Untangled 37: Recovery & Realizations

When I got home from the hospital, I didn’t need to lift a finger. He changed the linens on my bed, deep cleaned the bathroom, scrubbed the floors, got the mail, stocked my fridge, and put away every trace that I had ever been sick. I was truly indebted to him. I’m like that almost to a fault. If you do something for me, I never forget it because it’s rare that people do things for me. I’ve always been a doer and a giver.

A couple of weeks later, while driving, he blurted out that he didn’t know what he would’ve done if I had died. That melted my heart. It was the nicest thing he had ever said to me—that speaks volumes. When you’re starving, crumbs will do. It was sincere, and the one time I didn’t think he was telling a lie. Why couldn’t he allow himself to be this vulnerable all the time? It was the only time I saw that side of him. I wanted to be with him because of all he did for me during that dark time. I planned a trip to Destin, Florida, to say thank you and to get some relaxation. We would stay in an Airbnb on 30A, explore the bustling seaside towns, and fall in love all over again—that was the picture in my mind.

A month later, we were headed to Destin. I was about 80% back to normal but still on antibiotics and steroids, so I needed to take it slow because I would get winded. In the airport, the old him began to resurface more and more. He walked ahead of me the whole time, left me to carry my own bags, to check them in, and to go through TSA alone. He went through Clear while I held onto poles, waiting in the General Boarding line. I had to remove my shoes and almost fell over, but he was nowhere to help because he was already through TSA and probably at the gate. I tucked that all away—it would do me no good now. I owed him my life for helping me, so I would forgive that.

We finally made it to Destin, got the rental, and headed to the beach. I had things planned for every day. We had breakfast and dinners at wonderful farm-to-table restaurants and explored the farmers market, shops, and beaches during the day. By the second day, I noticed that he would leave for hours at a time. I’m talking about me getting dressed, coming out, and finding him gone, only for him to return five hours later. He would say he went to look for a grocery store and got lost or that he was just exploring the town. I didn’t want to argue; I didn’t have the energy. I just wanted us to work. I wanted to love him. Love covers, so I covered those additional red flags and the nagging feeling in my gut.

On the last day of the trip, I woke up to cramps and stabbing pain throughout both legs. I had overdone it the day before, walking on the beach. COVID attacks the joints, and I was dealing with the pain from inflammation and acute arthritis. I had never felt such pain except during labor. All I had with me was a few packets of headache powder, so I took one. It did nothing. I was in tears. I asked him to please get me some Aleve or something strong for the pain. He sighed loudly, grabbed his phone, stormed out, and slammed the door. He came back about 20 minutes later, tossed the gas station Aleve packets on my lap, and left again. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he didn’t like sharing attention from being sick. I didn’t want to be this way; I didn’t like nor welcome sickness, so it was offensive! I had been caring for his many things, but this he could not do. That was an eye-opener for me.

I took an Aleve and got dressed. I still had to pack my luggage for the flight in a few hours. He didn’t help with any of it. We drove to the airport in tense silence. We were back in that old familiar place of regret and resentment toward one another. He had just saved my life; why was this happening? I thought he had changed. Maybe if I could just change myself to be someone content with crumbs, things would be fine. I didn’t voice any concerns about anything. I encouraged him, joked with him, and tried to stay on his good side.

The next event was my nephew’s wedding. I already had our plane tickets, and I needed his help with the 2.5-hour drive from Chicago to Springfield. I kept a smile on my face so we could just get through this. Thankfully, he understood the assignment—he was a perfect angel in front of my family, so attentive and caring. Everyone loved him. After the rehearsal dinner, he said he would be back. After a couple of hours, I was asleep, and my daughter, who shared the mini suite, was on the couch sleeping. I woke up when he came in after 3 a.m. The absolute nerve. I would no longer play nice. I sat up and let him have it, then told him he could leave. I would find a way back, but I would be a monkey’s uncle if I allowed him to continue to abuse my kindness. He ignored me completely, so I went back to sleep.

The next morning, he was moving quickly; I didn’t know if he was leaving or staying. He left the room for hours, then came back and got dressed for the wedding. He ran some errands for the family and was chatty with me in front of my family, but that was it. I had to detach from him. He was back to his old self, but even worse.

I mentally left the relationship. I mourned him while he was still around. I went through my Facebook and quietly erased every trace of him. I also deleted old pictures from my phone. Funny… I was mentally leaving but trying to stay. I still wanted to be married, and I wanted to marry him—but not this him, the one I met years ago. So I told myself that if he asked, I would say yes. In my mind, a “yes” changed the playing field. That meant he would be nice to me and we would have our perfect love story.

My birthday was in November, and I expected the proposal then. Two weeks before my birthday, he stopped by my apartment with his daughter. He wanted his daughter to meet mine. He also wanted to talk to my daughter privately, so all three stood out in the yard for about 20 minutes talking. My daughter came in with a smirk on her face and went upstairs. Later that week, she told me to get my hair and nails done for my birthday. It was happening. I booked my hair appointment and did my own nails for my birthday.

A few days before my birthday, he told me we would go to Gibson’s Steakhouse; he made reservations for 7 p.m. My birthday came, and I worked the first half of the day, then went home and got dressed for our night out. I hadn’t heard from him all day, but I knew he would be coming by. He arrived at my place at 5:45, walked in with a bag from a jewelry store, and put it on the kitchen counter, then went to the bathroom. He came out and said, “Well, aren’t you gonna open your gift?” I reached into the bag, heart racing, and pulled out a long box.