Rears Its Ugly Head

To my few beloved readers:

Beware. This entry is a little edgier than others. But there are times when I have to stop thinking about who will read this, and get the focus back on the original intent of this blog: helping me through these times. Sometimes things happen and I react. It may happen more and more as time goes by.

I had a good day, a lovefest with the kids. It all was just good. Everyone was behaving. During lunch I happened to pop into the office to check the beautiful flowers on the secretary's desk only to discover that B had been brought in. He was riding the tricycle around inside our room and refused to listen to anyone---or leave. So they took him into the office. .......just as his father walked in. Perfect, perfect, perfect! Dad has a nice way of telling him to snap out of it, and he does. It's almost like magic. Maybe it broke the spell, the weirdness that has been going on with him the past two weeks. We'll see on Monday.

I stayed late after school and got all next week planned. I didn't get home until 4:20 and you called me while I was in the car. Did I want to go for a quick bike ride before it got dark.? But, sad for me, I picked up the mail on my way in the door. It's that W-2 and 1099 time of year. And there was a little goodie from Agua Caliente Casino. Just when I was beginning to enjoy life, I get a little reminder of ugly and painful times. Silly of me to think you would ever give it up. I know it happened back in March, long before you were diagnosed with cancer. Your diagnosis has been a sobering experience. But gambling has been a thorn in my side for almost the entirety of our marriage. And the reminder of it was like a thief, robbing me of the joy I had been feeling in our relationship, the joy of living in the moment with you, feeling cherished and adored as if I were the greatest love of your life. I could feel the muscles in my face descend. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad day with the kids?" you asked when I came in the bedroom. "I had a great day with the kids. I was fine until I got your 1099 from Agua Caliente Casino." Stupid, stupid, stupid of me to think you would ever give up poker. Stupid, stupid, stupid of me to think there would ever be a big enough loss, bad enough experience, to make you think '"This isn't very much fun. I'm going to quit this." On our way to ride I asked you if you were just going to gamble until you died. And you said you probably would. I heard sadness in your voice, not really sadness, more like defeat. We had a very quiet ride together. I don't expect anyone to sympathize. I didn't leave you early on because I didn't want Laura to grow up in a broken home the way I did. I knew she would never thank me for it but I was solid in not wanting her to have the childhood I had. I knew you loved the two of us and I always held the naive hope that you would someday realize how painful and destructive your gambling was and stop because you knew it was bad for your family. But you can't let go of this addiction. You have no bottom. I was upset. I was angry. You are dying and I am reminded of the competition that has occasionally existed, as if poker were your mistress. I rode my bike faster and longer than I had in months. I had lots of energy to burn out of me, just fueling me as I pedaled and pedaled. And still I was angry and quiet. I didn't want to say anything I would regret. Sometimes when I'm angry I want to say something to hurt. I am committed to resisting that impulse and I have done well. When we got home I sat out in the living room with Dad, I went to Costco and walked up and down the aisles. The 1099 hadn't robbed me of my joy; I had let it take the joy. There's a difference. The responsibility for my joy is mine. But I realized I had to pursue the conversation, had to have some kind of closure before your life ends, needed to be straightforward with you like I had never been. I have nothing to lose now. It had suddenly occurred to me that you have always held open the option to gamble. You're slippery that way; it's one of your 'unfine' qualities.

So I brought it up after dinner. "I am still angry and am hurting about the 1099 from the casino. It has cracked my veneer and I feel like I'm crumbling. All the strength I felt about myself is falling away. I was feeling so happy with you, and I was feeling so good about myself."

"Yeah, I can't believe how badly I've been feeling about that." Oh, yes, I know this game, Bill. You try to play the role of the remorseful gambler to throw me off track. You suddenly become the sweet little victim of his addiction. Because you got caught.

"I want you to know that what I really want is for you to throw yourself at my mercy. I have always been a good wife to you. I have never deserved the misery that gambling has brought. Your life is ending. I will be here with you through it all, and I want the gambling to go away and stay away. I want you to finally make me believe you love me enough to give up the gambling after all the pain, anger, and destruction it has caused. You have always left the door open to go out and gamble again. I want the door closed now. I want you to give it up for ME, to let ME know that in these final times together you love me enough to stop the pain this causes. That you will stop because I am asking you to stop the pain it causes ME!"

"It's not about whether or not I love you more. I love you more. It's not you against gambling."

"It has caused me more pain than anything else you've ever done. It has done the most damage of anything we have experienced. Or do you like the enormous wedge it drives between us? Do you like it when I shut off to you? Do you like the distance it creates? I don't. I never have. Do I have to watch you die and have this knife shoved in my back again?"

"Well, I don't think with my brain the way it is and considering the way you're feeling, ..."

"Don't be slippery with me, Bill!"

"You're interrupting me. Let me finish. I was going to say that considering how much pain it has caused you and how much it means to you, I will stop gambling for you."

"Thank you."

Ok, I had the conversation I have always wanted and the answer I've always wanted. I've shortened Bill's answer. But let's be real here. ... I know about addictions. I know this promise could be totally empty. Bill can do empty promises with the best of them, but this time, this time, I think he may have gotten my point. I think this time I expressed myself better than I ever had and his end-of-life mindset contributed to his promise. He also brought up how, with his chemo-brain, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on a poker game (as if impaired judgment had ever played a part in stopping him in the past). So, this conversation helped me. Me is the only person I can really be in charge of, and I wanted my joy back.