’m used to it.  Although I will say that during that week or so that Michael was “happy”, I confided in him a concern of mine dealing with Declan not sleeping and the prospect of more children.  Something that in the past he would have brushed off, failed to validate my feelings, even made me feel small.   That ONE time that he was empathetic, got down on my level, told me that I wasn’t being silly, that it was a real concern, but that it was going to be okay…all the while hugging me and sincerely caring…..I WANT more of that!  But I have to live with the fact that I might not.  And why?  Because after three short years of marriage, my husband was taken away from me.  And I haven’t been able to get him back.

I love him with all my heart.  And I promised God that I was in this for the long haul…in SICKNESS and in health, for POORER or richer.  I guess this is my temporal punishment?  But knowing this doesn’t always make it easy.