Time Heals Most Wounds

It was a little over two years ago when I finally decided that I was dead. I figured that it was much easier to continue in the day to day routine if I didn’t really have to be alive through it. I mean technically, things were still working alright… I did everything that I had to do; I just didn’t do them with any particular care one way or another. I’ve come to realize that the precise point of my transfer from life to death was when my ex-husband killed my dog, ripping the only being that I had on my side out of my hands and sending him to a place I would never see him again. Maybe that’s why it took so many bullets to put Gunther down? I guess shooting two souls at once is a little more taxing then most .45’s can handle.

I didn’t realize initially that I was no longer among the living, for I was still taking up space. I occupied quite a few jobs and maintained a definite, yet distant presence. I never thought that I would divorce; I was much too stubborn for that. I kind of wish (it would be face saving at least) that I had other reasons for my perseverance in that hellacious relationship, although I would know deep down that they were all false.

I know this because I can recollect with such intense clarity, my thoughts on a car ride home one day. It seems that I had been pondering the fact that I was indeed stuck in this relationship because of my bull-headed stupidity, but that I had glimpsed some possibility of rescue. Now, here’s where it gets kind of embarrassing; I thought that if he would just step on the accelerator a little more, maybe our car would skid off the road into the fern covered ten foot ditches on either side. I would probably be injured pretty badly (but since I’m young, I was praying that I was somewhat invincible), hopefully, accidentally (is that fair to wish for an accident?), he would be fatally injured and I would be released from my bonds.

Who does that? Who actually fantasizes about their husband’s death? I thought to myself on so many occasions: “My life would be so much easier if he would just die.” I know I’m terrible, but good lord I felt trapped. I had never been one to stand by and watch my life pass me up, yet with each faithful day; I realized that I was losing my grasp on the last strands of any possibility of redemption.

I finally ended it with him, and that monster knew exactly why… He didn’t do what most men in his situation would do and ask me “Is it another man?” Or, “Have you been thinking about this for a while?” No, he said: “This is because I shot your dog, isn’t it?” I couldn’t even bring myself to confront the question the way that Gunther rightfully deserved. I told him that there were many reasons for my departure from his life, but “yes, you murdering my best friend definitely is up there at the top of the list.” He scoffed at me. Told me that he couldn’t believe I was willing to throw away “all this” over a dog.

I must have looked slightly baffled for he attempted to clarify and attach a definition for what “all this” was, but I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, “all this” must not be all that much if it’s so insignificant as to need such clarification procedures. I left without thinking twice, for it was a decision that was made 6 months prior on a cold island in the Pacific Northwest. I knew then and there that I would no longer be able to live a life with the monster that took my soul.

I live every day, in an increasingly grateful state for I am no longer in that Hell. I think sometimes, as I’m in the car with John, that I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else, and that I never thought that my life could get so good. I don’t know how I afforded myself the misery of 6 years with my ex, but I am thankful for the lessons learned. He taught me to realize that some things can’t be fixed and that some things don’t need fixing. Those things that don’t need fixing are treasures to be loved and kept safe, for the whole world is not as lucky as I.