This was a good week for us. And it’s important for me to acknowledge that and celebrate it. I think there may be better days ahead because a major stressor has wound down. I’m not sure what to post. Something recent? Something in the past? But I look at the recent stuff and it’s a little too raw. Too fresh to put out there.
So I’m posting something from my past. From my journal. This entry is part of a longer journal entry I wrote after the event, describing the night of his first serious attempt that occurred more than 5 years ago. My husband called me, his family, and friends and said his goodbyes. A bunch of people searched for him, and miraculously he was found by a cousin.
My dad insists on taking me to the hospital. I’m relieved. I don’t want to be alone. We pull into the parking lot and David’s family pulls in at the same time. It’s awkward. I don’t know what to say to them. Our marital conflict and Dave’s reactions to them, has always been our little secret. Dave’s family walks past me. They don’t hug me. They don’t comfort me.
I enter the emergency room waiting area. I lift the phone receiver and the nurse tells me that Dave doesn’t want to see me. It’s embarrassing, standing there with his family and our friends witnessing that Dave won’t let me visit. I try to hide my shame. I wish I could think up some excuse for not being let in. But I know they know the truth. I make small talk with my friends outside. I am grateful for their help. They have all been searching for him. I still don’t cry. I don’t know what I feel.
His cousin, Traci, one of the first people who met Dave after he was found, whispers to me, “David said, he loves you more than anything.” I’m not sure what the implication is, but I’m sure there is one. Perhaps Traci is saying that I should love him more or better or love him more than anything. All I know is that David’s declaration doesn’t match what I know about how we’ve been recently.
David lets a friend in to see him.
David let’s his sister in to see him. Before she leaves for home, she hugs me and tells me, “Just give him time.” I’m grateful for her support. I know he needs his space now. But I need something too. I need to see my husband. But the hospital/Dave won’t let me. I’m the evil wife that made her husband go over the edge.
I wish someone would address my hurt, my pain. I need to see that he’s okay. I need to talk to him. I guess this is too much to ask. It’s selfish–right now it’s not about me.
Everyone prepares to leave. We pray before we part. We thank God for finding him. We thank God for His faithfulness. I shed my first tears. But not the heaving, weeping type that I know I should be shedding. I hug each person as they leave. I’m grateful that they have stayed past midnight even though they must all return to their jobs in the morning. I awkwardly hug his family. They must think of me as “the bitch that almost killed their son, their brother.”