One of the hardest lessons
life has to offer is this: If you let
crazy into your life, don’t expect it
At some point – after we
were married – my second husband mentioned that he was what he called sort of
adopted. His mother was his mother, he
assured me, but the man she was married to was actually his stepfather. Out of
curiosity, I asked about his biological father and was casually told that he
had been a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic who died in an asylum. He knew his name but otherwise claimed to
have no memories of him. I suppose if
there had been internet then, I might have done a little research and might
have taken note of the fact that schizophrenia seems to be at least partially
genetic and is commonly accompanied by alcoholism. Then again, I might not have. The negative symptoms – emotional flatness,
apathy, lack of speech – were all there in plain view but I saw them more as
personality quirks. He was a very angry
man, broken in several places and not looking for help. He wanted more than anything to drink in
peace and solitude, to be left alone with his demons. Even in later years when things took a turn
toward violence, I didn’t see it. By
then I was fairly convinced that I was to blame. I thought I’d taken a quiet, harmless drunk
and turned him into a mean, abusive son of a bitch drunk. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the
beginning of the end. My desperation and
anger, fueled mostly by fear and shame, finally led me to Al-Anon and Al-Anon
eventually led me back to sanity and reality.
I held on for several more years although I think in my heart, I knew
that the marriage had almost no chance of survival after my first six months of
meetings. Of course what you know and what you’re willing to act on are two
very distinct things – it took a long time to learn to change my thinking – it
took even longer to learn the courage to leave.
I still think of him every
now and again, mostly with a sense of sadness and a powerful regret.
I would like to think that
he found some peace of mind, some help, some way to reconcile with his
children. Last I heard and it was years
ago, he’d returned to his roots and his first wife in Kentucky. I haven’t heard anything since and I don’t go
looking. For a long while I was
convinced he’d end up dead or in jail – there were some nasty incidents of
domestic abuse with his third wife – and I wouldn’t have been too
distressed or surprised to learn he’d
come to a bad end. Turns out he wasn’t
the only one who was angry and broken in several places.
Lewis Carroll wrote, “ I
can’t go back to yesterday. I was a
different person then.”
Aren’t we all and isn’t it
a blessing.
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