I’m drained. I spent the last two hours explaining to my kids why dad still isn’t home, making lame excuses and giving vague timelines for his arrival. “He’s just finishing up a few things at work, and then we can go.”
My kids are restless. We spent the morning and early afternoon preparing for our road trip to Tulsa. They are excited to see their Papa and visit their Auntie and her swimming pool. J said he just had to work a little bit, and he would be home by noon. It’s 2:30pm. We’re texting, and he is promising he will be home soon; he’s almost done. I keep calculating how long it’s going to take us to get to our first stop. If he gets home by 3:00pm, we can get to Kansas about 10:00pm; that’s not too bad.
He walks in at 4:00pm; goes through the house to the backyard and complains about how hot it is in the house. I give him a quick update: I mowed the yard, we’re all packed, the kids are ready to go. He goes down to the cool basement and lays down. I finish up a few things and go down to talk to him.
“Hey, are you ready to go? We’ve been waiting all day.”
“Look, I’m tired and just want to rest for awhile.”
Irritated, but trying not to let it show, I respond, “I understand you’re tired. I can drive the first couple of hours, the kids can watch a movie and you can sleep. I really want to get on the road so we don’t get there too late.”
Eyes closed, he responds, “I don’t even want to go anymore. Maybe we can leave tomorrow.”
Internally, I am freaking out. I have been texting family and friends that are waiting for us all day, updating them. I make myself breathe, “We have a lot of people counting on us. My mom will worry if we don’t leave because we’re supposed to giver her a ride back on Wednesday. What about your race tomorrow?”
He sits up, a spark of anger crossing his face, “All you care about is your family. You don’t even care about me. Here I am, so exhausted after working hard for my family and you won’t even let me rest…”
I listen. I know this is ridiculous, but I am still hoping for us to leave together soon. When he stops, I ask, “Is there anything I can do so that we can leave?”
The following lecture makes it obvious that this was a pointless question. I get up and tell him, “People that I love are counting on me. I did everything I could to make this easy for you. The kids and I have been waiting all day, and we are leaving now.”
Ugh, I remember that day so well. I remember all the arguments we had leading up to that day where you were angry at me and trying to accommodate him. You never deserved the pain that was endured by you but what a strong woman you came out on the other side. Oh and good riddance to J!
Love you!
I remember the day well… or at least the retelling and the aftermath. If I could go back in time, I would stand alongside the road with flags and signs, cheering for you all the way to OK.
Aww, you were such a huge part of me finding freedom. You were there in spirit; we just didn’t know it yet. You and Lydia have been a godsend to me and so many other survivors!
When I consider the day i left, in my head I see the end of Lifetime movie where the girl gets out of an old beat up light blue pickup parked in the middle of a country road with wheat fields on either side. She doesn’t doesn’t shut the door or look back. She just starts walking decisively down the middle of the road with determination on her face, throws match over her shoulder and keeps walking. She paused for a moment looking down slightly as she hears the explosion behind her. Then a slight smile appears and she keeps walking, away from the fire and the drama.
Yes ma’am! Like that country song, “I’m moving on”.