18 Years Old, Married, Divorced and Still Resentful 32 Years Later
Original post 7/2014
Looking back on my life there are times when events seem like yesterday and others a lifetime ago. This is a lifetime ago memory one buried in deep resentment and anger. It’s an oxymoron. I’ve had difficult challenges, staying alive was a challenge. I’m at peace in life now. I working thru the bitterness of abuse. I buried this one so deep I forgot about until yesterday. I was barely 18 yrs. old on August 1, 1981, the day of my first marriage. It was very hot in the chapel, my gramps slipped the Priest some money to turn the air up. His parents paid for the champagne, several cases and two of my uncles got drunk. But I’m getting ahead of myself. My father walked me down the isles as I carried three roses for my grandmother, his mother and one for a statue of Mary. His mother didn’t realize her rose would come after the ceremony and she thought I forgot. In the traditional Catholic service you kneel for a good part of the ceremony. This is where the “it was hot” comes in. I have this long veil over my face, haven’t eaten all day and it was hot. I started to wobble and whispered I’m going to pass out. He said not much longer. He was right, within minutes I passed out. Keep in mind this important occasion is on VHS. The Priest and my bridesmaids carry me to the first row, everyone is fanning me. Out comes the Priest with water in a gold chalice. I was hesitant to drink from a sacred cup, water prevailed. Only held up service 10 minutes or so, back to kneel with the veil over my face. I start hyperventilating and going down. We have a replay. The Priest realizes it’s time to cut this one short. The photographer comes over after the service to take photos and I’m in no mood, I was being a spoiled brat. Just get this shit over with I replied. The day I raced the 76′ Camaro at Greenvalley Raceway doing 14’s was more exciting than this. So you have a picture of wedded bliss.
We played house until it got rough, a decision we came to on the way to his parents for Thanksgiving. We didn’t separate, just kept skating on thin ice. Spring rolls around and race season starts. Where the money came from was a mystery to me. By this time he wasn’t staying at the apartment.
One of my dearest friends died, head on by an older gentleman who was having a heart attack. This happened during a shift change and the ball got dropped, no one called to tell his parents. The next morning the morgue calls to ask when they planned to pick up the body. His brother almost had a heart attack on the phone. Steve and I dated and remained close friends after we broke up. He was a special person, the type who brings sparkle to your life. For reasons I don’t understand his mother called me wanting to talk about Steve. I spent two weeks consoling her and internalizing my grief.
The stress was more than my body could handle. I had a miscarriage two weeks later. It was a Friday night, no idea I was pregnant. Who talks about miscarriages, not a normal topic like getting your period. I’m in excruciating pain, still not processing why there was so much blood. We arrive at the hospital and since it’s Friday, several shooting victims are ahead of me. I laid across several chairs and cried. Finally in a room but still waiting, I go to bathroom. I lost the baby in the toilet at the hospital. A part of me died that night, it’s a place inside I have never been before or since. Staring at the fetus, it was developing, it looked like a miniature baby. Even now it brings up feelings I don’t understand. I walked out of bathroom when a nurse walked by, I said there’s a baby in the toilet. I kept walking. The nurse brings the fetus in the room in a jar and puts it by my head. Can I hand you knife so you can stab me? They kept me over night. I was shaking, it took three tries before the I.V. went in. My husband never acknowledged the baby, in fact didn’t say anything. Scheduled to leave for a race the next morning, I knew he was not cancelling his plans. I had to call someone the next morning to come get me.
Looking back it was a blessing. I was not ready for single motherhood. The stress feels overwhelming at times. The cycle of abuse could have repeated itself. My life would look very different. I know this in my heart. I don’t understand the resentment. I’m 50 yrs. old, 18 was a long time ago. I’ve moved on from worse pain physically and mentally. The only logic I can find is the baby came out of my body, I saw it. The resentment is he never acknowledged, held me, let me cry, tell me it’s ok or cancel the race. I’ve never talked about this experience, it was truly locked away. I have to work thru the feelings of resentment. That’s not who I am today.