With a familiar chime, an incoming text was announced. Careful not to disturb the teenaged occupants of my room, I reached for the phone charging on the night stand. At 7:13pm, one glance confirmed the sender to be Dolus who after eleven hours of travel conveyed a singular, hollow message, “Here.”
Only, “Here.” Not even a, “How are the kids holding up? Please tell them that I love them so very much.” Just, “Here.”
Without delay, I headed for my bathroom and quickly turned the exhaust fan on. I then sprinted into the water closet, closed the door and turned its fan on as well in an attempt to deafen the sound of my inevitable cries. In an instant, a chaotic symphony of anger, rage, grief, loss, humiliation, sadness, relief and happiness engulfed my soul while exploding in violent cries.
Riding an Emotional Roller Coaster
Straightway, grief over the loss of my precious time began to fuel unrelenting sadness. Wonderfully, my children and I could now openly communicate about the most mundane of topics without an overseer monitoring their content. We were finally free. Why allow myself to feel sorrow?
Then, without delay, anger politely reminded me of how thoroughly neglectful, and therefore disrespectful, I had been of myself for all those years. In response, torrents of rage-filled tears erupted from my eyes and cascaded down my face. Thankfully, I could now take unabashed interest in myself. Why would a text cause me to cry so violently?
To say nothing of the humiliation I would endure when disclosing the fate of our ill-fated relationship would be a complete denial of myself. But from where would I find the strength to admit that I had lived simultaneously abandoned and captive in a marriage full of nothing?
At the same time, merciful and endless floods of relief brought forth volumes of happiness I never dared to imagine. Without permission, I could now exist.
I Made It
Uncertain of the amount of time spent riding my emotional roller coaster, I eventually washed my face and emerged from the bathroom. On the edge of my bed, curled up in a blanket lay Isis. Our eyes met briefly before she quickly closed hers in an attempt to feign slumber. I did not bother her as her presence was enough for me. On the other hand, Suchus sat on the floor at the foot of my bed while snacking on a plate of goodies. His attention unconvincingly focused on a television program. No words were spoken about the sounds of my cries that most certainly battled past the roar of exhaust fans.
As the night went on, it became time for Isis and Suchus to head back to their rooms and prepare for bed. After several halfhearted and rather comical attempts to leave, Suchus finally asked if he and his sister could stay in my room for the night. Having received my approval, Isis and Suchus regressed back to early childhood and excitedly claimed their spots on my bed. Only of sliver of mattress was reserved for me.
Almost immediately, I was relegated to the foot of my own bed. I was, however, eternally grateful because for the first time in memory, my children could freely seek and find comfort with their mother. A milestone had been reached. I, too, had made it here.
