I knew Gerry was standing in the open garage looking at me, waiting for me. I also knew he was praying for me, for himself that he would not fall to pieces. Don’t look, Mare, you will break your own heart if you look.
The windshield wipers came on by themselves and stroked once across the glass, squealing and I watched them, hypnotized by the dusty, wet streaks they left on my field of vision. You are hurting him, Mare. Don’t hurt him, that still, small voice said. But I’m hurt and I can’t think straight. I just want to run until it doesn’t hurt. What was wrong with me that when anything that doesn’t fit my Sean-warped idea of faithfulness is seen by me as betrayal? Gerry was not trying to hurt me; Gerry was trying to keep me.
I could see them now, his words, those arrows that were suspended there, quivering, and they struck my heart with violence: We taught our kids to leave. I had written in my book that divorce does something to our children that I am not smart enough to figure out. But Gerry found the words; it teaches them to leave. Gerry was right; like my own children, I was abandoning love when things got a little too hard.
My son gave me no reason why he ignores me. But he tells people on social media that I’m dead and recognizes my death on Mother’s Day with his friends posting condolences. They clearly know more than I do as to my son’s reasons.
My children did leave, and they never came back and it has nearly killed me. Why would I put Gerry through that?
Copyright Mare Loch 2021 © Excerpt from Saltair: The Midlife Celebrity Love Life of an Ex-Housewife. All rights reserved.
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