Tuesday, February 21, 2017

There Are Things I Remember, And Things I Forget

Today would have been Margo's 51st birthday. I remember how much snow we had two years ago, when all Hell broke loose...today it is almost seventy degrees Fahrenheit and sunny. I still miss her terribly.

Yesterday was the first anniversary of my transporting a tri-color Walker Coonhound to At Risk Intervention's Waystation in Knoxville. He was a friendly dog. I finally got to meet Cyn, with whom I've corresponded at various intervals throughout my rescue career.

Today is the eighth anniversary of my visit to the animal shelter in Columbia, Kentucky, following one of the largest animal hoarder raids in the history of the state. It was overwhelming. It's also the first anniversary of Molly's rescue ride; sadly, ATRA and Jane Belle Gates, her foster mom, had to let her go due to increasing complications from cancer before she reached a year in rescue.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of betrayal.

When I stopped at the house on the day I was picking up Molly, one of my boyfriend's socks was in the driveway near his SUV. I knew what it meant, but I pushed the nausea down and waited for him to come out to go with me to get Molly, as promised. Instead, he ignored me and continued playing his electric guitar, which could be heard for about a block. I didn't have time to wait for him, so I left to get Molly. She had to be checked in by a certain time at my vet's clinic- I barely made it.

The next day, I returned to his house keys and a Dear Jane letter on the stove. The sock in the driveway meant exactly what I thought it had, but rather than tell me that he was leaving me for the woman I knew he was seeing behind my back, he packed up the last of his things and took off while I was at work.

The following afternoon, the disconnection notices for all of the utilities arrived, to the tune of almost a thousand dollars- he'd been stealing the bills out of the mail for months and concealing them, not paying them to create a nest-egg for his new life. In a panic, I borrowed the money from my father. It became my birthday gift that year when he sent me a note "forgiving the loan". The price of my ex's freedom became a reminder of his unfaithfulness and rejection two months later, as if it didn't already sting enough.

I haven't dated. I've looked, half-heartedly, at dating websites, but I still feel too numb to process the idea of letting myself in for that kind of betrayal again. Chris ("Hopkins") still makes an enormous production to servers of the fact that our restaurant tabs are separate, and it feels more humiliating every successive time it happens...this is the guy my ex thought was in love with me. Funny how one can weave a justification out of nothing.

My ex tried to tell me what hell his life was in the nine months immediately following his departure, to which I put a halt: "Why should I care about this? It's what you chose, isn't it? That hell was preferable to me." (cue crickets)

Trust me, that's a hard one to to bounce back from; it may be my life's work. I don't know if I ever really will.

No comments: