Untangled 28: Half dead

Part 28

We had an understanding. He would now pay the note and insurance on the Explorer, and I would pay for the BMW. I didn’t love this arrangement because I wanted to close the door to him with no strings. Well… the Explorer was a big string, and I knew I had to stay on his good side to keep him paying.

Just as I expected, his old mask began to slip and after a few weeks, he reverted back to the real him. He didn’t call me once a day anymore, but he would stop by my apartment every night after he was done doing gig work to eat dinner and leave. The visits were purely obligatory. He didn’t want to be there, and I didn’t want him there. This was a tough time. There was no pressing issue to end this pitiful thing, but there was no incentive for me to continue. We disliked each other, and that was clear. This stage is what’s known as “the motions.”

He had a key to my apartment and would come by while I was at work to walk Zoey. This was yet another bone of contention. He had a key to my place but flat-out refused to give me a key to his. Inevitably, the resentment eventually built to a fine point, and we had an argument. That was it. I’d had enough of making nice. This particular argument was because I asked him twice to give me the insurance documents for the Explorer for the finance company; he didn’t do it. When I asked again he stormed out and slammed my door. Great, that’s just the straw I need for this camels back. I texted him to bring the paperwork in the morning—I needed to get some sleep. A few minutes later, he was banging on my door like the police. I wouldn’t open it; because I wasn’t sure what he would do. He tried his key, but the deadbolt stopped him. He hit the door one last time, left my door key on the insurance paperwork on the floor in the hallway, and walked away.

After no communication for a week, I got a text out of the blue that he was having surgery in Chicago in a few days. I didn’t respond. A few days later, I got a text from someone saying he was his son, but the text came from his phone. The message said, “My dad is going into surgery, and I have his phone. He told me to text you updates.” I texted his “son” back and said, “Thanks, let me know how it goes.” A few hours had passed, so I texted to see how the surgery went. I got no response. Another few hours passed with no text. I tried to call and got no answer. Then I finally got a text from his son, who still apparently had his phone, to say the surgery didn’t go well, they couldn’t stop the bleeding and the doctors were making him comfortable.

And just like that, that was it. He would surely be dead by the morning. I texted his son that I would like to see him or speak to him if at all possible. I wanted to say goodbye, tell him about Jesus, SOMETHING. I wanted him out of my life, but not like this. I felt HORRIBLE about how I treated him.

His son didn’t respond to anymore text. I assumed he was calling family to come be by his dad’s bedside, etc. I had no idea if he was alive or dead. I guess I didn’t deserve to know. He had previously unfriended me on Facebook, and his page was private, so I knew nothing. I also didn’t know any of his family or friends. I did know his daughter’s name but didn’t want to immediately contact her. This was bad. I was losing sleep, I wasn’t eating, I couldn’t stop crying or checking my phone. I was texting him every few hours to say I was praying, I was sorry, please call me. I asked God if he was dead, but I could no longer hear God clearly. I reached out to a prophet in Oklahoma who did prophetic counseling. So I scheduled a time and called her. I told her part of the matter; I needed to hear something that would give me peace. She said he wasn’t supposed to come with you to Texas, or be with you in any capacity. She said, “God sent you to Texas because He has an amazing plan for you. Whoever this man is, let him go. He’s not your husband.” Through my tears, I said to her, “I just need to know if he’s dead.” I told her what happened with the text from his son. She paused for a minute and said, “He’s not dead.” We finished the counseling session. After hanging up the phone, I had some peace, but not much. Even if he wasn’t dead at this moment, what if he would be in the next hour? I didn’t know what hospital he was in, where my car was parked—he had taken my spare key from me without me knowing. I did NOT want to hear what she said, not even the good stuff about me. My days were consumed with thoughts of him. The thought of him being dead gave me a change of heart. I now wanted us to start over. I needed more time. I could help him. I forgot all the bad stuff; I remembered the good times: how we teased each other, how good he smelled, and how helpful he was.

My weekly hair appointment was scheduled for the next day. While in the chair, I showed my stylist the text. I said, “I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. I’m losing sleep because I haven’t heard anything.” She stopped combing my hair, looked me in my face, and said, “Kim, he’s lying.” It didn’t even register. I said, “Why would you say that?” She said, “From what you’ve told me, he has a history of lying. You cut contact with him, so he’s paying you back. He’s probably laid up at some woman’s house.” She then said, “Do you think he would just let his son have his phone? Where does his son even live?” She said, “I don’t believe for one second he’s dead or even in the hospital.”