A Day to Forget...Almost

It was towards the end of my marriage.

I asked my ex, “Are you still in love with me?”

She answered, “I’m in love with the idea of being in love with you.”

So, with my highly developed intuition and advanced knowledge of all things female...I guessed she was not. She would have seen that saying somewhere, probably on Facebook and had likely been waiting for the perfect moment to spring it on her hapless and soon to be ex-husband.

Never mind. I’d had enough relationships go south by then to accept my wife wanted out. And I knew the more I tried to convince her that we have two young children, a home we almost own that will have to be sold, and the equity split 55%45% (hindsight is a beautiful thing). A soon to be ex-husband who never cheated or hit her, who did housework and knew all her flaws already but still accepted. Who had seen her naked a few times and was no longer shocked at the lumps and bumps motherhood and age brings. No...she knew what she was doing, and I, for one, supported her decision.

The writing was on the wall. I did try to save my marriage, but there had been way too much damage.

“Too little too late” was another favourite of hers, and by that stage, I stopped caring (that she didn’t want to try to save our marriage). She blamed me for everything, not once taking ownership for her part in the demise of our marriage.

But she had an alternative plan...

I had suffered from mental illness for many years...depression and stress-related anxiety. At times I had thought of ending it...actually attempting suicide twice in the past. It was just something I kept in the back of my mind for the right occasion. Fifteen years together, and you think you know someone, and she thought she knew me. But she had underestimated and miscalculated what I would do.

Her father had a chronic back injury and was on strong pain meds for a long time and had hoarded them...which my wife presented to me one afternoon in a shoebox.

” Why don’t you kill yourself...you are useless...the girls and I will be better off without you.”

I stood staring at her, trying to fathom if this was some sick joke. I was speechless, so she took the shoebox of death, put it in our walk-in robe, returned and reiterated.

That was a big moment in my life...huge.” Fuck you!” Not just saying it...but deciding it. She lost a lot that day...we both did.

And from there forward, I’ve had no thoughts of suicide. The fact that she wanted me dead, collecting my retirement, life insurance, my Ducati and our home that would be hers and hers alone. I did the math (as had she), and I was worth around a half a million...dead...but alive, to her, I was worthless.

As horrible as it was, she did me a favour that day. But I didn’t know then what I do now...there was a lot more to come.