I don’t know where, when, or even why this notion entered my head, but for the longest time I always had this gut feeling that my husband would die young. It may have been something he shared with me at some point, some throw-away comment, where he said that he felt like he wouldn’t live a long life. And as I tend to believe everything he says, I probably adopted his premonition as fact, as if he could see the future. Considering the reality, maybe he does.
Because of this “belief,” no guilt weighs heavier than the times when, at my most angry, I would wish that he would just die. Admitting it now causes me the deepest shame. How could I ever think that? Just the thought crossing my mind should warrant my own death. These are not things one thinks of who they claim to love.
Though above all things I am human. I am terribly flawed. Because of this human affliction, I am aware that in our weaker moments we think and say the dumbest shit that most of us ultimately do not mean. The crown of “saying things I DO NOT mean at the worst possible times” truly rests on my head. This is why I make it a habit of trying to give some time and space from my rage, so I can process it without sounding like a sociopath.
I’m certain that the fuel driving my want to do anything and everything for him is the guilt of my prior admission. If I could take away those momentary feelings/words I would. In a heartbeat. Because what I fear most is that, in these moments of rage, I spoke it into existence.
I’ve made other off-hand comments. One’s that could have been fueled by anger and others that were harmless observations said in jest. One of my more emotion fueled ones was where I wished that my dad would die before my mother. For full disclosure I said this after having picked my father up from the emergency room because he had had passed out, drunk, in his driveway. I had felt like he would be a handful in his old age. He is the source of my hard headedness and my obsessive personality. If he was left to his own devices I imagine he would have blown whatever savings they had on cigarettes and booze, even though he had been sober for most of my life. Oddly enough, he ended up going first. Now I am left with my mother who can barely speak a word.
One of my other comments that seemed to be a spell, was a Facebook post commenting that if my mother ever got Alzheimer’s she’d be a wanderer. Spoken from the knowledge that if she and I ever went shopping she would disappear in the blink of an eye, as if she “apparated.” At the time of my comment, she wasn’t showing any signs of dementia. So, it’s odd that I would say something so specific that would eventually become my reality.
This is just me trying to understand my role in all of this. At my core, I believe every bad thing that has happened is my fault. I spoke all of it into existence, like some incompetent god. What’s humorous is that I don’t believe it works in the positive. If I had a positive effect of speaking things into existence I would be rich, have a literary agent, and multi-picture studio contract as a well-known actor.
The harsh reality of life (no matter how many times I have to remind myself, I fail to understand) is that it is cruel and meaningless. Things just happen, and there is no rhyme or reason to the events that occur. There is only coincidence, and only when we seek it out.