what matters and why

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He was so small. He won't remember. I was with him every day. Most nights, he slept. Some, he was awake.

He was asleep the night I found the physical proof I needed. That night, I though it was finished. A small bottle, no label. It's all it was. I could see his expression, a reflection in the mirror. It was shock. It was guilt. But more than, it was confidence. Knowing that he would eventually have the exact words, the right story. And that I would give in. Exhaustion would overtake my need to be right, and he would win that battle. Even though for that night, he was gone. Explanations always seemed more effective when the anger wore off. And I give him credit. Explanations were consistent and believable. I would always move on. There were more important battles- like how to obtain peace with this 3 month old who suddenly found himself in our house. And the night when I found the bottle, anger overtook me, and I threw it at him. While his timid reflection glared at me in the eerie mirror. I won't forget. He blamed me, I knew that then. I was responsible for this addiction. For these problems he had that he couldn't not let go of.

And the one who did not choose this life, he would lie still. Completely oblivious to what he did not ask for. The days went well, and we managed to get by. It was getting warmer, and I would swim with him, so small, in the afternoon. At the end of school, we would retrieve his brother, who, like the rest of us, ignored any deep issues.

Then there was that day, an unexpected phone call, confirmation of his infidelity. In a way, it was what I was looking for. More proof, confirmation that I had made the wrong decision to be in this place with him. A strange voice, someone who had been deeply hurt by my husband's actions. I had nothing to say. Apologies? I knew where he was, and that wouldn't have helped. I could only listen. Silence, in this case, may have been the best thing for him. His extraordinary attempts to contact me I couldn't explain. Why he felt the need to share his story I didn't know. Humilitation was the only word that came to mind. I mentioned sometime during the painful conversation that it wasn't the first time. For him, it was. I could hear it in his voice. "And why?" he questions, so innocently. "Why do you stay?" I didn't know. There was no answer. When he asked, I looked at my small child, who couldn't even talk. Who was barely learning to show emotion through facial expressions. He, alone, and his brother, was that not reason enough?

We would go to the park in the afternoons, before the sun went down. There was a basketball court, and while the little one was sleeping, I would lose myself in the game, forgetting sometimes that my purpose for being there was my seven year old, who seemed to understand me somehow. We would come home just before dark, and it was bath and bedtime. After that, for me, all I wanted was a drink. I knew he would be home soon and I didn't know how to deal with him. A letter, a conversation? I had tried it all, and nothing was effective. I gave him the letter that had been sent to me that day I received the phone call. I told him I knew. His response? I lived in the past. It happened before we had made this change, and I was completely overreacting. Possible, but the phone call was an out for me. Another reason to prove that I was right. He left, and didn't come home for 3 days. To concentrate on the kids was impossible.

He was almost four months old. I had long since given up on breastfeeding. The stress of this life had taken everything out of me, and something like that, which required energy that I did not have, was impossible. It had been my plan during his entire pregnancy to follow through with it, and when I couldn't, I knew I could add that to my list of failures. Even at eighteen with the first, I made it at least four months despite a ridiculous work schedule. What was wrong with me this time? I had the perfect arrangement, but could not live up to simple expectations.

The phone call wasn't so bad. There was so much more. I was aware of the infidelity, but made a conscience decision to ignore that. It was two weeks after our second son was born when we were driving home from my post birth doctor's appointment. It was then that I realized there was not enough finances available to accomodate what we were renting and the house that we used to live in which still hadn't sold. The original renters were in the process of moving out, and the new ones had not yet made payments arrangements. Even with that obstacle, it should not have been an issue. Between his career and my part time job, what was coming in should have been sufficient enough. But it wasn't, and in between having to deal with a 2 week old who did not sleep, there was the problem of the money. For some reason, there was none to spare. Groceries and diapers came from my the little money I made working on the weekends. His explanations for the lack of deposits were vague and unbelievable. Yet options were limited. Confrontation was difficult at that point. It was as if we lived in 2 seperate worlds.

He would come home, and all would be as expected. I would have tried dinner, which more of ten not, was under expectations. It would be my attempt at something normal, and I never succeeded. He thought I was okay. He assumed I had moved on from the past.

He could not have been more wrong. It was worse every day. The dinner, which was never good enough to begin with, was even worse. I was worse. I was beyond hurt. There was no emotion. I just wanted out. I didn't want him to come home. I wished that he would leave and never come back. I didn't want to pretend like I was allright. I didn't want to give him false hope; that he had completely moved on from all indiscretions. But to him, it didn't matter what I wanted. Time and time again, he would have his. I would give in, regardless of circumstances. Anything to alleviate conflict.

Now, it's so obvious. The things he had gotten himself involved in. He couldn't get out. It didn't matter if I was with him or not. He said all he needed was my unconditional support to help him through his problems. It was so much more than that.

It was a suffocating room, and a warm spring afternoon. We sat in front of the counselor, who quietly listened while I provided a long list of problems. He was quiet as well. So much of what I had mentioned he had no idea I knew. It was easy to explain with a third party involved. Someone who would not allow him to manipulate the conversation with an attempt to blame me for his problems. He brought my excessive drinking, and I knew his accusations were not completely false. Not that it was something I depended on daily, but I found that it enabled me to tolerate him at times. He said that he wanted us to stay together, to put in all every effort to make our marriage work. At that point, all I wanted was to leave him. Our financial situation did not allow that, and I felt completely trapped. He said that he loved me, and the reason for his actions was my lack of affection toward him. The therapist looked at him for a long time, and then with one breath explained that she would not see us as a couple until he worked through his individual issues seperately. That was all I needed to hear. I let out a sigh of relief while she continued to explain that constant infidelity is only the fault of one person. It was confirmation for me that I was not at fault. Not that it justified moving home and leaving him alone to clean up an impossible mess. But it was a relief. Just to know that what I was about to do was not completely unreasonable.

It was a three day drive. Three days in the car with a four month old, who would sleep for very short periods at a time. I kept telling myself it was better that he would not remember. He would only know a life with us apart. It was a decision that his father will never forgive me for.

We arrived home, and the little money we'd had when I left had been drained from our account. His explanation for that was me. What reason did he have to practice any self control when I had taken everything good in his life away from him? I had no answer. I still don't.

It took me almost a year to clean up the mess he made, and I still struggle with it now. I know that after all that, nothing will ever be normal. The memories, although fading, are still there. At almost two now, the one who slept through all those nights of conflict, he seems to have adjusted well. This little family that we have created since that time is not so bad.