Husband deserts not only wife, family,
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His wife was prostrate with grief. Sure, she'd been
traveling a lot, had an exciting job, had become an
accomplished, independent woman in their 20 years together.
But at his request, she'd never stayed away more than two
nights. She still did all the cooking. Kept herself thin
and pretty. They'd been through so much together: the
deaths of their parents, infertility, tough financial times,
his asthma attacks, her cancer scare. They were each
other's best friend. He'd never said a word.
She checked credit card receipts. An old girlfriend from
college days was back. It had been going on for months.
Bill had built his whole life on integrity, honesty,
loyalty. He prided himself on working only with people he
respected and trusted. Steadfast friend, devoted son,
loving husband. He was a man of direction and purpose.
Then one day, for whatever reason, he decided he didn't want
to be that man anymore. Perhaps it was too hard. Perhaps
he saw his, own mortality. Perhaps he lost his mind.
So Bill has abandoned his own life. Not just his favorite
leather reading chair, the dog, the magnolia tree he planted
years ago in the back yard. What he walked away from, with
a chilling deliberateness that defies reason, are the human
connections acquired only through years of living and
loving.
His desertion - not just of his wife, but of his creed --
causes his family to look upon him now as a stranger. Front
doors once flung open for him are closed; his place at the
table is empty. He is not welcome in the fire circle; he is
no longer part of our tribe.
His friends are bitter. They loved him, too, and counted on
him for help and humor. He was always there, like big
trees, like autumn, like rock under foot. Now there is one
less pallbearer when the time comes. Who could take his
place? No one.
But railing against it doesn't change reality; Bill's good
name isn't any more. The interwoven threads of his fife are
unraveling because of his own deceit and detachment. How
can he, without warning, walk out on a human being he's
spent half his life with and not miss her? Not miss her
morning smile, her goodnight kiss, her voice? We who loved
him think, if he can do that to her, what can he do to me?
Then we realize he's already done it. He's left us, too.
Like his wife, we are powerless to defend ourselves from the
pain. We look at old pictures of good times and weep, We
vacillate between hurt and rage. If he'd died we'd know
exactly how to feel, to behave, we'd have ritual to fall
back on, our memories would be intact. This deliberate
abandonment makes us wonder: Was the good man we lost real
or did we invent him?
Maybe he'll come back. The other woman is probably
temporary, an excuse instead of a reason. If he does come
home, perhaps his wife will take him in.
But for the rest of us, the return of the prodigal presents
a moral dilemma. Can we forgive and forget? My heart says
yes, my head says no; I doubt we'll get the chance.
Tad Bartimus is a veteran journalist whose career has
included working in Colorado for The Associated Press.
E-mail her at tadfriends@aol.com or write in care of
The Gazette, P.O. Box 1779, 80901.
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but principles as well
by Tad Bartimus
His desertion ... causes his family to look upon him now as a stranger.
Front doors once flung open for him are closed;
his place at the table is empty.
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