Recently, I was driving to a friend’s house and feeling a little sad. Initially, I could not put my finger on what was putting me in the funk.
Then I realized…
…it was my “trauma-versary!”
A little over a decade ago, my (now) ex-wife called and confirmed my worst suspicions. She had–indeed–been sexually active with the man I had discovered months earlier.
That is a moment in my life that is forever etched in my brain in technicolor. I can almost feel the crunch of kitty litter under my feet as I paced around the linoleum floor of my apartment hearing the awful confirmation.
I’m glad I was on my way to spend time with friends. The evening went fine.
My point in this is that grief can raise its head years (in this case over a decade!) later. We might not even be consciously thinking about it even. Our spirit knows.
My actual Dday was Christmas day in the am.
We were at our sons house in AZ for Christmas. I woke up and he was missing. Found him out on his work phone at 6am. I started walking towards him (I had already been suspicious) and he started walking away talking all the while. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had his smirk and I am sure he was loving screwing me over.
It wasn’t like I didn’t already know; but I still remember the smirks and the vicious treatment of me whenever my son and his wife were not present. That was a long trip home (18 hours).
He didn’t leave until New Years Day, and it was a horrible week. I wish I had kicked him out; but I knew he wouldn’t leave until he was ready. Luckily for me someone filed an ethics complaint against him.