Because me? Yeah. Not so much.
I've been struggling with my inability to forgive for about three years now. Because, I know it's hard to believe, but in general I'm basically a forgiving person. My ex-husband? The one who walked out on me while I was pregnant with twins? If anyone doesn't deserve forgiveness ever, ever, ever, that would be him?
I feel no ill-will towards the man, seriously. I do feel extraordinarily sorry for him because he's missing out on the lives of the Girl Child and the Boy Child and anyone who has 1/2 a brain in their head knows that they? Are not something you want to miss out on. If he were hurting my children, then I would probably have a hard time forgiving him. But they never knew him and don't miss him. So he's a non-issue.
I guess that's my main problem. Once again, I am guilty of having my heart walk around outside my body. If you hurt my child...if you hurt my children...you are dead to me.
Sorry. That was way dramatic. I've been watching The Sopranos lately. My bad.
So, not so much dead to me as a source of great stress in my life.
I've mentioned before, probably more than once, that my husband cut off all ties with his family when we moved here. This was a source of great stress for me for about the first six months we lived here. Because, well, that's his family and all. I mean, granted they treated me and my children like complete crap and like we were so far beneath them and whatnot, but still, I really hated that my husband had to do that. It goes against my faith, it goes against what I believe, it's just not me.
Still, it was the correct thing to do. I don't doubt that now.
Basically, this non-talking, no contact thing has worked pretty well for me. I get a little antsy around any kind of gift-giving occasion, because I just never know what will show up in the mailbox (except around MY birthday, because it would be a cold day in hell before I would get a gift or even a card). Still, since Christmas came and went without anything, not even the requisite, Jason Ourlastname and Children card in the mailbox, I thought maybe we were in the clear.
Jason's birthday was Thursday and nothing was in the mailbox and I again thought we were in the clear.
So there's a card Friday, and I resist opening it and/or throwing it in the trash. Because even though I want to? It's not for me.
So he came home from work. I'm in the bedroom, folding laundry. I hear him greeting the children. I hear him opening the mail I lay on his placemat. I hear him laying his keys on top of the microwave, like he always does.
He comes to the bedroom. We talk. He doesn't mention it.
We talk more. We laugh. Everything is good.
We come out to prepare dinner. I notice the card laying on his placemat. He notices me noticing and tells me he left it there so I could read it.
I open it and out falls photographs of him. Him as a small boy.
I had never, ever before yesterday seen a picture of my husband prior to his Senior year photo from 1994. I literally had no idea what he looked like as a child, as a baby, or anything between birth and eighteen. Also, I know almost absolutely nothing of his life before I met him. A traumatic childhood coupled with a serious fall which resulted in a coma and a brain injury have pretty much demolished his memory. I've said before that it's like he just dropped onto the planet the day I met him. There is nothing before it at all.
These pictures were proof, though. Something tangible, I could hold in my hand. This was my husband. This is what a little boy that my husband and I would have together would look like. If I weren't, you know, infertile.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the photographs. I then noticed a letter. And I began to read.
And then, I got angry.
Because the letter? Said this person still had no idea what happened and why Jason doesn't talk to them. Which is not true. Maybe this person doesn't want to accept responsibility for what happened, but I'm quite certain that this person knows exactly why my husband doesn't speak to them.
I wanted the letter to say, "I'm sorry I hurt your wife. I'm sorry I hurt these children that you love like your own. I'm sorry I never took the time to get to know your wife because I want to understand why you love her so much. I'm sorry I treated your children, not HER children, YOUR children, like they were second class citizens."
I wanted that stupid letter to say all of those things.
But it didn't. It was more denial.
One part of the letter specifically referenced the photos and the fact that they were for me. I had mentioned to my husband's grandmother several years ago that I had never seen a photograph of my husband as a child. I forget what context this conversation even took place. I think she and I were looking at my scrapbooks one day. She loved my scrapbooks and how I put things together and how focused on my little family I seem to be. The letter said that copies were made specifically for me, because I wanted them.
So are the photos a peace offering? Or is it more manipulation? I honestly don't know. Which is why I'm so freaking sad.
What all this really means is, I can forgive these people for the horrible things they did to me, the horrible things they said to me, and the horrible things they said behind my back.
I can't forgive them for treating my precious children like they weren't good enough.
And I can't forgive them for hurting my precious husband and forcing him to choose.