Living In Clip
Entry 1 8:46 a.m.
Ani DiFranco was my favorite artist for several years in the 1990s. Not so much anymore, but there was a time. In 1997 she released a double-live CD, Living In Clip. Clipping is distortion from an amplifier--the cause of which isn't important here. Of one thing I am certain. Since August of last year, I have been living in clip--everything has been and remains distorted, doubly so.
That I am living in a world made distorted by terminal illness and an ongoing affair, was
It was very much a discussion about death and dying, magic and loss. Magic because we talked about God. Loss, because we talked about the end.
In an incredibly smart move, I had 3 fingers of scotch right as the meeting started, in a high ball glass. It was enough to keep me very mellow. So much so, that Jenny's typical semi-monopolization of the dialogue was funny to me. I timed her on my watch at one point, and she talked for more than 7 minutes straight. Phenomenal. At some point, at the end of the night, I must have talked for as long. I waited until the end, because I knew what Jenny's response would be to what I had to say, and I am so tired of it. But, I had a buzz--a nice treat--so went for it. But, I get ahead of myself.
We both agreed at the beginning of the meeting that the week had been largely uneventful. Jenny talked about all the things she did last week. I listened. I did remind her she didn't get home from the party she went to on Friday until after 8:30. She described being gone 4 hours, from 1-5. I really want her to own how long she spends away from the kids--Abby really. She finds time for Leiney- or I should say Leiney finds ways to insert herself into Jenny's life. I didn't broach that issue--no point.
So, Jenny described a week without incident. I concurred. But then I weighed in discussing how hard it is for me to know how to respond to Jenny's repeated statement each day, "I can't die." It wasn't a criticism of Jenny, I made clear. But my answers are always ineffectual. I underscored the difficulty, that I am researching the disease assiduously. What I didn't say is that Jenny is much sicker than she knows or will even admit. I made it clear that this hardship I describe pales in comparison to someone who wakes up and is facing death every day.
Jenny didn't take my concern about being ineffectual in my response as a criticism. It is always my fear is that anything I say about our interactions will be interpreted as such. Jenny is extraordinarily sensitive. Thankfully, she told me that I am doing fine in my response.
The therapist asked Jenny how often she thinks about dying. The answer Jenny gave, is the same one I provided thereafter. It is constant. Waking or dreaming, the thoughts are invasive, infecting all that we do.
Jenny than began to discuss her fear. She said, and I have no reason to doubt her veracity about this, that she is trying to come to terms with her death. She thinks she is doing better.
In an effort to allay her fears of dying, I told her I am going to be just fine should she pass. I clarified, as I will do here. Jenny's big fear is that I can't manage on my own without her. That I will shut down. As my personal therapist pointed out, this narrative serves Jenny's interest--and you can go back and read all about that, I won't review today. I went on to point out how I had handled everything yesterday surrounding Leiney's wreck, from driving there, to dealing with the towing company and collision shop.
Now, it is true that we have our individual strengths. I am very goal oriented in emergency situations. I think that is how I keep from freaking out. So, I wanted to get to Mt. Vernon, get Leiney, and handle all the car stuff. When we got to Leiney, she and Jenny embraced for a long time. I got a perfunctory hug and then went and got drinks. When I returned, the two of them were sitting and Jenny was comforting Leiney. I was finding the towing place and planning how to get there. I pointed this out in therapy. Jenny said that if she dies, and an emergency happens that I should. . . I stopped her. I knew she was going to say call one of her sisters, which she ultimately did say. I pointed out that if I become a single parent, I will parent as such, and won't be looking for assistance from others unless needed. I don't need a surrogate parent interceding on my behalf.
We got through that discussion relatively unscathed. The therapist asked us, for the first time, about our faith. Jenny surprised me by saying she has gotten more spiritual. She gets through her days thinking about her mother, in the throes of death, seeing Jenny's dad dressed in white waiting for her. Jenny comforts herself hoping that will happen for her.
I am far less sanguine. As an atheist, I said, I struggle with terrible things happening to good people. Jenny, apart from our relationship (I said), is an incredible person. I didn't talk about the kids. I have made myself clear on that point. While I have been reading a lot of philosophy recently, especially St. Augustine, I am a stone atheist. I think the world is a terrible and indifferent place most of the time (ask the 11k unhoused in King County), and struggle with the idea that Jenny in her last moments will be thinking and worrying about her children--which I know she will. To me, that just seems awfully terrible and a reason to curse whatever God one thinks exists.
I said I have read so much about the disease, I understand better than Jenny where this is going and it frightens me. I am worried. That word is worn out. So is terrified. But I am both. My understanding of the disease, despite Jenny not being a statistic, is incredibly bleak I tell them. I try to have hope, but the reality is, it is difficult to maintain hope in a situation devoid of hope.
What Jenny heard is that she is a shit. That I hate her for having an affair. She was pissed. I mean, en fuego pissed. She started wanting to talk about the affair I had. I cut her off. I said I had an affair. Yes. I own it. Yes. I was wrong. Yes. It has been years, yes. She then tried to claim that as soon as she was diagnosed I started reaching out to women I had talked to years ago. I admitted that as soon as she had an affair, I reached out to all the people I had agreed never to talk to again years ago--and had kept my word. But now that she was cheating, and in my mind, our marriage over, I could talk to whomever I damn well pleased--especially given she refused to cease the affair. I also said, I knew that as soon as I said it, she would begin spewing shit to muddy the waters.
If the tandem therapist was a Star Trek character, she would have been Spock. Her response to Jenny was a therapist's equivalent of a single raised left eyebrow. She told Jenny that I hadn't said she was a terrible person at all, and asked me if that is what I said.
No, I said, but asked to elucidate. I said what Jenny is doing in this affair, in this relationship, in her behavior is unforgivable. Her affair and her behavior is what I will remember about her for the rest of my days. That despite all that I do for her--all of our time together, she chose someone else over me is ruthless. I said it is cruel and unforgivable, and while it doesn't--I always have to point this out--show up except when we discuss it in therapy--I am angry and bereft.
The therapist asked me what would happen if Jenny ended the relationship. I said, it is a moot point. We are 15 months out from diagnosis, 14 months out from my discovery of the affair. It, the ongoing affair, says more about Jenny to me than anything else about us, our relationship. That doesn't mean the things I said earlier about how she changed the lives of so many for the good--if only I could say that about myself--were untrue. It does mean that the legacy she is leaving for the children, for me, is stark in comparison.
It was the end of therapy. I found clarity in this mess. Buzzed, annoyed but unburdened, I went to sleep. It was just after 8 o'clock.
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