The Slow, Painful Death Of A Marriage

He doesn’t want to live with me. I don’t really want to live with him. Our poor son is caught in the middle. We ignore our anniversary. I stay closed up, angry, and sad at the way things have turned out. He doesn’t have anywhere to go or he would be gone. His heart doesn’t belong to me anymore.  I have already grieved the life I had… the man I married. I have cried over the loss and steadied myself. I’m no longer afraid of being alone.

But he is caught up between trying to find happiness and taking care of his family. Despite the fact that his leg ended up under a tractor, he has only missed a couple of days. I admire that. I am extrememly grateful for it. And since his employer is a cheap bastard and offers NO sick days, I somehow feel responsible for all that pain. The only way I can see to help him is to take some of that burden away. I want to give him the freedom to go.

Our son’s recovery from surgery is slow and steady now. He’s doing well. And I need to go back to work, get some health insurance and let go of my marriage. Even after 22+ years, no one wants to be “an obligation.” I don’t want to depend on anyone. I want a new beginning… I can only hope that I can find a purpose, a feeling of contentment, and maybe, someone to love me.

The time that my husband spent having to lie around with his injured leg was the perfect example of two people who have little to say, and little in common. You would think that such a close call would bring us closer.  But in taking stock of life, we looked past each other. Our dreams no longer mingle together; our ideas of happiness are elusive and hard to put into words; our bond is fragile, if not already broken.

How we have come to enjoy NONE of the same things is a mystery. That phrase “grown apart” came from somewhere. I just don’t know what to do with myself. I am a strong woman — I know I can do anything I want. But even strong women get lonely.

But while my son and I are very close, it would be nice to have someone else to just give me a hug every now and then. Just to tell me I’ve done well considering what life has thrown at me. Maybe even whisper in my ear that I’m still pretty.

Disability, Unemployment And A Big Fat Loophole

The man at Social Security told me he was sorry and to call  him if anything changes. “It’s the unemployment that kills it,” he said, talking about my son’s chances of getting disability benefits. Apparently, if I were bringing home that whopping $194 a week from working, it would be a different story. Why, I’m not really sure. Maybe to keep me from riding too far on Uncle Sam’s Free Ride Express.

In the language of Social Security, unemployment benefits are “unearned income.” Despite the fact that we all pay into that system for the occasional rainy day that is joblessness. No one gets unemployment if they quit their job. The job has to quit them, so to speak. My job certainly quit me, and unless I find another one, I will be getting all that free “unearned income” until July.

And this, my friends, is why my son is ineligible for SSI Disability benefits. Not because they question the severity of his Crohn’s disease, or his medical records. But because his mom lost her job.

Suddenly, I am thinking about Canada and their health care system. Because I know as soon as my son hears that, at best, he will one day be eligible for Medicaid, he will be too. 

Please Just Leave Britney Alone!!

So now the little starlett who has fallen from the sky is in the hospital. Maybe she partied a little too hard. Maybe she has serious mental problems. I really question the sanity of any mother who could let her children be taken from her, who has been so unwilling to comply with the courts, and otherwise, seems too overwhelmed by motherhood to cope properly. I actually have complex feelings about this rich girl who I have never met.

I pity her in some ways… watching from my anonymity as her life and career slowly crumble and seeing the crush of people around her. None of whom probably give a damn about her, including those on her payroll. Apparently, it doesn’t bother some people to stand by and watch a young mother come apart if they are getting a nice ride on her gravy train. And on the subject of motherhood, where is her mother? Maybe she’s at the hospital where she should be. Maybe now she will consider a book on how NOT to parent. Or maybe she will realize that her daughter is more important than making a few bucks telling stories from her childhood. What is wrong with her? Lady, there are people placing bets on the day your daughter dies, and I’m sure the odds just changed … get your priorities straight.

God!

In some ways I am also jealous of Britney… not because of the fame (I would hate that), or the money and the house, although they are nice. I certainly don’t envy her career because there isn’t much to envy. But being carted out of your house to the hospital for pity and pills in a cup… I’m in! If I knew how to snap, I would. Under the crushing weight of unemployment, marital problems, financial stress and my son’s health, I deserve at least a three day stay. And if they could throw in a back rub and a mud wrap, that would be great.