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Should i leave my family after 17 year marriage from my ptsd?
- Post starter Artemus
- Start date
- Status
- Post starter
- #14
Thank you @shimmerz. I try not to go into painful diatribes here. It's not like a lot of other members don't have them too. Your support is most appreciated. Damn this disease, malady, condition...whatever it is.I would go to the ends of the earth to be rid if it, but it would follow me even there.
One moment at a time @Artemus. Just take the next 60 seconds. Work with that.
D
Deleted member 44579
Hi @Artemus... I think you need to learn how to control that anger... As it's destructive and not fair on your family.....maybe some anger management classes...
Or why not a punch bag or some exercise... It's not good what you are doing... And you need to learn how to redirect it....
Or why not a punch bag or some exercise... It's not good what you are doing... And you need to learn how to redirect it....
I'm a little late to this thread but it has been incredibly eye opening. You think leaving your family would be an act of love?? Wow. Those words have really made me question everything about my husband leaving us... I wish you all the best on your journey and hope that your wife will come to terms with your struggle so that she can do what needs to be done (and you too!) to help keep your family together.
- Post starter
- #18
@C mom thank you. All our circumstances are different, but the result is the same. Technically, I've read that the "Fight or Flight" response gets stuck on overdrive in the blink of an eye from a trigger and we call it PTSD. It's hard to describe the feelings, but I do feel like Bruise Banner (The Hulk), running from society because--smart as he is--he can't control what's gotten hold of him. It's the best metaphor I can come up with for myself.
I would give just about anything if I had a wife I felt was part of my life in a meaningful way, felt she was even trying to understand, but I don't. She's a wonderful person in so many ways, but with this one, we're both lost it seems. I can't speak to your circumstances, and you don't say who has the PTSD (you or him), but the TM has helped me more than anything else. It lowers the chronic anxiety threshold so that I trigger less and feel like I'm almost normal again a lot of the time. Sleep has gotten better. I'm still in a hotel in Nor. Iowa 200 miles from my family. I will have been living in a hotel 6 months by the time I leave in Feb. I go home once a month for a weekend.
Christmas was scary as hell after the Thanksgiving episode. These used to be my favorite holidays, but not this year. I was terrified I was going to trigger and ruin it for everyone, so terrified my wife had to talk me into coming home to spend Christmas with my family. I didn't want to go and couldn't wait to leave. All because of "it". So, if it's your husband who suffers with this, and you two still talk, I suggest TM over any other thing I have tried. It's simple. Takes 15 min 2x/day, and even if your relationship is over, you might find that the two of you can heal some things after he's been doing it for a few months. (or even a few weeks) Same for you actually. Being the spouse is no picnic and creates it's own set of anxiety issues. I don't know that any of us will ever understand this thing, but we can keep our hearts open and remain hopeful. Advice to myself as much as anyone. Blessings for your kind words.
I would give just about anything if I had a wife I felt was part of my life in a meaningful way, felt she was even trying to understand, but I don't. She's a wonderful person in so many ways, but with this one, we're both lost it seems. I can't speak to your circumstances, and you don't say who has the PTSD (you or him), but the TM has helped me more than anything else. It lowers the chronic anxiety threshold so that I trigger less and feel like I'm almost normal again a lot of the time. Sleep has gotten better. I'm still in a hotel in Nor. Iowa 200 miles from my family. I will have been living in a hotel 6 months by the time I leave in Feb. I go home once a month for a weekend.
Christmas was scary as hell after the Thanksgiving episode. These used to be my favorite holidays, but not this year. I was terrified I was going to trigger and ruin it for everyone, so terrified my wife had to talk me into coming home to spend Christmas with my family. I didn't want to go and couldn't wait to leave. All because of "it". So, if it's your husband who suffers with this, and you two still talk, I suggest TM over any other thing I have tried. It's simple. Takes 15 min 2x/day, and even if your relationship is over, you might find that the two of you can heal some things after he's been doing it for a few months. (or even a few weeks) Same for you actually. Being the spouse is no picnic and creates it's own set of anxiety issues. I don't know that any of us will ever understand this thing, but we can keep our hearts open and remain hopeful. Advice to myself as much as anyone. Blessings for your kind words.
it's my husband, and his PTSD is undiagnosed as of right now ( he finally agreed to complete a psychological evaluation). He has chosen to live in a camper trailer at his work site rather than be under the same roof with me, his wife of 15 years, and our two year old son. So much of what you have written is so very very familiar from my point of view as the spouse. Unfortunately, he isn't able to verbalize things as well as you are. For some strange miraculous reason, he has agreed to attempt marriage counseling even though we have already started the divorce proceedings. Our first session is tomorrow. I will suggest what you have told me, but at this point I'm too scared to be optimistic. The last few months with him have been terrifyingly chaotic and unpredictable ( no physical aggression or anything, he just seems to turn into a different person entirely at the flip of a switch). It feels like he wants to run away from everything but he can't put it into words as to why. Your post has been more helpful than you'll ever know.
- Post starter
- #20
Thank you @C mom. I wish I had answers I truly do. His isolating and the triggering are powerful indicators. It's difficult for me to come to terms with myself, to understand. And so I try to get away from the things that bring the feelings. Combat vets get a lot of the attention. It's deserved, but it also hides the rest of us who have survived traumas--sometimes for years--as being somehow undeserving of the respect given combat vets. Ours is an unforgiving society in many ways. Men (I think) in particular have a sense that they have to be in control and this is a very out of control malady. It's crazy making.
Other thoughts--I find this venue to actually be a good community. They listen, offer advice, offer support, and don't judge. Like any feedback, I have to take what I can use and leave the rest behind, always appreciating every bit of it. If you can get him to express himself here it might help. If he reads, there are books. Psychc helps some, but it isn't a panacea. Getting the anxiety level down is key. You may be a woman who likes to talk about issues and work them out. Women (again my opinion here) tend more to want to work through issues by talking them through. For a man with PTSD, that's throwing gasoline on the fire. Men and women are different beasts psychologically and in communication styles. When I began managing women at work, after a couple of decades managing men, it became obvious to me that I was out of my league with communication. Deborah Tannen wrote a book titled "You Just Don't Understand." that helped me a lot with communication. Funny story, I put it in 9 women's annual reviews so that they too would understand how to talk to a man (me in particular), and in separate conversations all 9 said exactly the same thing when we went over their year's performance review, "My husband really needs to read this book." Another of life's lessons for me. Best of luck and my thoughts for the best outcome for your relationship and your child go with you both!
Other thoughts--I find this venue to actually be a good community. They listen, offer advice, offer support, and don't judge. Like any feedback, I have to take what I can use and leave the rest behind, always appreciating every bit of it. If you can get him to express himself here it might help. If he reads, there are books. Psychc helps some, but it isn't a panacea. Getting the anxiety level down is key. You may be a woman who likes to talk about issues and work them out. Women (again my opinion here) tend more to want to work through issues by talking them through. For a man with PTSD, that's throwing gasoline on the fire. Men and women are different beasts psychologically and in communication styles. When I began managing women at work, after a couple of decades managing men, it became obvious to me that I was out of my league with communication. Deborah Tannen wrote a book titled "You Just Don't Understand." that helped me a lot with communication. Funny story, I put it in 9 women's annual reviews so that they too would understand how to talk to a man (me in particular), and in separate conversations all 9 said exactly the same thing when we went over their year's performance review, "My husband really needs to read this book." Another of life's lessons for me. Best of luck and my thoughts for the best outcome for your relationship and your child go with you both!
thank you again. I will be reading your posts it's in this thread before we walk into our session tonight.
grimalkin
Gold Member
I'm a supporter, and do not have much meaningful to add, but I had to say something about this - I'm from Iowa as well (no longer there), and the first time I learned about the town you're talking about - it blew me away! Whowouldathunkit? TM in the heartland, with an entire town catering to it, along with the planned communities with the proper cardinal alignment. Blew. Me. Away.
And yeah, I know what you mean about football there. It's a whole new world.
Alas, I don't have any advice to give that hasn't been already - talk to your wife and see if your leaving really would be a "loving act" to your family. Of course, if she isn't willing to learn, that's hard, too. I wish I'd known about PTSD sooner in my relationship, before my soon to be ex-husband decided he couldn't be married anymore. When I hear about spouses who don't want to learn, it pisses me right off (also makes me angry at myself for not finding stuff out and believing my own spouse when he asked me NOT to learn about it, but different story!).
From a practical standpoint - you might have decent luck finding trauma therapy in Iowa City or Cedar Rapids, even more so than in Des Moines. If you haven't already explored those options. It might be a trek for you, but it might be worth it. Then again, if TM is working for you, that's pretty cool, too.
Good luck to you.
- Post starter
- #23
@grimalkin Thank you. 5 more weeks living in this hotel and I will have lived in a hotel for 11 of the past 14 months away from home. Lonely isn't quite the word for it, but then I go home. Iowa City is 1-1/2 hrs from my home. It's where I have my TM checkups. Cedar Rapids, 2hrs. Waverly, where I am at is 1 hr North of Cedar Rapids. Lots of -20 to -40 wind chill right now, but I seldom leave the room, so the suffering is minimal. I tried having the VA help with the PTSD in Iowa City. They were more harm than help. My experience left me with the impression that if you don't have military PTSD, then they don't consider you a valid PTSD patient. And, if you do have military PTSD, they are more focused on "guided questioning" to do their best to block any filing for disability you might want to pursue. More politics than the White House.
Thank you for the support. I just might visit Fairfield and see this miracle for myself. A spiritual town in Iowa, I certainly was blown away. Blessings!
- Post starter
- #24
This is a long winded post, be warned. My best friend of 42 years died last week. He was a year older than me. It's bringing up all sorts of family issues as well as the deep grieving I'm having with his passing. If you find this helpful, then God Bless us both.
Mac, my best friend/brother that is 1 year older than me, had a stroke a year ago. Just disappeared off the radar. I didn't know and couldn't contact him. I finally contacted him 3 weeks ago after managing to get in touch with his sister. He had no wife and children to contact. When his cell went dead and no one answered the land line. I was out of touch. He had been in a rehab center for a year because of the stroke learning to walk again. His house was abandoned (so to speak--his sister was looking after it), his cell phone lost. His sister and he sent a Christmas card after trying all else to get in touch and failing ( my number was lost with his cell). Turns out my wife put the Christmas card in an envelope with the tons of junk mail that accumulates on our kitchen table. After connecting, I asked her about it and she went through the Walmart bags of junk mail she doesn't discard and found the Christmas card from them. (This was before his death, but after contacting his sister, Barb)
Two weeks after Mac and I finally reunited (early March), he died. Good news is that it was peaceful. Apparently another stroke in his sleep in the rehab center. Bad news is that I'm left with more grief than I can imagine.
A little history. My Mother died when I was 20 of a long lingering cancer. I'm adopted, sort of. My bio father signed me away in 1953 and I never saw him again until I was 21 even though he lived in the same small town in Tenn. He had beat my Mother and me (I was in diapers and being switched with a tree branch as I remember), which was the beginning of cPTSD, but they had no name for it then. Tough as it must have been in that time, she divorced him. He was a violent man and whoever murdered him a few years after her death probably had cause. Nuf said. The man who raised me, my adopted Step Father, was a Clint Eastwood character in real life. He was not abusive as a rule, but sensitivity was not part of his vocab. (Think of this man as a serious SEAL Team 6 lifer before the SEALS existed.) After his death in 2004, I found out he was a WWII hero in many ways. (Omaha Beach D-day+3 climbing the cliffs ahead of the troops as a scout, in every major Campaign in WWII for 5 years, etc.) And, I believe he suffered from PTSD based on the few times he whipped me in anger when I was 6-8 and was merciless about it. I almost shot him when I was 12. However, as I stood there with my 22 waiting for him to hit my Mother, he never did. (I blamed myself for my Mother's death for years believing my cowardice in not killing him at 12 was the cause of her cancer...another story) He was not normally violent, didn't beat my Mother, and was heartbroken after her death. (Which lead at 21 to my getting the family out of a house fire on our hands and knees at 4 a.m. caused by a passed out drunk father, but that too is another story...) What my step-father left me with that was good is integrity. He didn't lie, cheat, or steal. He was a man of his word. If he said he would do it he did. For a kid like me that was a rough row to hoe. It was like being raised in 16 years of boot camp. In time, I learned to forgive and love him as an adult. At 36, when I first said "I love you" to my Dad and hugged him, he was stiff as an oak tree. But, that yet again, is another story...
I met Mac when I was 25, pretty much a wild man after my Mother's death, and believing I was that way because of my inherited Father's genetics. (Later discovered 2/3rd Irish, 1/3 Viking. Thank you, Ancestry.com) Mac has a long history of taking broken angels under his wings. I call him a Priest without the religion part. He adopted strays. Lost souls with promise. His religion was a rude his honesty in blunt, sometimes rude, truth. The 3 female loves in this life were strays as well. 2 died of cancer. While I never looked at myself as one of Mac's strays, I must have been because he was consistent in this aspect of his life during the 42 years of our friendship. I earned 3 college degrees. As it turns out, part of my insanity is a tenaciousness that knows no bounds. Mac's other strays were not like that. I'm the only person who graduated Mac U and became bonded to him like family--closer than family for me. Mac was all I had. I don't know what to call him, friend, older brother, father, mentor, champion? I surpassed him in many ways intellectually and career-wise as the decades passed, but that was never an issue between us. Mac loved me and I loved Mac. Distance, education, career succeses had no effect on that.
Mac was my closest family after my Mother died. I never fully realized that until the funeral. Now, after the funeral, I feel physical ailments. Throat spasms. Wandering pains. Feet swelling. Headache. Chest pain. Disorientation. No memory of things I apparently did. (Like having a dozen accepted invited on LinkedIn from people I don't know. And a facebook post I didn't remember posting until I received an email and found it. [It turned out fine. Nothing embarrassing.]) Not to mention the frikken depression I'm feeling. Sometimes I find myself staring into space or at the computer screen for an hour or two and 'snap out of it' not realizing I've done this thing. It's ambushed me. I wasn't expecting him to die last week, and I certainly wasn't expecting to be paralyzed by his death like this. I'm a tough guy too. Or so I believe. While we've been parted for 30 of those 42 years, we talk often, but sometimes not. However, we always end each call the same way: "I love you Bro." and "Me to man." Mac wasn't a hero to many. I don't claim to understand everything about him. But, God, I loved him like no other. He was my Brother in a sense of the word that no biological family member even comes close too. I would have marched through Hell for him with a flick of the finger, and he would have done the same for me. That was Mac and Dan.
In Maryland, Mac had his leg amputated in 2012 due to diabetes. I lived in AZ. When he came home from the hospital, I was waiting at his house. All his "local" friends had only one thought "Call Dan" when Mac's surgery was determined. I was there 2 weeks before his sister (who loves him dearly, but they knew cannot tolerate him long at one sitting). He and I went through initial issues over that amputation that she was not capable of doing for him. Things like his diarrhea a couple of days after the surgery and messing his pants. He was embarrassed beyond words laying on the floor his pants full of poop. I removed his soiled and soaked pants, cleaned his genitals (a first for us both), and pulled him (he was 250#) to the toilet. Then, I told him to shut up and went to clean the clothes. 3 washer cycles and all was well with those poop filled jeans. That's Mac and I. There are a thousand more interesting war stories of our youth together. Our insanity, our being there when something happened, our commitment to one another. It was uncanny, and welcome. Mac was a man's man. Tough on the outside and creamy on the inside. I loved no one more. My children I love equally, but not more. He could be brutal, but brutal didn't phase me. Dishonesty is what I have always walked away from. And he was honest to a fault. Wrong? Sure. A lot of the time, but you always knew his honest point of view. The rest I had no issue with (such as ignoring it.)
When he died, his sister called me on Monday night at 10 p.m. Tuesday morning at 11 a.m. I drove 16 hours (over 1,000 miles) to help and be at the funeral Thursday. Scattering his aches over his property that day, and walking through his house. The memories... That did me in that Thursday afternoon. Friday morning before dawn I was a mess. Friday, I drove 13 hrs to be home with my wife and children to help grieve Mac's passing. (3 hrs more I drive Sunday to get back to the hotel I'm living in in Iowa). The mood at home is as if nothing happened of any particular importance. As if Dad's home for his normal monthly visits (been in that hotel for 9 months), but not anything responding to what I've written above. I wanted to be near "loved ones". Now, I suspect that the love is mostly coming from me to them, and the paycheck is what is really appreciated from the 3 females more than anything I offer as a human being. (I bring in 5x what my wife can when I'm contacting.). Still, it was better than a hotel room alone in a strange city.
Tonight I had a new upset. I found a letter from a lawyer related to another family death. (not nearly so close) She had held it for a month and didn't mention it because she didn't think it was important. I noticed it in the trash pile of junk mail covering half the dining room table while eating my leftover dinner. It wasn't really an important letter. A notice of a probate hearing on a cousin's death last year. After the letter from Mac's sister that could have put me in touch with him month's ago being tossed aside, I was livid. She said, "I didn't think it was important." My reply in anger was, "That is not your decision to make!"
I've driven 2,078 miles in the past week, most of it through snow storms. And I have 200 more to drive Sunday. I saw my PTSD doctor today and he was unhappy I didn't have my swollen ankles looked into. Blood clot in the leg was his fear. Swelling has gone down and I'm taking aspirin now. So, I expect this will be fine. Not sure what this paragraph has to do with anything, but included it just the same.
Questions: Why am I doing this? I have passed 3 of the 4 CPA exams on the 1st attempt at age 67, with the 4th scheduled, but now surely to be delayed. I live in a hotel as a practical matter. I'm not happy. I do this to provide money for the wife and 16/13 year old children. I don't ask much in return, not even healthy meals or a clean house. Just to feel like someone here loves me and misses me--and not just the money I provide. I live in totes and duffel bags to earn enough money to keep everyone at a level of their younger parented friends. There was no 65th birthday party for me. There was no special Christmas for me, there never is. I get a hug when I show up and then that's pretty much the end of it. I even gave myself a remote starter (Iowa has -50 degree wind chill in the winter) for Christmas to be special to me. I bought myself my own new clothes in January again to be special for me. I, I, I....If my life is a world of I's, why am I not sharing it with someone who actually cares about me in a demonstrative way? I've met them. They exist.
Thoughts of leaving my family pain me terribly. I have strong feelings about a parent being there until a child is 18 at least. But, what about me? Am I supposed to sacrifice my future, my happiness, with the years remaining? If my swollen ankes were indeed blood clots, I could be gone tomorrow. (But, probably not). I'm very good at looking after myself alone. I've been alone since week 2 after high school graduation. Lived all over the US. Why should I not seek happiness at this stage of my life, leave the females with money they need, and return to some joy in this world? Why?
If you read all of this bless you. As I said, it was a vent for me. These are questions I have no answer for.
Mac, my best friend/brother that is 1 year older than me, had a stroke a year ago. Just disappeared off the radar. I didn't know and couldn't contact him. I finally contacted him 3 weeks ago after managing to get in touch with his sister. He had no wife and children to contact. When his cell went dead and no one answered the land line. I was out of touch. He had been in a rehab center for a year because of the stroke learning to walk again. His house was abandoned (so to speak--his sister was looking after it), his cell phone lost. His sister and he sent a Christmas card after trying all else to get in touch and failing ( my number was lost with his cell). Turns out my wife put the Christmas card in an envelope with the tons of junk mail that accumulates on our kitchen table. After connecting, I asked her about it and she went through the Walmart bags of junk mail she doesn't discard and found the Christmas card from them. (This was before his death, but after contacting his sister, Barb)
Two weeks after Mac and I finally reunited (early March), he died. Good news is that it was peaceful. Apparently another stroke in his sleep in the rehab center. Bad news is that I'm left with more grief than I can imagine.
A little history. My Mother died when I was 20 of a long lingering cancer. I'm adopted, sort of. My bio father signed me away in 1953 and I never saw him again until I was 21 even though he lived in the same small town in Tenn. He had beat my Mother and me (I was in diapers and being switched with a tree branch as I remember), which was the beginning of cPTSD, but they had no name for it then. Tough as it must have been in that time, she divorced him. He was a violent man and whoever murdered him a few years after her death probably had cause. Nuf said. The man who raised me, my adopted Step Father, was a Clint Eastwood character in real life. He was not abusive as a rule, but sensitivity was not part of his vocab. (Think of this man as a serious SEAL Team 6 lifer before the SEALS existed.) After his death in 2004, I found out he was a WWII hero in many ways. (Omaha Beach D-day+3 climbing the cliffs ahead of the troops as a scout, in every major Campaign in WWII for 5 years, etc.) And, I believe he suffered from PTSD based on the few times he whipped me in anger when I was 6-8 and was merciless about it. I almost shot him when I was 12. However, as I stood there with my 22 waiting for him to hit my Mother, he never did. (I blamed myself for my Mother's death for years believing my cowardice in not killing him at 12 was the cause of her cancer...another story) He was not normally violent, didn't beat my Mother, and was heartbroken after her death. (Which lead at 21 to my getting the family out of a house fire on our hands and knees at 4 a.m. caused by a passed out drunk father, but that too is another story...) What my step-father left me with that was good is integrity. He didn't lie, cheat, or steal. He was a man of his word. If he said he would do it he did. For a kid like me that was a rough row to hoe. It was like being raised in 16 years of boot camp. In time, I learned to forgive and love him as an adult. At 36, when I first said "I love you" to my Dad and hugged him, he was stiff as an oak tree. But, that yet again, is another story...
I met Mac when I was 25, pretty much a wild man after my Mother's death, and believing I was that way because of my inherited Father's genetics. (Later discovered 2/3rd Irish, 1/3 Viking. Thank you, Ancestry.com) Mac has a long history of taking broken angels under his wings. I call him a Priest without the religion part. He adopted strays. Lost souls with promise. His religion was a rude his honesty in blunt, sometimes rude, truth. The 3 female loves in this life were strays as well. 2 died of cancer. While I never looked at myself as one of Mac's strays, I must have been because he was consistent in this aspect of his life during the 42 years of our friendship. I earned 3 college degrees. As it turns out, part of my insanity is a tenaciousness that knows no bounds. Mac's other strays were not like that. I'm the only person who graduated Mac U and became bonded to him like family--closer than family for me. Mac was all I had. I don't know what to call him, friend, older brother, father, mentor, champion? I surpassed him in many ways intellectually and career-wise as the decades passed, but that was never an issue between us. Mac loved me and I loved Mac. Distance, education, career succeses had no effect on that.
Mac was my closest family after my Mother died. I never fully realized that until the funeral. Now, after the funeral, I feel physical ailments. Throat spasms. Wandering pains. Feet swelling. Headache. Chest pain. Disorientation. No memory of things I apparently did. (Like having a dozen accepted invited on LinkedIn from people I don't know. And a facebook post I didn't remember posting until I received an email and found it. [It turned out fine. Nothing embarrassing.]) Not to mention the frikken depression I'm feeling. Sometimes I find myself staring into space or at the computer screen for an hour or two and 'snap out of it' not realizing I've done this thing. It's ambushed me. I wasn't expecting him to die last week, and I certainly wasn't expecting to be paralyzed by his death like this. I'm a tough guy too. Or so I believe. While we've been parted for 30 of those 42 years, we talk often, but sometimes not. However, we always end each call the same way: "I love you Bro." and "Me to man." Mac wasn't a hero to many. I don't claim to understand everything about him. But, God, I loved him like no other. He was my Brother in a sense of the word that no biological family member even comes close too. I would have marched through Hell for him with a flick of the finger, and he would have done the same for me. That was Mac and Dan.
In Maryland, Mac had his leg amputated in 2012 due to diabetes. I lived in AZ. When he came home from the hospital, I was waiting at his house. All his "local" friends had only one thought "Call Dan" when Mac's surgery was determined. I was there 2 weeks before his sister (who loves him dearly, but they knew cannot tolerate him long at one sitting). He and I went through initial issues over that amputation that she was not capable of doing for him. Things like his diarrhea a couple of days after the surgery and messing his pants. He was embarrassed beyond words laying on the floor his pants full of poop. I removed his soiled and soaked pants, cleaned his genitals (a first for us both), and pulled him (he was 250#) to the toilet. Then, I told him to shut up and went to clean the clothes. 3 washer cycles and all was well with those poop filled jeans. That's Mac and I. There are a thousand more interesting war stories of our youth together. Our insanity, our being there when something happened, our commitment to one another. It was uncanny, and welcome. Mac was a man's man. Tough on the outside and creamy on the inside. I loved no one more. My children I love equally, but not more. He could be brutal, but brutal didn't phase me. Dishonesty is what I have always walked away from. And he was honest to a fault. Wrong? Sure. A lot of the time, but you always knew his honest point of view. The rest I had no issue with (such as ignoring it.)
When he died, his sister called me on Monday night at 10 p.m. Tuesday morning at 11 a.m. I drove 16 hours (over 1,000 miles) to help and be at the funeral Thursday. Scattering his aches over his property that day, and walking through his house. The memories... That did me in that Thursday afternoon. Friday morning before dawn I was a mess. Friday, I drove 13 hrs to be home with my wife and children to help grieve Mac's passing. (3 hrs more I drive Sunday to get back to the hotel I'm living in in Iowa). The mood at home is as if nothing happened of any particular importance. As if Dad's home for his normal monthly visits (been in that hotel for 9 months), but not anything responding to what I've written above. I wanted to be near "loved ones". Now, I suspect that the love is mostly coming from me to them, and the paycheck is what is really appreciated from the 3 females more than anything I offer as a human being. (I bring in 5x what my wife can when I'm contacting.). Still, it was better than a hotel room alone in a strange city.
Tonight I had a new upset. I found a letter from a lawyer related to another family death. (not nearly so close) She had held it for a month and didn't mention it because she didn't think it was important. I noticed it in the trash pile of junk mail covering half the dining room table while eating my leftover dinner. It wasn't really an important letter. A notice of a probate hearing on a cousin's death last year. After the letter from Mac's sister that could have put me in touch with him month's ago being tossed aside, I was livid. She said, "I didn't think it was important." My reply in anger was, "That is not your decision to make!"
I've driven 2,078 miles in the past week, most of it through snow storms. And I have 200 more to drive Sunday. I saw my PTSD doctor today and he was unhappy I didn't have my swollen ankles looked into. Blood clot in the leg was his fear. Swelling has gone down and I'm taking aspirin now. So, I expect this will be fine. Not sure what this paragraph has to do with anything, but included it just the same.
Questions: Why am I doing this? I have passed 3 of the 4 CPA exams on the 1st attempt at age 67, with the 4th scheduled, but now surely to be delayed. I live in a hotel as a practical matter. I'm not happy. I do this to provide money for the wife and 16/13 year old children. I don't ask much in return, not even healthy meals or a clean house. Just to feel like someone here loves me and misses me--and not just the money I provide. I live in totes and duffel bags to earn enough money to keep everyone at a level of their younger parented friends. There was no 65th birthday party for me. There was no special Christmas for me, there never is. I get a hug when I show up and then that's pretty much the end of it. I even gave myself a remote starter (Iowa has -50 degree wind chill in the winter) for Christmas to be special to me. I bought myself my own new clothes in January again to be special for me. I, I, I....If my life is a world of I's, why am I not sharing it with someone who actually cares about me in a demonstrative way? I've met them. They exist.
Thoughts of leaving my family pain me terribly. I have strong feelings about a parent being there until a child is 18 at least. But, what about me? Am I supposed to sacrifice my future, my happiness, with the years remaining? If my swollen ankes were indeed blood clots, I could be gone tomorrow. (But, probably not). I'm very good at looking after myself alone. I've been alone since week 2 after high school graduation. Lived all over the US. Why should I not seek happiness at this stage of my life, leave the females with money they need, and return to some joy in this world? Why?
If you read all of this bless you. As I said, it was a vent for me. These are questions I have no answer for.
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