We went through all the cancer treatment. I was there every step of the way for him. Every chemo for 4 months, every doctor's appointment for 8 months, every surgery for 9 months. On April 11th he was told he looks to be cancer free. It really felt like a miracle.
On April 12th he texted me at work letting me know he didn't want to live in that house anymore. He hated being in the downstairs bedroom. Fuck this and fuck that. It was just too much. The kids and I didn't even go home that day we just headed to my parent's house.
Cancer didn't change him at all. For 5 or 6 weeks before that, he was already starting to act like a dick again.
I secretly hoped he would realize through this process that we were special, that he had been pissing his life away, that he wanted to fight for us, that any job is a good job because you are doing something and contributing to the world, that spending time with us and having fun with us was worth it.
You know how people talk about a brush with death, an illness for themselves or someone they love changes them, makes them a whole new person and they see things differently. Things that once made them angry they now see they were wasting their time - NONE of that happened.
I'm not sure what G-d's plan is. I mean why? I just keep asking myself why? Why did I get the courage to leave only to have to make the decision to bring him back in, only to be in the position of making the decision to leave again?
Honestly, I thought we would all live in the same house until the end of the year. That he would heal, have his follow-up tests, go on vacation with us, work on his disability, get a part-time job, save a little money and then get settled somewhere.
I didn't think we would be in this horrible place again.
The kids go there every day after school. I come by to get them. But we aren't separated. I see him every day. He texts me every day. He wants to now try and work things out. Not at any time over the last 11 years.
It is wearing on me.
Seriously - Why?
On April 12th he texted me at work letting me know he didn't want to live in that house anymore. He hated being in the downstairs bedroom. Fuck this and fuck that. It was just too much. The kids and I didn't even go home that day we just headed to my parent's house.
Cancer didn't change him at all. For 5 or 6 weeks before that, he was already starting to act like a dick again.
I secretly hoped he would realize through this process that we were special, that he had been pissing his life away, that he wanted to fight for us, that any job is a good job because you are doing something and contributing to the world, that spending time with us and having fun with us was worth it.
You know how people talk about a brush with death, an illness for themselves or someone they love changes them, makes them a whole new person and they see things differently. Things that once made them angry they now see they were wasting their time - NONE of that happened.
I'm not sure what G-d's plan is. I mean why? I just keep asking myself why? Why did I get the courage to leave only to have to make the decision to bring him back in, only to be in the position of making the decision to leave again?
Honestly, I thought we would all live in the same house until the end of the year. That he would heal, have his follow-up tests, go on vacation with us, work on his disability, get a part-time job, save a little money and then get settled somewhere.
I didn't think we would be in this horrible place again.
The kids go there every day after school. I come by to get them. But we aren't separated. I see him every day. He texts me every day. He wants to now try and work things out. Not at any time over the last 11 years.
It is wearing on me.
Seriously - Why?
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