After I departed to take care of my mother, who was nearing the end of her life, I put my faith in my husband to maintain order. When I got back, I found myself in a nightmare that I could not have possibly imagined.
However, there are moments when life pulls you into areas you never thought you’d be able to stand, and I never expected that I would be expressing something that is so raw and intimate.
My name is Isabella, and I am currently 25 years old. Up until very recently, I was married to a man named Caleb, who is twenty-seven years old. In the same way that many young couples do, we believed that love and determination would be sufficient to take us through any challenge. We had been together for five years, and we had been married for two of those years.
The careers that we both had were not very glamorous, but they were sufficient to allow us to purchase a modest townhouse in a peaceful suburb located just outside of the city. We had the impression that we were taking the first step into a route that would eventually take us to all that we want, including a family, stability, and a future that seemed to stretch out before us like an open field because it seemed like a solid foundation.
Those evenings when I would sit at the kitchen table with my planner, jotting down potential baby names in the margins of my notes or penciling in approximate timeframes of when we would be ready to start trying to conceive are still fresh in my mind. When Caleb would sneak up behind me, he would peek at my notes and say things like, “Our kid is going to be the cutest one in the neighborhood,” while wearing that grin that was half serious and half playful. It would make me giggle, and I would throw a grape at him, and he would grab it in his mouth like some idiotic teenager. During those moments, I had the impression that everything was finally falling into place, and that we were on the verge of constructing something that would be truly remarkable.
Then, however, life took a different turn. One phone call was all it took for everything that we had been preparing to fall apart.
This was my mother. The woman who had raised me by herself after my father had passed away when I was a child, my closest friend, my anchor, and the person who had raised me. She was given a diagnosis of cancer in the fourth stage. The physicians have given her a six-month period.
There are six months.
The pressure of that number pressing down on me is something I will never forget. As I sat motionless on the couch, I clenched my hands around the phone as if it were going to fall out of my grasp. I was having a hard time breathing. I was instantly approached by Caleb, who put his arm around my shoulders and embraced me.
The tone of his voice was soft as he said, “Bella, you have to leave…” At this very moment, she requires your assistance.
It was too late for me to stop the tears from falling, so I buried my face against his chest and cried out. In that case, what about us? It was a cry. Are you referring to our life? How about making an effort to have a child?
He gave me a kiss on the crown of my head. We are going to work it out. Do not be concerned about me. Proceed to take care of her. I’ll be all right.”
That is exactly what I did. I packed up my belongings and moved back into the house where I had spent my childhood, which was located three hours away. Nobody else was present at the time. Being her only child, she was my entire world. I was her only child.
It was a difficult period of time. I drove her to each and every appointment, sat with her during the chemotherapy, held her hand while she sobbed from the pain, and made an effort to smile every morning on purpose, all with the intention of convincing her that I was capable of supporting both of us. There were moments when she would gaze at me with those tired eyes and mutter, “Bella, you really ought to go home immediately.” Your age is far too young for you to be spending your days in medical facilities.
Each and every time, I would shake my head like this. “Mom, I’m not going to take you away.”
Meanwhile, Caleb made frequent phone calls. On the phone, we would talk to each other every couple of days. Always, he gave out an encouraging vibe. It was he who would tell me that he was keeping himself occupied, that he was “managing the house,” and that he missed me. It seemed as though his voice constantly had a worn and faraway quality to it, but I attributed it to the stress of being separated from him.
What are you going to eat, I beg you? When I would gently admonish him, he would laugh and respond with, “sure, sure. Be not concerned. In addition to that, I’ve picked up some cooking skills.”
And I allowed myself to believe him. On the other hand, he never once paid a visit. No, not even for a single night, not even for a weekend. When I inquired about it, he always provided an explanation, whether it was due to work deadlines, shifts that were understaffed, or the remark that struck me the most: “I don’t want to take away from your time with your mom.”
I wished to believe that he was acting in a giving manner. I adhered to the concept I had.
There was a passing of my mother about six weeks ago.
There is no way to avoid experiencing a loss of that magnitude. My actions included burying her, sorting through her stuff while clutching to her garments as if they were lifelines, and sitting in her room for hours, taking in the faint traces of her perfume. It was like the sensation of walking through a tunnel that had no end and was completely dark.
When it was finally time for me to go back to my house, I anticipated that it would be a breath of fresh air. In my mind, I pictured myself entering our home, falling into Caleb’s arms, and allowing myself to disintegrate in a manner that I had not been able to do while also keeping things together for my mother. Initially, I believed that he would hold me, steady me, and allow me to breathe again.
As soon as I opened the door, however, I was aware that something was not quite right.
I was the first to notice the scent, which was a combination of sour beer, grease, and sweat. I felt a tightening in it. The living area had the appearance of a fraternity house. There was a mountain of pizza boxes built on the coffee table, dirty glasses were scattered all over the place, and the dust on the bookcases was so thick that I could write my name in it. A dark stain spread across the rug that I had chosen with such great forethought in the spring of last year.
“Caleb?” he asked. While I was calling, my voice was shaking.
Moving my suitcase over the threshold, I entered the building and stepped inside. That’s when I became aware that he wasn’t the only one.
Listening to music that was hammering through a speaker that was shaking the picture frames, two men were lounging on the couch with drinks in their hands. Shirtless and holding a beer like it was some kind of trophy, Caleb stood in the middle of everything that was going on nearby. His appearance was very different from that of the man I had left behind; he appeared to be someone I would have avoided whenever I was at college.
A tall man with bleached blonde hair nudged the other man and murmured, “Uh, dude… company.” The second man in the group was also tall.
After being surprised, Caleb turned around and smiled broadly from ear to ear. “Babe! ” It’s already early!
The impact of my bag hitting the ground was audible. “What time is it? Just now, I laid my mother to rest.
As they hurriedly gathered their belongings, the men stutteringly expressed their awkward sympathies and scrambled to leave. Despite the fact that I could hardly hear Caleb over the ringing in my ears, he waived them off and insisted that they were merely coworkers “blowing off steam.”
Beer odors and a sense of neglect permeated the home. The trash was piled high, the windowsill was covered with bottles, and food was crusted on the plates. There was more than one instance like this. It had been months since I had begun living in this manner, during which time I had been giving my mother soup and signing funeral paperwork.
Upon the conclusion of the men’s departure, Caleb headed in my direction. I will explain it to you, Bella.
It is then explained.
His words came out in a jumble. He acknowledged that he was missing me, that he was unable to cope with the feeling of isolation, and that the house had a sense of emptiness in its absence. As a means of coping, he admitted to throwing parties and stated that it was the only way he knew of.
“Cope?” I repeated while glancing at the mayhem that was occurring all around me. In the midst of my holding Mom’s hand while she sobbed in pain? Despite the fact that I urged you to come visit, you said that you were too busy.
He flinched, but he made an attempt to excuse himself by stating that he didn’t want to interfere with the time I was spending with her. I gave a slight shake of my head. It is not. You gave yourself permission to cancel your reservation. This was your choice.
I instructed him to get a bag ready. In a look of surprise, he blinked at me. “Wait… you’re going to tell me to leave?”
“Yes,” I responded decisively. This evening.
His face became creased. He pleaded with me. He vowed that he loved me and that he was able to save me. On the other hand, I was finished. I gave him his duffel bag, and ten minutes later, he got up and walked out of the room.
All of the phone calls started the following morning.
The first person to contact was his mother, whose normally gentle tone was tinged with disdain. She informed me that I needed to have an understanding that Caleb was also grieving, that males don’t always know how to express their feelings, and that I should provide him grace throughout this process.
I tried to contain my wrath. “Patience is the appearance of grace. It does not appear that we are going to turn our house into a fraternity house.
The next person to contact was his sister, who spoke quickly and said that he was a complete mess, that the house felt haunted without me, and that he was in a panic. My friend begged me to meet him for a cup of coffee.
“No, I am unable to,” I whispered. It is not now.
After that, my aunt, who is the type of person who never fails to have something to say about the lives of other people, joined in. The divorce is an extreme measure. If someone is in pain, they are more likely to make mistakes.
It was a snap. The act of forgetting to take out the garbage is considered a mistake. Saying something nasty during a fight is an example of a mistake. Over and over again, this was a choice that was made. My spouse was having a good time as I was attending to the burial of my mother.
My phone was put down and I cleaned it after the third call that I received. After I had scrubbed the house till it smelled like lemon and soap, I was finally able to breathe normal again. When I was digging through the mail, I came across a picture of my mother. In the picture, she was laughing so hard that her head was flung back. It was placed on the mantle, a candle was lighted, and I allowed myself to be enveloped in stillness.
During that evening, Caleb’s texts began to come in. My apologies. I beg you. Makes commitments to alter. I did not give a response. Because it was during that period of silence that I came to the realization that he had not been lost without me. He was no longer dependent on me.
I made a call to a locksmith the following morning. The new deadbolt made a clicking sound that sounded like it was closing.
The weeks went by. My grief and paperwork kept me occupied for a while. In order to feel closer to my mother, I went for long walks, got to know the dogs of my neighbors, and made her favorite soup. I began going to therapy. Dr. Mira, my counselor, listened objectively without passing judgment. When I admitted that I had questioned whether or not I had overreacted, she responded by saying, “Grief reveals your character.” A person’s actions in the shadows are more important than the words they speak while they are in the light.
She was absolutely correct.
Caleb continued to reach out, expressing his anger one day and his regret the next. Another call came from his mother. When I declared that I was finished, I meant it, and I wished them the best of luck.
The home is now spotless and tidy. Calm and tranquil. My own. The fresh flowers that I purchase on Thursdays are placed next to the photograph of my mother. The silence is no longer solitary; rather, it is consistent.
Someone who shows up is something I deserve. A person who demonstrates their affection when it is truly needed, rather than when it is convenient. Despite the fact that Caleb failed the most important test of our marriage, I had faith in him when he revealed his true nature to me.
Moreover, I am paying attention this time.
