Meme-o-ries, All Alone on the Facebook

Look at the sun sinking like a ship
Look at the sun sinking like a ship
Ain't that just like my heart babe
When you kissed my lips ?

-from Meet Me In The Morning by Bob Dylan

It was a lovely Saturday.  I saw a friend yesterday. Vaccination has its benefits.  I planted seedlings in the garden, went on a long walk, spent the evening with the family watching Adventureland, and had lovely strawberry shortcake for dessert. I fell asleep early, slept soundly and dreamed of buying and rehabbing a home and office in Riverside. The office was in a Marina off Allesandro.  This is odd because Riverside had ocean front property in the dream.  Maybe the great quake finally dumped L.A. into the sea.  

Jenny was suffering tremendously from pain last night.  She really wanted to make dinner and spent a couple hours at it, making biscuits for the strawberry shortcake dessert and a lovely pasta carbonara.  Unfortunately, standing on her feet, relatively stationary, was too much and pinched a nerve.  She was in agony, and I tried my level best to comfort her.  

I woke up this morning to blog, but hit the Facebook icon on my phone by accident. The first thing in my feed was this meme shared by Jenny. While the memes she posts on occasion may seem cryptic or anodyne, anyone privy to her

narrative can suss out the meaning, and it reinforces what I am sure is a genuine heartfelt pain for her suffering.  For me, to whom this meme is directed (and others like it) it reflects a common refrain. As such, it instantly makes me roll my eyes.  

You see, Jenny is angry that I told Kandice about the affair. She can't understand why I would do anything to interfere, and asserts I must have done it because I didn't want her to be happy.  She has told me this routinely. If I haven't mentioned this before, I have been remiss.

I was in the same state as Jenny is now when I was 7, when my mom left me home alone and, before leaving, put the chocolate bar in the top shelf of the top kitchen cupboard.  After she left, I got a chair, scrambled onto the counter and got the chocolate.  It was a brand I hadn't seen before, Ex Lax, and I ate quite a bit of it before covering my tracks as best as I might do at 7, putting the chocolate back, closing the cupboard and getting down from the chair.  My mom, when she returned, saw the chair, and I got in big trouble.  Worse than when I ate the whole bottle of Flintstone Chewables.  Anyway, it turns out that Jenny is as full of shit as I discovered I was a couple hours after I ate the "chocolate."

How does one account for such a skewed belief system?  I don't know.  I do know how to address it.  I ignore it. Any attempt to engage is another chance for her to increase her victim status in her eyes, to polish the narrative to her sympathetic friends, and is exhausting. 

I think I talk about everything in this journal, but am not sure I have made it clear that in Jenny's eyes, this whole affair is my fault.  My fault.  I have made it as plain as day that having an affair is a choice, and even if I conceded, which I adamantly do not, that I bear sole responsibility for her unhappiness in this marriage, she could have left. Nothing forced her hand, she was looking for something else, and she found it, and decided to run with it.

I have talked to a few close friends since the Dear Wendy advice column, and all agree that the columnist's advice is spot on. I tend to agree as well, and it matters to me that she sounds not unlike my therapist. That said, I understand some of my friends are baffled why it is I stay. I have lost her once, through infidelity, and have borne that as best I can.  I will lose her a second time, this time to this disease. I am certain I must weather that storm, but can't imagine how.  Despite all the misery, the pain and at times cruel and incredibly selfish behavior, I just don't know how to let go.  Sure, I want to protect the kids, and worry about her committing suicide. And yes, I feel an incredible obligation to care for this woman I have been with for thirty years, to travel with her through this suffering.  Ultimately, however, I just don't know what else to do, for her, for the kids, and for myself.  And while I appreciate the advice and concern, I know my heart, and know that right now I would not feel right leaving her to fend for herself, even with the incredible array of friends she has, despite how she has and does treat me, despite the affair, despite the bullshit narrative she tells her friends.  She is dying.  I am scared to death for her, the kids and me.  I fear the spiraling desperation of loss, and for now believe I can better prepare and manage it from here. 


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