I had a touch of my old complaint, kidney stones, last night, so instead of snoozing peacefully I sat up most of the night, just going over the last few days spent with my ex, Amy.
A bowl of chicken broth went down well this morning, and I think the worst of the attack is overfor now.
Where to start? (The better question is probably 'where to end'?)
Forgive me for burdening you with my jejune ruminations, but I want to put my thoughts down to get them organized and analyzed, plus I have always trusted your judgement and discretion.
Anywho . . .
As I've mentioned, Amy is going to go live w/our Daughter Madelaine back in Virginia so she'll have someone to help look after her and help her file for Disability (she's still 3 years away from being able to file for early Soc Sec like I've done).
Amy has been wrapping up her life here in Utah Valley and has involved me in some of it. Since I have a storage closet as part of my apartment deal she asked if she could leave some things behind in it. Since I don'tuse it, I saw no problem. So she has crammed it full of suitcases and bags and cheap plastic tubs and photo albums (and her collection of 2-thousand DVDs). In doing so, she and I have cautiously been reviewing our life together, and I've come to the conclusion that she regards me mainly as someone she can talk to. She has a great, consuming need to talk deeply and in detail about relationships and family. I am very thankful she does not want to talk about the Gospel with me anymore -- she does that with her sister Kathy, up in Idaho. Most of our arguments were about LDS theology, or about food & diet & nutritional supplements.
So I found myself nodding my head frequently and saying "uh-huh" or "of course" a lot.
She told me some very shocking things about our children. I never realized (or perhaps did not want to know at the time) how hard things have been for them -- not just growing up, but right now. Where I today see my kids as mature, well-balanced, active, adults, Amy has informed me of the tremendous struggles that each of them are facing -- some that started long ago, and some that are very recent. My kids have never told me about these things, but they opened up to their mother.
There's no need to go into details, but if you ever hear me complaining about my ungrateful kids again you have my permission to kick me in the butt. The poor kids are weighed down with problems that would have certainly crushed me at their age. BUt since they won't open up to me, I guess I'll just have to remain in the background and give long-distance love & support.
Amy also told me all about her second marriage, and her affair while she was remarried. I found I could not gloat over her mistakes, but also could not offer her much comfort either. In fact, I started to get bored of the whole sordid thing after a while. She cheated on her second husband not out of romance or even physical attraction, but just because she felt he was ignoring her. It's an old and cliched story -- like the clown with a broken heart . . .
Amy has been cooking all her meals at my house since moving out of her apartment last Thursday. With her special dietary requirements (all self-imposed) she won't eat anything I keep around, so she brought over dozens of special organic, grass-fed, free range, non-GMO stuff to keep in my fridge -- and then promptly became too weak to do her own cooking, so I did it for her. Which I don't mind -- I like to cook.
She drinks an incredible amount of kambucha and chia seed suspensions. And puts sterilized clay in it.
I've got to stop and rest a moment . . .
Now that I've had a little nap in my recliner . . .
So last night Amy wanted to watch the movie "The Five PEople You Meet in Heaven", with John Voight. I wasn't too keen on watching it, but since she is, in a sense, a guest in my house, I said okay. I had read the book when it first came out, but didn't remember very much of it.
Much to my surprise I found myself bawling through much of it. When it was over Amy wanted to have a long talk about our relationship, now, as she said, that "You're back in touch with the spirit."
I had to explain to her that nothing was changed or enhanced for me after viewing the movie -- that I had simply been emotionally manipulated by the film, and did not view it as a spiritual experience.
I think I was finally able to make her understand that about me -- not everything that moves me is some kind of spiritual revelation, but more likely just the product of my own imagination and emotions being triggered by an event or narrative or even a memory. I have grown to mistrust my feelings and desires as a sure compass to spirituality. More often, I am greatly moved by my own desires and stratagems that have little or nothing to do with the Holy Ghost.
If something is common sense and does somebody some good, and nobody harm, then, and only then, am I willing to consider it as coming from God. Amy's decision to divorce me was not a revelation. My decision to move back to Thailand and out of my children's lives for so long was not a revelation, but a selfish bit of foolishness. On the other hand, my decision to take the discussions, get baptized, serve a mission, marry Amy, etc., were all inspiration.
I also wanted to tell her that the more she 'opened up' to me, the more she appeared as merely wanting to justify all her own decisions and actions, many of which were hurtful to me and to our kids. However, that would be like the pot calling the kettle black -- meaning I am just as guilty about making poor choices that have not done anything good for my kids, or for others. The difference between Amy and me, I am finally convinced, is that at least I KNOW I have been foolish and selfish and should not be trusted. If Grace is not an operative principle of the Gospel, then I'm doomed.
Amy leaves this Tuesday morning for Virginia, and so once again she is, in a sense, abandoning me. Despite all that I've said above, she and I have established a wary friendship, a sort of Detente. I have enjoyed making 'organic' meals for her and listening to her and even doing her laundry. We sat together on the little couch my daughter Sarah gave me, her feet tucked under my legs for warmth, to watch Deana Durbin movies. I even got her to watch a silent movie with Harold Lloyd, and she grudgingly admitted it "had some good parts". There are strands of her long hair all over that little couch, all white. Having her around is more of a comfort than anything else to me. And in a few days she leaves me again. I think I will hate the silence that is the only thing to replace her in my apartment, and my life.
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