My 16th Anniversary

Sixteen years ago tonight I met my husband to be at our local bar. I was working two jobs at the time just recently removing my verbally abusive first husband completely from my life and working 7 1/2 hours a day at one job and 6 to 8 hours a night at the other. The school hours were 6 to 2 and the Take n Bake pizza place 2 to 8 or 10 seasonally and I would always work either Friday night or Sunday or all day Saturday for $4.75 an hour too. It bought gas and groceries, I worked there with my daughter, she was in college and we pooled our money for insurance.

I had a night off and went out with my girlfriend for a night of drinks and dancing. I was sitting next to a man who asked if I knew him, and I didn't, and he introduced himself as Turtle. Lots of different versions of how he got his nickname over the years but the one I believe is the one with him being part of the original biker, cowboy "gang" The Rude Dogs out of Texas and his Hard Tail was always the last bike to pull into the bars, thus his nickname Turtle for his slowness...

He seemed more interested in my girlfriend at first, until her nasty attitude (we are no longer friends) chased him to me. I thought it funny why he would ask someone he had just met how much money she made but with my answer he said we could make ends meet. Later in time I realized he was looking for someone to take care of his children and him so he could do as he pleased. He freely admitted he was an alcoholic, almost proud of it, but said it was not a real problem.

I decided I was not that impressed and didn't return his calls. His friend (who later moved into my home with him) talked me into seeing him again and he came all dolled up in this funny shirt, smelling pretty, all dressed up and fancy (his daughter loves this part of our life story, seeing her dad in this light) and he was kind and we danced and talked some more. He played in many bands so we had seen each other through the years and one night I agreed to go to the place, him and the kids were staying, to listen to him play his guitar.

It was the night I met his children and knew what I was going to end up doing.

Right before Thanksgiving I moved them all in and we slept on mattresses on the floor the first night and I woke with my first and last, so far, ever migraine, I believe from knowing the immensity of what I had just committed to, another whole family to raise that didn't know me from Adam and had serious issues already. My 18 year old daughter already angry with me was moved into my bigger room with her own bathroom but I knew it would put a further wedge in our relationship. But what else could I do?

There have been good years and bad years, the day we were driving to Tahoe to marry so I would have my children’s last name, he was drunk before I got up and I cancelled but a good friend came by, got him up, babysat the children and I drove us to marry, his only saving grace that was the last minute K.D. Lang concert we went to. With an alcoholic it seems they are always making up for something, trying to stay just inside the line of your good graces so you stay confused, wondering are they changing? We had a Justice of the Peace in a small chapel with a built in witnesses and  the husband kept winking at me, he said to calm me down but I think it was to keep me from bolting, always stuck in my mind as a memory...

He worked when a very good friend came and got him but most jobs he lost to drinking on the job or having the shakes so bad and dry heaves that he was sent home but none of this was ever his fault . he would always be sick or the boss was as asshole or every other excuse a person can use to be able to not be responsible for their own actions.

That he loved his children was obvious that he had no idea how to raise children sadly obvious too. He was an abused child who instead of breaking free from the mold chooses to embrace it and use it to fuel his alcoholism.

So many fights, slammed doors, mother bear blocks, he was not getting through me to hurt these children, no matter what it took. I had made the commitment and they were mine.

I realized that my drinking caused us to fight and tired of fighting back when I had too much to drink, of coming home to sip a glass of wine or a brandy seven at the end of a long day to find he had drank it all or had tore my room apart searching for it took any joy I had from drinking away and I gave up...happy for having done so. Not to say I still wouldn't love to sip a glass of wine after a long day but at this time I choose not too.

Now as he is slowly dying my memory is strong, I find one minute I hate him and the next I cry for who he could have been if he had just let us in. His children and I would have guided him to a world of laughter and joy and fun he had no idea existed back in my bedroom, the world we lived in to be real, to speak our minds, say what we needed to say and offer each other comfort.

Each morning I check to see if he is breathing, he is weak, he is having trouble controlling his bodily functions and I offer him nothing.

I do buy his alcohol for him it keeps him off the road, I no longer care if he drinks, haven't for a very long time. Too many nights of picking him up off the floor, of sitting up waiting for the sound of the car in the driveway, calling the local sheriff to see if anyone had been arrested for a DUI. Too many fights, name calling ( him, not me much) the same words when he is mad "fat ass, heifer, ignorant" so many that used to bother me and now I just brush them off knowing they are a small child throwing a tantrum.

Pity I don’t know if pity is the right word, I don’t pity him I hate him for what he has done to our family b u t I know somewhere inside is a man who somehow knew who he was, how he was and went out and found the best mother for his children that he possibly could and in that way gave them more than my dad ever gave his children.

I have to respect that….

I ask myself if he dies in a hospital will I wipe his brow, hold his hand and lie to him telling him what a great dad he was and that I know he tried, not hard enough but that he tried. I wonder will I cry for him, miss him, be able to be there for our children in a way that will help them deal with his death.

 I wonder is it better he dies in his sleep at home, or the big drawn out hospital mess. Will I wipe his ass or the drool from his face I know I won’t, well I don’t think I would. I don’t owe him that, I owe him nothing but the joy of his giving me his children to raise to love, to learn from.

Today is  my 16^th year of the day I met the man who became my husband and whose children I have raised as mine, who are mine and I guess I wouldn’t have changed very much about any of it as in life, I guess, you must take the bad to get to the good and the good I have received back is wonderful.  

I have given them all I had to give and I know children rasied by wonderful parents who don't turn out right so I guess life is kind of a crap shoot but I have done all I could do for all 5 of my children and I need to believe it has been enough.

To add to the end of my story and blessings, if not for this man and his children I would not have this beauty, my only grandchild right now who is the love of my life and I her Nanny...