The truth is somewhere in between

You know, they'll hear that I failed him. 


That I abandoned him. That I didn't support him or live up to my side of the bargain. They'll hear that he was unhappy for 10 years. They'll hear that I was combative, that I wouldn't ever back down, that I wouldn't compromise. 


They'll hear that he turned to others (yes, otherS) because he was unhappy, that it had nothing to do with our relationship.


They won't hear that he blamed me for discipline and school problems with our son. They won't hear that he called me a loser with mediocre standards and no ambition. They won't hear that he belittled and berated me and talked to me like I was stupid. And said so in front of our children.


They won't hear that he also belittled and berated our son and called him a loser. That he threatened to wash his hands of our son, that he was "done". They won't hear that most of our fights started as a result of me trying to protect M from his father's verbal abuse and physical threats.


They won't hear that he called me a c-nt. That I had a few bruises over the years. That he threatened me when I wouldn't back down, when I wanted to talk. 


They won't hear that he told me there was no such thing as "fighting fair" That he knew he was a bastard, but that when he fought, the gloves came off... that he thought that was ok and that I shouldn't have provoked him to that point.


They won't hear that after our fights, he would cool off and then expect that everything would be okay and not understand why I didn't just forget it and move on.


Or that it became easier to just avoid him and not engage... to nurse my emotional wounds and just move on. That it was impossible to open up to him emotionally and physically when he betrayed my emotional trust. 


They won't hear that I begged him to go to counseling to help us navigate our differences in parenting M. That I begged him to go to counseling to help *us.


They won't hear that whenever I wanted to talk about things he told me to go away. They'll hear that I over-processed things, that I was pushy when I tried to talk things out. But they won't hear that he physically threatened my if I didn't leave him alone.


They won't hear how the big screen TV screen got cracked, or how the microwave panel got broken or how the cookie jar broke.


They'll hear that I was a lousy housekeeper and a lax parent. That I should have been working full-time. That I was often naggy in the morning when trying to get our kids up and off to school. They won't hear that he was sleeping on the couch and watching TV and totally uninvolved in joining us in the morning routine other than criticizing the way I was handling it. They'll hear that I yelled at the kids to hurry them up. And it's true. And I am loud. 


They'll hear that his health crises were a wake up call for him that life is short and he should be happy. They won't hear that I (we) were scared for him and did everything possible to support him, encourage him, give him his space and reassure the kids that everything was ok by trying to keep their routines as normal as possible.


They won't hear that he chose to sleep on the couch for years and that when he did come up to our bedroom he demanded that I give up the remote and let him have control or that he would get unreasonably angry when he wanted me to scratch his back even when I was half asleep. And when I did it was never enough.


They won't hear that I got used to him coming home late to dinner or that he often wouldn't let me know his plans. I was just supposed to be there because he had an important job. That sometimes when I thought he was working late, he was really at an afternoon movie.


They'll hear that I should have been employed full-time to help support the family.
They won't hear that my part-time jobs allowed me to do the pick-ups and drop-offs for our kids' sports and afterschool activities, that it allowed me to go to every single game. That my schedule allowed me to do all of their school conferences and doctor's appointments, that it allowed me to follow his vacation schedule and take care of his errands - dry cleaning, prescription refills, etc. That it allowed me to be there at the big work events and praise him to his board and staff and celebrate his successes.


They won't hear that I was alone sometimes for 17 days out of a month (every October - that was the extreme) while he traveled  for business and pleasure (golf with the guys). They won't hear that I never gave him any hassle for adding days onto his business trips so he could follow CSNY or that he made separate trips out of town to follow them. They won't hear that I supported his passion and was happy for him to be able to follow that dream  - because I knew it made him happy and because I knew he worked hard and needed that.


They'll hear that I swore. A lot. It's true, although it didn't start out that way.  They won't hear that he swore at every football game on TV with language reserved for really really angry moments, but to him were just an expression of his displeasure. They won't hear that when I nursed and sang M to sleep at night, he was downstairs watching the Sopranos so loud that I could hear every single conversation. And every. single. swear. That he was annoyed when I asked him to turn it down. That instead of helping me with the bedtime routine and waiting and watching the show with me, he was inconvenienced because I didn't think it should be so loud and to him, volume makes the experience.


They'll hear that I faked it at family gatherings and put on a good front. They won't hear that I protected him because I didn't want to violate our marital relationship or air our dirty laundry.


They won't hear that he ridiculed my religion and mocked me for being involved at church. That he blamed church for my pulling away from.


They'll hear that he supported me and our family financially and provided well. It's true. They'll hear that he loved my mother and thought she was a saint. it's true. They'll hear that he was supportive through the deaths of my parents. Yes, until he thought I should just get over it. 


They'll hear that he drove back at 1 AM from a conference in Albany the night my father died. It's true. But they won't hear how he mocked my relationship with my father and used things I told him about past conflicts with my Dad as weapons in arguments with me. 


They'll hear that he felt unappreciated and taken advantage of. They won't hear that I felt dismissed and ignored. 

They won't hear that I loved him. 
And believed in him. That I wanted his respect and friendship. That I wanted us to be a team. That I wanted us to weather the storm.

And the truth is somewhere in between. 


It is in what is said and unsaid. In lives lived and moments passed. In hours that turn into days that turn into weeks, then months and years. Until too much has happened and there's no finding your way back. It's too late.


It's over now. There's no way to make it right. You don't get a do-over. You don't get to say "Wait! I didn't want this to happen! This isn't supposed to be." 


There's only recriminations. And coulda beens, and shoulda beens.


And then, hopefully, there is healing and forgiveness. 


Someday, maybe.


Until then, there is just unbearable sadness.


And the truth, buried somewhere in between 2 points of view.




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