The rollercoaster

So it's been almost a month since the original phone call that ripped our lives apart. In that time he's been by to see the kids twice.

Twice.

I should be surprised, but sadly I'm not. He does travel a lot, and so he's not always around. And after a couple days of calling pretty religiously, he's stopped doing even that.

A lot has happened in that time, including his rush to find a mediator so we can 'proceed'. When I asked what the rush was, he responded that he wanted to move forward "in case he met someone". Since he's been unfaithful multiple times in the past, I suppose I should be happy that he at least is trying to end one relationship before starting another. Of course considering the emails suggesting an affair, maybe I'm being too optimistic.

Its funny because I'm kind of numb about it all; I just don't think I care anymore what he's doing, who he's screwing, etc. And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it means I'm moving on. But then I get the cell phone bill showing the $700 he spent while in Europe- there are two numbers in particular that were repeated, over and over. One belongs to the woman he's accused of having the affair with, the other to an old girlfriend. And I feel like I've been kicked in the chest.

It suggests that all the words he used to soothe my fragile feelings were all lies. He obviously wasn't too busy to talk to the kids, and while he protests that there is no one else, that seems pretty laughable as well. I keep thinking back to this weird question he asked me two months ago, if women would find it easier to break up with someone who was cheating on them, or just 'wasn't in love' with them anymore. I said the latter, and now it seems pretty suspicious that that's the line I'm being fed.

But why should that matter to me? He's a manipulator; I've known that for a while, and I find it somewhat scary that all of my friends are cheering my divorce instead of mourning the end of my marriage. Several of our couple's therapists suggested that I would be better off without someone who treated me so poorly. Everyone thinks this is great news- except me and the kids. And I thought I was at the point where I could see his flaws so clearly and was able to walk away without looking back.

And yet I can't help it. When he's gone, it's so clear what I should do. But when he's there, interacting with the kids, I lose it. I forget all the lies, the manipulations, the put-downs. I mourn the loss of what we had and wish we could find a way to rebuild. And then he leaves again and I hate myself for not being able to cut him off as easily as he cut me. Up and down, round and round, spiraling on what appears a collision course- that's me when he calls or emails or visits.

I suppose the only good thing is that he rarely does any of those things.

So I will separate the cell phone bills so he pays his own plan and I don't have to see who he's talking to at 11 pm at night. And I will enjoy that gentle scenic part of the ride- like the first half of Splash Mountain- before I'm sucked into plunging down the emotional rollercoaster my life has become.

Responsibilities

My youngest son, M., is in football. He's not particularly good at it, but he's built like a tank and because of how they assign age/weight points, the biggest kid in the Rookie division. (If it wasn't his first year, he'd be forced to play with the older kids). My husband, T, was the one excited about this. He was going to help M. with his plays. Help him learn how to throw and catch a ball. Play Madden on the X-box together. You get the idea.

And yet I am the one freezing my toes at the football games. I am the one trying to throw a spiral. I am the one texting the score to T and calling grandparents, filling them in on every detail. And that was fine.

Until he dumped me.

Everything is so raw and painful, I've chosen to stop as much contact with him as I can. I still email questions about logistics, still urge my kids to call and say goodnight. But gradually I've stopped being the one to initiate contact.

And now that I'm not texting, nobody is calling. Nobody wants to know the score, know whether or not M made the tackle. Nobody calls to say goodnight. Needless to say, I find this painful, as does my son. He's lost his fragile enthusiasm for the game, telling me, "Nobody else likes football anymore except you."

And my heart breaks. I hate my soon-to-be ex for doing this, for failing to be a father without me holding his hand and prompting him. And I'm conflicted. He made it very clear we were no longer a family; it is no longer my job to watch out for him, to guide him in what his kids need at the moment. I tell myself to let him fall, that it is the only way for him to learn responsibility, to learn that he can't just neglect his kids except when he's in front of them. It's also impossible to move on when I'm performing the same roles; keeping him connected to his family- a family that he doesn't want to include me in. But I look at my son's face after a tough game and my resolve flies out the window. I don't want to call him. But I do it anyway.

And hate myself for not being able to let go.

The Phone Call

He dumped me over the phone.

After 15 years and 10 months of marriage, he told me he wanted out. He didn't love me, hadn't for a while. Then he proceeded to tell our two sons, 15 and 8, that Daddy wasn't coming home anymore.

Over the phone.

That's the part that I can't forgive.

Oh, I know he'd been depressed and unhappy for awhile. He kept pulling away; stressed about finances, the economy (who isn't?), what he's accomplished... I'd suggested anti-depressants or therapy, which he promptly blew off. He travels a lot, and there had been emails to me from his associates suggesting an affair, which he denied.

But to destroy our marriage over the phone? Who the hell does that? Worse, to destroy our sons' world? To smash their lives apart and not be there to help them pick up the pieces? Our eldest son has high-functioning autism and our youngest is on the autistic spectrum. Neither one of them deals with change well.

This was a big change.

I held my youngest in my arms all night as he sobbed, trying to answer questions as best I could. Telling him Daddy loved him even though I wanted to tell him that Daddy was a narcissistic asshole who didn't love anyone but himself. I shed a few tears, but having to comfort others meant I couldn't comfort myself. And now everything is all locked away and I can't cry, even when I want to.