1-4-3

I will never forget the first time he told me he loved me. I wasn’t with words. He didn’t say it out loud. We were sitting in his parent’s basement. My husband at home believing I was at an AA meeting. He didn’t much care where I was anymore. At that point, we were sleeping in separate rooms and simply staying together to disappoint everyone in our lives waiting for the the opportunity of the “I told you so” speech.

Ben and I had just had sex on the sofa in that family room. I remember how fun and exciting he was. We couldn’t keep our hands off of eachother. We had that chemistry that most couples, from the beginning, wish for. He was impossible to resist and he made me realize things about sex I never had before. Mainly that it could involve love. That is something I had not experienced until him. We were sitting there and his mom came down to the basement for something and just gave us that “I know what you just did and it’s not OK” disapproving look. I never asked, but I’m fairly certain that he got quite the lecture after I left that night. He looked at me, his giant brown eyes and his irresistible full lips that would make anyone want to kiss him, and his face went soft. It was a look I hadn’t seen before on him. It’s similar to that look that someone gets when they are just about to cry but hold back. He held up his left hand and placed it on my forehead and in a gesture that I would grow to love and miss maybe more than anything else about him, he gently swept his fingertips over my face from forehead to chin. Breathing heavy, his eyes never blinking and never leaving mine. I knew that look. I had looked at my children that way at times when they were sleeping, or when they had done something so endearing I could hardly stand it. I looked at my Nana that way right before she passed knowing what a blessing she had been in my life and how happy she would be to be reunited with her husband. But no one had ever looked at me that way. No one had ever touched me that way. I was used to men paying attention to anything but my face. I knew I was beautiful but had never actually felt it. No one had confirmed it for me before Ben. He didn’t say a word. I felt so overwhelmed. When you are raised the way I was, emotion does not come easy. It was not acceptable or allowed and there I was feeling love like I never had before and holding back all of the emotion the best that I could. I felt like I had to leave, to escape that overwhelming feeling. I cracked a joke, got up and left as quickly as I could. It was 30 miles from his house to mine and I cried all the way that night. And then I got a page…”1,4,3”. I knew but played dumb. I wanted him to explain. I didn’t want to take the chance of assuming and feeling like an ass. And the next page explained, but I already knew… “1=I, 4=love, 3=you”. I knew that night that I would spend my life with Ben. We may as well have sealed it in blood. This was that point. He was no longer just a boyfriend and there was no turning back.

That Summer

That summer I lived two lives. I was spending as much time as I could with Ben. The rest of the time, I was working hard to be super mom and wife to a husband I could hardly stand, all the while putting $150 a day up my nose. I had a drug addiction that was catching up with me. I convinced myself it made me stronger. It was what was keeping me going and allowing me to keep it all together, but I didn’t see it ripping me and those I loved apart. It finally reached the point that I could no longer keep up.  My husband had given me an ultimatum and I had chosen to leave him instead of the habit. He kept the kids which I had enough sense left to agree to for their sake. I went to stay with a friend and it gave me a lot more time with Ben.

At that time, I think he was starting to fall, and at the same time realizing I was a mess and then his goal became to rescue me. He had mentioned the fact that I was physically deteriorating and had lost so much weight. We talked about it, but he never made an accusation and I never offered any confessions to him about my addiction. Just before I hit bottom, I felt like I had to get out. Away from everything. I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t even want to be with Ben anymore because I didn’t want him to see the very worst of me.

 I left for Las Vegas that fall and it took me all of 5 weeks to completely destroy any shred of functioning or self respect I had left. Everyone in my life had completely cut me off. I had no one left and would have never called Ben during that time. I honestly didn’t think about him much. I didn’t think about anyone or anything much except for getting high. At the end of that 5 weeks, I was done. Something had to give and I knew I had 2 choices. Get some help or kill myself. I debated the latter a lot more than the prospect of rehab. I hadn’t seen my children in 5 months and I called my husband for the first time in weeks. I asked him for help. I told him I was going to kill myself and I was afraid of not seeing the children again but afraid that I was never going to be a good mother to them. In that conversation, he convinced me to return home and at least try rehab. I’m not sure how, or why, but I agreed. I returned home the next day, more defeated than I had ever been. I was ready to surrender. I was lost and ashamed and scared to death. He met me at the airport with my father and they drove me straight to rehab. I have never touched the drug since.

The first 2 weeks of rehab I had way too much time to think. I was not allowed any contact with the outside world and for 48 hours, I had to do what was called “introspection.” I couldn’t talk to anyone at all. It was supposed to be a time to reflect in. And that’s what I did. At the end of my introspection, I knew I could no longer stay married to my husband. I knew what I needed to do to be a good mother to my children. I realized how much pain and destruction I had caused. I thought about the kids, my parents, my husband, my friends. And then there was one other person I had thought about several times. That guy Ben that I had spent the summer with. I had started to fall for him, but I wasn’t head over heels in love with him. Why could I not get him out of my mind? In my haze, I forgot the pull he had over me. The draw to him I couldn’t resist. I didn’t know if he would ever talk to me again. I was sure I had been a fling, maybe even someone he cared about but look how that all ended. I couldn’t imagine him ever wanting to talk to me again. But still I could not stop wondering how he was. For some reason I wanted to update him on where I had been and where I was. I sort of just disappeared without any explanation.

After the first few weeks, I was able to use the phone. I called my family when I could and my husband to talk about the kids. Then one night, I had called everyone and finally decided to call Ben. I knew he wouldn’t answer. And I knew if he did, it would be an akward conversation, most likely because he would wish he wouldn’t have answered. At least if he ignored me, or blew me off, I could put it to rest. I could stop returning to thoughts of him. I was completely ready to accept that that chapter was closed. I had imagined every scenario, except the one that actually played out on that phone call.

“Hello?”

“Ben?”

“Yes…”

“This is Jodi”

Then silence. It felt like hours but it was probably more like 10 seconds.

“wow, how are you?”

“I’m good. I’m not sure why I called. I know I sort of just…..disappeared but I have been thinking about you lately and just wanted to see how you are and let you know I am well.”

“I’m so happy that you called.”

“Really?”

“yeah. I have thought about you so many times. I didn’t have a way to call, didn’t know where you were.”

“I needed to get out. It’s such a long story, but the short version is I am home and in drug rehab….”

And silence again.

“When do you get out?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe another month?”

“Can I see you when you do?”

“I would love that…are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Can I call you again tomorrow?”

“yes, please do.”

“Ok. It was so good to talk to you.”

“Bye Jodi.”

“Bye Ben.”

When I hung up the phone I was soaring. We talked every day after that. I wasn’t able to call for very long and only during certain hours, but after the call to check on the children, he was always second. Ultimately, I was kicked out of rehab after 7 weeks for abusing phone privledges.

Meeting

Ben and I met when we were 19. I was dating a friend of his, casually, and one night over a poker game we were introduced. At the risk of sounding ridiculous, the rest is history. A painful, beautiful, and amazing history. When we met, it was like finding the perfect dance partner. Every move was graceful. The conversation flowed like a good cocktail and I don’t think either of us stopped laughing the entire night. Within a few hours, it was clear I was there with the wrong person and he had just met the person he was supposed to spend the rest of his existence with. That sounds dramatic at 19, but you could ask either of us sixteen years later and we would still tell you the same thing. There are some things that at any age, you just know. Deep down, in your gut, in your soul where it counts. We knew. That night was the beginning of something neither of us were able to control and I don’t think either of us wanted to. We were young, we knew what we felt, but we were also so naïve.  

He had a sense of humor that I have rarely seen. The confidence that eminates from making a fool out of yourself for a laugh is attractive to everyone. He was surrounded by friends. Everyone loved him. He had that knack of making a friend in every store or restaurant he walked into. He was a charmer, but not in an un authentic way or misleading way. It came natural to him. I think to this day, he doesn’t realize his power when he walks into a room and he is completely unaware of how contagious his personality is. That night, I thought he was one of the most beautiful people I had ever met and I had no idea the depth of his spirit. I remember thinking that he must have the best parents because he had such an amazing, confident personality. I had never met anyone like him. Where I came from, everyone was a mess. No one had that kind of confidence. We all played games and authenticity was a word none of us understood. We wore masks that shielded us well, but I didn’t know anyone that was willing to show the best and the worst of themselves and laugh about the consequence.

I grew up in such a painful, violent and depressing environment. My father was an alcoholic that would die far too young and I was raised by a stepmother that hated the fact that I existed. She made sure I was aware of that on a daily basis. I was forced in and out of foster homes until I finally left home at fifteen. The physical abuse left me damaged and the mental abuse I endured left me completely broken. I began experimenting with drugs at the age of twelve and the experimenting quickly turned to dependence. By the time I met Ben, I was in a loveless, escape of a marriage and had 2 children, all before the age of twenty. I had been on my own for four years and had a cocaine habit that would have cleaned out Studio 54 every night. Even in that haze, I knew I had stumbled on something that by the grace of God would save me from myself. And that’s exactly what he did, unfortunately, at his expense and at times, mine as well.

We could not originate from more conflicting backgrounds. His family was picture perfect, literally. I think until I met him, I had never seen two people loved each other as much as his parents. You could see it when they looked at each other. The tone of their voices when they spoke to or about each other was softer than that in a general conversation. They had been married his entire life and he and his brother and two sisters were adopted. His father had been married previously and had children with his ex wife, but once divorced, he married the love of his life, Ben’s mother, and they spent all of their energy raising, supporting, enjoying and appreciating every one of their children. They were such a close, healthy and intimidating family. I had never experienced anything like it and I, to this day, have never felt so out of place. But I felt so comforted around them and they worked to make me feel welcome. His mother had a more difficult time and now, as a mother with a son nearly the same age, I understand. But she never understood the love Ben and I had for each other. The universal pull toward each other that we could not resist or deny. I think his father recognized it. He would introduce me to friends and family as the “love of Ben’s life”. I think he knew. He was a wise man. He saw it from the beginning. I felt loved when I was with his father. I felt almost as at home as I did with Ben. That’s not to say his mother wasn’t a good woman. Maybe one of the best, a mother bear protecting her cub as she should have. I still wonder now if she had some insight as to the heartbreak we would experience in our lifetime together. Maybe she had a maternal instinct and that’s what prompted her to keep me at a distance. And she did it well. She was always kind but I always felt like she was sensing my feeling that I wasn’t good enough for her son and reacting to that.

Now

I’m happy now. At least that’s what I tell myself every night as I’m falling asleep. As happy as one can be when they have suffered the loss I have. I find myself empathizing with, even relating to, a girl on the news who lost her arm in a shark attack. She’s happy to be alive, positive, inspiring. But she’s missing a huge part. I am certain, despite the bold face she wears each day, there are nights that she lays down to sleep and the world is quiet and she feels the pain of her loss. I can only imagine that she never feels quite whole, even angry at times. I lost a piece of myself 5 years ago that I will never get back. The most difficult part of my process of acceptance is knowing the loss was caused by me. I don’t have a shark to hold responsible, no predator acting on animal instinct, only myself.

I’m married to an amazing person. He is good to me. He has his flaws and I accept them. They are what makes him human and in return, I feel I am allowed to have a few of my own. We have a combined family. My 2 children and his 4 have meshed really well. Daily life gets hectic but at the end of the day, we find a quiet comfort in each other. We have found a niche and it works. I know he is passionate about me and that he is in it for the long haul. He would do anything for me and I would do the same. He is everything most women look for in a husband and partner. He is safe and stable. In a way, a good way, boring. He is dependable and a good father. He is a provider and the best friend you could ask for.

But there is something missing in my marriage. I know that we are both aware of it, but we never speak about it. He finds his own happiness with me and I go along. I care for him, love him and need his companionship, but it is impossible for me to have the same passion for him that he has for me. There is only one person I have and ever will be passionate about and we both know it. Neither of us would ever dare say it out loud, but it is there. It lingers and is a constant threat to what we have found in each other.