Back in May when I first started purging the house to get ready to move when the divorce is final, I stacked up all the birthday, Valentine’s Day, anniversary, etc. cards from the cheater that I had accumulated over the years. Most of them start with, “’To the love of my life’, ‘Dear Wife’, and so forth.” I took the cards along with the unflown kite and a few pieces of paperwork that proved that he lied about doing some major things that he claimed he had done (like buying the insurance for the house that will pay off the loan in the event of his death) and placed them on the fireplace mantel. My goal was to leave them there after I emptied the house. That was my second thought. My first thought was to throw them all over the empty house. It will be his house to do whatever he wants with it when we are gone. The mortgage is upside down. He insisted on putting it in his name only (not that it would’ve matter if I had wanted the house) and ten months after he closed on the first loan, he refinanced without my knowledge.
I will never forget his face the night I confronted him with evidence of his cheating and told him that his mother was going to want to move into the house with him after I took the children and left. He expressed utter shock and fear that conveyed that he hadn’t thought of the consequences of his actions further than rudimentary inconveniences. His mother had been jockeying for him to support her for years. She wanted to live with us when we were on the other side of the country. When my oldest daughter died and we took in her children, the witch-M-I-L could not think of anything other than how her dream of living with us after she retired was gone. There was no empathy shown. Only, “Now, I guess I won’t be living with you all.” She, like her son, has an insatiable appetite to shop, and to participate in other hedonistic-debauchery (for lack of a better exaggerated and accelerated hyperbolic phrase). Neither of them wants the bother of paying to live somewhere. She wants her retirement check to go to shopping for tasteless clothes and pleather goods, and he wants his employment pay for alcohol, cigarettes, and restaurants. Lucky for him, his whore has a shack that she has managed to hold on to through three previous divorces.
Obviously, wanting to own a home and become part of a community was always my desire alone. (But, I’m digressing and that’s fodder for another post).
Of course, it is the cheated-on’s job to clear the house. Basically, I have been re-traumatized. Remember how he didn’t have any part of clearing my daughter’s house either. I should take what I want and leave the rest, but honestly, I don’t want his sordid hands or eyes to be privy to any of mine or my children’s things ever again in his life. That is why I think today, when I was looking at the stack of cards on the mantelpiece; I decided to throw them all away instead. Maybe back in May, I was imagining how when he saw the cards in an empty house he would remember how there was a time that he was doing the same for me that he is doing for his whore now. Perhaps the predictability and redundancy of the mechanics of it all would shake him into a reality. Although, why should I care if he realizes what he has lost when I’m not willing to take him back even if he did have some type of epiphany.
He is damaged goods to me. I’m disgusted at the thought of his conduct. One can expect and even make allowances for a young man of 19 or 20, especially if his home training had been inadequate, but a man of 50+ acting as he has is unforgivable. He’s had plenty of time to develop emotional intelligence like most everyone else. And I don’t have the privilege to know if it is just the cheating that I find so revolting, because in our case, it’s cheating and financial (and actual) abandonment. If he had stuck around after I confronted him maybe I would be able to separate the two, but I cannot. For me, to accept such behavior is morally repugnant, and I’m not talking in a religious sense, but in the sense of how the wrongness of it resonates to the marrow of my bones.
What have I ever done to anyone to debase myself by providing him a means to remember me? Or a conversation starter for his whore and/or mother. He does not deserve to know or think anything about me and the children.
Did you leave anything for your cheater to think on or about?