Michael, my husband, and I had as close to a fairy-tale love as you can get in real life. We fell madly in love with each other, almost at first sight. We had a deep respect for each other that allowed us to cultivate the new exciting infatuation we held into a lasting meaningful love that could, and should, have lasted for decades.
But, the injuries my husband experienced on that fateful night in January 2000 (see: 'Til Death Do Us Part), changed everything. I'm coming to the realization that I became a widow that night. That's right, technically, my husband died fourteen years ago. The man he has been since and is today I am still very much in love with, which of course is what is making my acceptance of the next chapter in my life so difficult. You see, although I lost the man I married; the man I had only been married to just short of three years, so long ago, I have had the capacity to find happiness in the smallest things. I have had all my memories of not only events but the emotions that accompanied those events. My husband has not been so lucky.
The trauma that my husband experienced changed the entire chemistry of his brain. When he woke up from the coma, he was not the same person he was when he woke up and went to work three days prior. I have known this for years, in one way or another. But because of my memory of life with him prior to the accident, I had the benefit of the love we once shared to help me fall in love with him all over again, and again and again over the years.
It hasn't been easy. There is a saying that certainly rings true here.
"Sometimes the strongest among us fights battles that nobody knows about."
I have spent years protecting my husband from ignorant speculation. For years, I have made excuses to those who got close enough to see that something was off, but who just didn't have enough information to understand.
For me, the past fourteen years have been a time of unconditional love. I have been called names. I have endured Jekyll and Hyde mood swings. I have learned more patience as I have waited for my husband to recover from 1-2 minute episodes where he would stop dead in his tracks, remain silent like he literally left the building, and then pick up right where he left off like nothing ever happened countless times. I have become the unwaivering caregiver of a man who couldn't remember where he put his wallet, his keys, his calendar; who couldn't remember how old he was, or where he was going just two minutes earlier. I have been told, for months immediately after the accident, cruel things like: "I don't know you." "Why don't you just leave me alone." "I don't want you here, you aren't my wife. I don't have a wife."
But I never left. My love for him never faltered. In fact, it grew more deeply because I knew better than anyone how much this man has overcome. He is an amazingly strong man. And one of the most selfless men ever to grace this planet.
Selfless, I claim, because his experience of the last fourteen years has been quite different from mine. When he woke up from the coma, although the shell was the same (although very badly beaten up, but those injuries were not life altering as much as the TBI), he was empty. He found himself in very rare position of having to recreate himself. I was a widow when he woke up. When he woke up, he was a zombie.
I'm not going to pretend to understand everything. But my husband has gone most of this time feeling like he was just being controlled by a puppet master. He went through the motions, did what he was suppose to, was told, or had to do. But so much of who he was, was lost forever that night.
When he started treatment for the depression, and started getting help for the TBI this past December (2013), he started feeling emotions again. I don't know if he never had any emotions over the course of our marriage since the accident. I feel that he did. Unfortunately most of those he does not remember. His short term memory is such that it is difficult for him to remember emotions. Things that he can touch; concrete items, or things that he can repeat over and over in his head to help him remember, has come easier for him. But the abstract concepts, especially how he feels about something has been harder for him to grasp and hold on to. I actually haven't had a chance to talk to any of his doctors since they have done the MRIs and CAT scans through the TBI clinic, but knowing this, I would assume the damage that I've been told the doctors can see on those tests would be focused in the areas of the amygdala (which is responsible for the formation of emotions and is also partly responsible for the "fight or flight" response--think PTSD) and hippocampus. Both of these areas are located in the temporal lobes of the brain, which are located behind the eyes and would also explain the issues my husband developed with his eyes since the accident. (sidebar: yes, it is much easier to understand all of this with my biology background). The temporal lobes are in charge of short term and long term memory storing, thought-processing, language learning, and mood stability. Once the hippocampus is damaged the brain can neither store new experiences or retrieve old memories. Starting to make sense?
Getting back to his experience. I still wonder how much of his perceptions or actual memories play a part in this, because like I said, my experiences have been different, but he believes that he was never truly happy since the accident. That he never regained who he was, and because he woke up in a life that he didn't remember creating, he felt obligated to go through the motions, much like a robot, or in his words, a "zombie". This perception of his life is very real to him. And I respect that. I hate that he feels this way. But I can see where he is coming from and completely empathize with how he must feel.
But things are different now. The doctors at the TBI clinic have had him in extensive therapy to try to "retrain" parts of his brain, and he's been on medications to help the severe and chronic depression that he developed from going so many years without feeling in control of his own life. For the first time in a very long time, he has the capacity to feel happy. He wants to continue to be happy. He wants to continue to enjoy life and find more than just "comfortable", which is what we had.
I want him to be happy. But he is a totally different person from the man that I married. Our experiences make us who we are. However, most of us always still have our core self. My husband lost his core and has had to recreate a new one. And unfortunately, he doesn't feel that the love for me is the kind of love that he can sustain a happy marriage with. I don't completely understand, yet, why this is. Hopefully eventually I can understand better, because I think that understanding will help me to let go and move on.
I have no doubt that he loves me. He loves me deeply. He's done things for me that no one else would have done. Things that were both selfless and full of caring. Sometime in the past fourteen years, he did grow to love and appreciate me very much. He knows and understands what I have done and sacrificed for him. And he knows that I would happily continue to do so, if given the chance.
We both agree that if he had not had the accident; or if he had gotten proper treatment long ago, there is a very good chance that we could still be mutually (that's the key word here I think) happily married. But, we can't change the fact that my husband's brain chemistry is totally different. He is a totally different man. And although I have grown to love him more and more over the years, and remain in love with him, he just is not in love with me.
It hurts. It hurts down to my core. I feel, as I always have, that God made me with him in mind. We have had a good life together. And he says he has some good to take from the situation. But he wants, and needs, to move on. He wants a divorce.
It's all very difficult to understand. I have lived it and am right in the middle of all the pain and mess, and I have a difficult time understanding why he can't continue to be married to me. Afterall, now he finally has the capacity to be happy and enjoy this family that we have created together. And I think that is the hardest part for me. That he held on so long, because he loved me and the kids that much, when he couldn't be happy due to his TBI/PTSD/depression, and now that he is getting treatment he is letting us go. But I think when it boils down to it, although he doesn't blame me for all the pain he experienced over the years, he does associate me with it. And that, I think is painful for him. Too painful for him.
He has assured me that he doesn't blame me for anything and that, in fact, life without me during that time would have been too painful to endure. That I was his one bright light among darkness and that he will always love me and be grateful for the unwaivering, unconditional love I have always showed him. And he says that our marriage, other than the pain and depression, was MORE GOOD than bad. This does help me find solace. It helps me know that those things that kept me going during the difficult times were real. Helps validate my feelings and hard work that I put into everything.
Michael and I are hoping to remain best friends. We certainly have that. Always have. He remains committed to taking care of me and the kids, and he promises that as long as he is able, I will not want for much, if anything. We are still working out the logistics and details. And I'm still sorting out my feelings. Yes, I'm devastated. My devotion to family and marriage is the strongest. My commitment to him has never lessened. And my world has been completely turned upside down. But he is helping me get through it. I cry on his shoulder alot. He holds me alot. And yes, there's been some less pleasant conversation where the anger we both feel at the situation comes out. But things will eventually work out. Will we come full circle some day and end up together? I don't know. I don't know what God has planned for us. Right now, it doesn't look like that is going to happen. But no matter what, we will be best friends, confidants, and co-parents for the rest of our lives.
