digging up bones.

every once in a while, i randomly unearth writings from my yesteryears. i found this one last night, as i tucked myself into bed embarrassingly early. i was entirely up in my feelings, experiencing thoughts + emotions i hadn’t felt in years.

but as deep as the emotional wave took me, gasping for breath + Peace— i also knew the feelings were healthy + cathartic. so i let them ebb + flow out of me in thick, sad, healing tears.

i even found myself sending an email to someone i used to know— digging up figurative bones. when this writing came up. + reminded me.. how i used to be.

i did not read this last night. my heart was already too heavy. but the writing came back to me again this morning. as if a cue from Papa to read. to remember.

i wrote this well over a decade ago, but i’m not exactly sure when. the memories in these words are much sharper than the softened edges of time in my heart.

. . .

this one's called, "lavender baby lotion."

He left us on October 18, 2006. Jakob had just turned three. Lola was sixteen months. We owned a home off-base; a corner lot with a big yard and my first front porch, complete with white rocking chairs and a hand-built rose garden. We built a fence around the backyard for the dogs. There were two cars in the driveway. We were adding a master bathroom suite to our bedroom.

I knew he was over it. He was over the domestication of his wild past. He was over the moody, exhausted wife who had traded in her designer perfume for lavender baby lotion and Boudreaux’s Butt Paste; her hip-hugging, low-cut jeans for yoga pants; her long flowing hair for a dirty ponytail. He was over sleepless nights and a kitchen that never seemed to stay clean for longer than 5 minutes. The freedom of singlehood chanted his name like a PT cadence on a 5-mile run with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

I was pretty over it, too. I was over begging for a hug and settling for a grunt. I was over serving him dinner on the couch while he turned the volume up on the teevee. I was over pretending like everything was okay. When it so clearly was not.

I had begged him to go to marriage counseling. He was a Marine, though, and counseling is for weak sissies. Not BAMFs.

So I went alone.

My counselor looked at me after the first thirty minutes and asked me why I was still with him. I told her, quite adamantly, that I didn’t believe in divorce.

Her next words were the words that started the storm. “He cheats on you and he hurts you. Those are the two things that give you the right to leave him. If you won’t leave him based on those two things, what will it take for you to leave?”

I looked her dead in the eyes and responded, “If he EVER touches my children, I’ll… leave.”

She made me write it down. Like a promise to myself. Then she assigned me some homework. Make a list. List all of the reasons why you love Jason.

I arrogantly harrumphed to myself and thought, “She has no idea how much I love this man. This will be easy.”

But as I took the pen to the notebook later that afternoon, something changed. I replayed her words over and over in my mind. Cheats. Beats. When? What will it take?

My paper remained blank less a number one and a period for quite some time. And then he walked in the door from work. I scrambled, wondering how much time I had sat there, lost in my thoughts and memories. Dinner wasn’t made and the peas had taken full advantage of my distractedness and redecorated the entire house. Not. Good.

He was only home for dinner. He had been working night shift for about a month. I quickly threw a warm meal together and sent him back to work. I didn’t mention the homework assignment.

Now snapped back to reality, I dutifully finished dinner with the babes and set off on our nightly bath time and bedtime routine. I would run the bath first for little Lola. She was so cute as a baby. Tight, tight ringlet curls and the biggest, shiniest eyes you’d ever seen. She loved to play dress-up with my fanciest clothes and highest heels. Bath time was always her favorite. She would splash and giggle like a wee little mermaid. Lavender baby soap and laughter make for a perfectly happy memory. After bath, and peeking into the living room to confirm that Jakob had not destroyed much, I’d carry the little bundle of pink terrycloth and smiles into her room. I’d massage lavender baby lotion all over her little chubby body, while Baby Mozart played gently in the background. I’d dress her for bed and lay her down with kisses. Then I’d start the whole thing over again for Jakob.

Jakob had this crazy head of hair that would make any woman’s eyes turn green. And he had a gentility in his eyes that I had never seen in my life. He didn’t speak much. But he and I always just understood each other. Jakob was more like Jacques Cousteau in the water. His bath times were always endearing and tender. Same routine with the lavender soap and smiles and terrycloth-- only in a blue hue-- and the lavender baby lotion and quiet Baby Mozart. And kisses.

Thennnnn. The house was quiet again. No more little distractions with shiny eyes and sweet giggles. Just the sound of silence. And a nearly blank piece of paper.

Reasons why I love Jason. 1.

Silence.

Reasons why I love Jason. 1. he provides.

Silence.

That was all I ever wrote on that piece of paper. That was all I could come up with after three and a half years of marriage, two children, two deployments, a house, an SUV, and some dogs in the backyard.

I went to bed in tears, wondering when I stopped loving him. Or worse, wondering if I ever had.

He came home around 3 that morning, after his shift was over. I was asleep. He probably made himself another plate of food and watched a little teevee before he came to bed.

I was up at 6 with happy little peas. I worked hard to keep the kids quiet on those night shift days. I tried to extend the amount of compassion I would want in return.

Naptime came at noon. I was still an emotional pile of pluuh. I had succeeded at ignoring the empty piece of paper and the counselor’s truths that morning. I just focused on babies and sippy cups and diapers.

I tucked the peas into their beds and crawled into bed with Jason. I wanted to sleep, too.

Jakob woke first, after a nice long 2-hour nap. It was 2pm and it was time for our little house to wake up and enjoy the rest of our day. He toddled into our room and I pulled him up into our tall bed. I tickled him and enjoyed his giggling, hoping that Jason would soon roll over and engage with us. He instead, grumpily covered his head with a pillow and huffed and puffed. But Jakob and I were playing, and we wanted Daddy to play, too. So we continued to giggle and started tickling the sleeping bear.

When I relive this memory, this is the part where I want to press pause and reach into the scene and gently walk Jakob and myself out of the room to let Jason sleep.

But that’s not how it works.

Jason sat straight up in the bed with eyes of black coal. He was in a rage. I had seen those eyes before. I never wanted to see those eyes again.

He grabbed Jakob and slammed him down on the bed, pressing him firmly into the soft mattress. Jakob laughed and squirmed happily. He thought Daddy was playing.

I knew, right then, that it was time to quietly gather Jakob into my arms and leave the room. I did not say a word, I just removed his hands from my little boy‘s chest, walked out of the room, and gently shut the door behind us. I put Jakob in his highchair and got him started on a snack and a movie. Lola was still sleeping.

I went to the front porch. To my rocking chair. To breathe.

Jason came out shortly after. We did not speak. We just rocked in silent cigarette smoking synchronization.

He went to work early that October 18. I did not mind. He did not come home for dinner. I did not mind that, either.

I called him once the peas were tucked snuggly in their beds. I was composed and direct. I needed him to hear me.

It sounded something like this: “I’ve always forgiven you, thinking that one day you would wake up and not want to hurt me ever again. But when you grabbed Jakob, I saw it in your eyes, Jason. I saw it. And I know you felt it. You felt the rage and you were not in control. I am not leaving you. I am not divorcing you. But I need you to get help. The kids need you to get help. Please get a room in the barracks and take a little time to get your head on straight. If you won’t talk to your Command, I will.”

He shocked me with his very sincere and sober response. He understood. He would comply.

That part hurt just as much as anything.

Problem is, I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that one of two things was going to happen that night. He’d either crawl into his lonely barrack bed and look up and miss us so badly that he would do anything to come back. Or… He’d laid back in his free barrack bed, hands behind his head, and think, “Ahhhhh. Finally.”

I invited him over for dinner a few times. He would show up, eat, and then leave again. We co-hosted a Halloween party with a neighbor. He was drunk at 10am, when he showed up for the party prep. The day tumbled rapidly out of control from there, ending with a very belligerent and angry Jason being put into a cab to take him “home.”

I called my parents early the next morning and asked if the kids and I could come visit. They knew things were bad. They just didn’t know how bad.

I called Jason and told him that the kids and I were going to Georgia for a few days. Told him I needed to clear my head. I met him outside of his barracks to let him kiss the kids before we hit the road. I cried the whole 8 hours home.

I called him the next day, on my parents’ home phone. I paced their backyard as he told me he wanted a divorce. We talked calmly and resolutely about being responsible and not dragging the kids through a messy litigation. I took the kids trick-or-treating that night. Lola was an Indian and Jakob was a cowboy. I swallowed back the same tears that still haunt me. Tears that wanted to scream at Jason and say, ”Why aren’t you here?! You’re missing it!” But my silent tears didn’t scream. Instead, I swallowed hard and smiled, knowing that Jakob and Lola deserved a “happy” Mommy.

The story does not end here, but I’ve cried enough today.