A Double Rainbow Day

We had a nice rain storm this afternoon. There was a lovely double rainbow that came of it. Once the torrents stopped, the western sun streamed through the dark clouds like rays of God's glory. It was quite beautiful. I also snapped a bunch of pix of Abigail's butterfly blossoms on her guara plant, but I've not uploaded those yet.

Things are much improved with house & home. I'm proud of Ben's efforts to prepare himself for his upcoming exams. All any of us can do is our best and go from there....

Grief Without End

pretty in primroses, originally uploaded by 2QTsInHeaven.

The day's a disaster! As is typical on any given Sunday, I had to ask if dh wouldn't take some time to cuddle with me this morning. He's been as loveless & affectionless as they come, and I'm seriously starved for someone to love me. He was annoyed when I pressed him, and he made it clear that he didn't really want to be tender with me.

I sat on the edge of the bed and asked him if was him or me - it was a simple, non-angry question that I asked quietly & calmly. I just needed to know if it was because of his own inability to be affectionate, or if it was something vile about me. He said it was me.

I asked him why. He had no answer. Naturally, I was crushed - not just because it's the same every Sunday, but because he actually said outloud that he didn't want to be affectionate with me. He made it clear through his annoyed disdain that he'd rather eat nails than kiss me & embrace me.

All I did was ask him to extend some sort of affection to me, and he made it clear that he'd rather go make hotdogs. I tried to press him for what was wrong with me that makes him feel that way, but he walked out leaving me in tears with no answers. He set off to make hotdogs and while he was at it, he smashed all the memorial trinkets I had on the dining table.

The most heart wrenching of all was the statue of the little girl flying a kite that we bought for Abigail shortly after she died. That statue has sat on our dining table as a reminder of Abigail's absent presence for over five years, but now it's smashed--a meaningless pile of rubble. Rather like what's becoming of my 24yr marriage.

Of course, once he left the bedroom to pursue his hotdog breakfast, that made way for our angry, hungover son to involve himself in the conflict--nevermind that he had virtually no knowledge of what had transpired privately between DH & I in our bedroom. Nonetheless, DS felt justified in defending his father's angry tirade while I stood there & sobbed in my partial nakedness.

Ben had been up watching TV (even though he knows the TV's not to be on during the early part of the day). In his lifestyle of defiance, all he needed was one tiny thing to feel justified in attacking me. So the kid got all up in my face and actually called me a goddamd cunt - screaming & spewing rage directly in my face.

All the while, I'm the lone woman out with no one on my side for help or defense. What was really terrible was when his father repeated the name-calling, using the goddamd cunt phrase at me again & again--such savage words for a son & husband to call their mother & wife!

So welcome to Sunday. All I wanted was a good morning kiss or hug or boring pat on the backside from the man whom I've devoted nearly 24 yrs of my life to. I didn't think it was too much to ask for--that he would find love & caring for me on a lazy Sunday morning seemed relatively reasonable. He didn't agree. He smashed my stuff. He called me a goddamd cunt whore and threatened to put me on the street.

Do I dare share that he also took a large full bottle of ketchup and bashed me across the side of the face with it--grabbing it by the neck and swinging it across my face like a baseball bat. Then he hit me again with it over the top of my head. And then he screamed at me & blamed me for getting ketchup everywhere.

I was dazed & dizzy and trying not to fall down, so I didn't even realize what he hit me with until I saw all the ketchup glops. At first I thought I was bleeding and got so very scared. He kept threatening to have me put out on the curb to fend for myself. My son said, "where your fat disabled ass should be."

All I could do was weep & sob--broken & battered and so very ashamed. DS has his Army exams the 15th of June--I'm white knuckling it until then; he's got to get in. But if he fails his entrance exams--God help us all...

Abigail's flowers

Abigail's flowers, originally uploaded by 2QTsInHeaven.

Well, hyacinth season is passed. The heat of summer is upon us, and spring is gone for yet another year. Spring has never been a favorite season of mine, and it's even less favored in the shadow of Anne's absence. It's hard not to be continually reminded that she should be here. My heart is quite lonely for my girls.

My son is frantically scrambling to get accepted into the Army. My husband has forgotten I exist--the jackass has become such an asshole and the most loveless affectionless mutherfukker since my stepfather (and the verbal abuse & profanity that spews forth from both son & husband, omg!).

I'm just so deeply & desparingly lonely. I leave notes on Facebook walls only to be ignored. There's not a single pre-Abigail friend left. I have a few post-Anne friends left--gals who I met in varying support groups after I lost Abigail. Most have fallen by the wayside or gotten ultra busy in their new lives.

I grow increasingly debilitated by fibromyalgia, diabetes & arthritis--that second baby burial didn't do any favors to my health. I can't help but feel the world pointing their harsh finger at me. In my inner ear I hear them say, "you brought it on yourself." Maybe so, but for her I'd do anything. It's just that she wasn't supposed to die.

My friends & family weren't supposed to run for the hills either, but I guess stuff happens. I find myself on Twitter a lot trying to find someone--anyone--who might tweet with me. I'm starved for someone to love me & care for me. Oh well.

I guess I'm just remarkably overwhelmed by the isolated heartache. I think of Jesus when He went into the Garden to pray with his friends--friends who slept rather than comforted. Even Jesus said, "can't you even sit with me for an hour?"

I guess if even Jesus' friends couldn't take any take time for Him what makes me think mine would take time for me? What's so anguishing is that no one's even bothered to ask how I'm doing, let alone actually being the Good Samaritan in the aid of my broken life.

Poor me, right?