Scene of the crime

I desperately want another child, but in order to do that I need to return to the scene of the crime.  Feelings of loneliness and despair are already teasing my memories...it gets harder to breathe and I fight the need to instinctively cross my legs, as if my body is trying to protect itself from being so vulnerable again.

You see I found out that my husband had the this whole other life mid way during my 1st pregnancy. The porn, the women, the affairs...all of it. And although I thought I might be "uncomfortable" about it during my second pregnancy, I had no idea that it would invoke such terror. My mind is racing with all the things I want to tell him...things that include words like bastard and asshole.

In my panic, one of my most deep resentments that I have done my best to ignore has risen to the surface for air...I bitterly resent the fact that my husband put my sons life in jeopardy. My husband could have passed on an STD while I was pregnant, compromising my sons health. He could have been blinded, physically challenged or heaven forbid born with an STD.My sons quality of life was at stake, because my husband wanted to get laid.

I don't think I have ever come so close to feeling engulfed in rage as when I think about it. His betrayal of me was one thing, to do that to our child, makes me want to punch him in the freaking face.

I watch my son...now a toddler, for signs of some sort of emotional instability-I was a complete wreck for at least 50% of my pregnancy and I wouldn't be surprised if somehow I managed to transfer that to my lovely baby boy.I resent that he put my sons health at risk and I wonder whether I should tell him. Am I just dredging up old issues? Am I right to warn him off. In my mind, I play the scene - I look him squarely in the eye, while I tell him that he didn't give a second thought to our son and even though he is healthy and thriving, life could have been very different. I want to rage at him, that if he does it again- I will make him pay. I need him to understand that I see him as a threat to our growing childs life and I will make damn sure to protect it...even if it means that our marriage won't survive the pregnancy.

And as for me, I am starting to have flashbacks of crying until I couldn't cry anymore...vacillating between feeling like I was dying to not feeling anything at all. I am going out of my mind and all I know is that I don't want to go back there...but I also know that want a second child and preferably with the same man, so that they could have the same the dad.

Is it possible that this time could be different? Am I brave enough to share the experience with him, instead of shutting him out? I don't know...but GOD, please...Your grace saved me before, lead me once more, because if it where up to me, this is going to turn into some prayer mantis bullsh*t.Prayer Mantis eats male  eeeuw!!

Emilio and the memory box

I loved him. Not romantically, but in the way you love someone just for them...he was special and died when we were teens. I remember the day I first met him  and I remember the day we buried him. In my memory box lies a pamphlet and a condolence letter to me. The memory box used to be filled with momentos of past boyfriends, which I chucked away when hubby and I decided on a fresh start...but I couldn't summon the courage to throw Emmys pamphlet away.

This weekend I sat on the bed and apologized to him for the millionth time,for not being a better friend. For being self centred and weak. Selfish and spoiled. For turning away and forgetting him in favour of childish joy and delights while he laid in hospital dying. I am sorry today, as I have ever been...but still I thought it was time to let go, but I just couldn't. I feel as though it would be the ultimate betrayal if I discarded his image to the bin. This is my penance, to keep him with me, so that I never forget what I am capable of- and what I despise most in others.

I keep him to remind me, to be better person to those around me - to be mindful and present to others pain and joy. To stay true despite the hopelessness of the situation...

I wonder sometimes if this is why I have stayed, in my darkest hours. To somehow show that I will not run, I will not hide- I can be strong and brave and true, even unto the very end.

I wonder if my husband found my box, and if he wonders who Emilio was to me. If he ever asks, I will tell him - that Emmy was a better person than me and that in his death I  found a better me.

I guess some memories never reach an expiration date- they stay in a box, waiting...