The Liar
An invitation to join friends at their dinner table is always a welcome respite. It is a joy to sit with others whose lives are in the present, not in the past. Dementia and memory loss are difficult companions, and even the most loving of us need a break once in a while.
Hubby does not mind when I tell him that I am going-out… as long as it is not dark outside… as long as I will be safe…. as long as I remember to “watch my back” … as long as I have very little money on me… as long as I tell him when I will return… as long as he has someone caring for him in my absence…as long as he likes that person and will enjoy their company.
Last night I went to a lovely dinner with a table full of guests aged from 18 to 84. The conversation was thought provoking: A discussion of why the musical Hamilton’s cast only used people of color to play the roles of the founding fathers, did the movie “Guess who is coming to dinner!” have a feminist agenda? These are definitely discussions not to be heard at my dining table these days. Welcome food for my brain which has been severely undernourished in recent months.
Upon my return home, Hubby was in a fury:
“You said you would be home by 9 P.M.!”
(It was now 9:14 P.M. … apparently, he believed that I was 14 minutes late!)
I did not say that I would be home by 9 P.M. – I said that I would be home before you would go to sleep.
“You are a liar! You know you are!” Hubby’s substitute week-end caregiver was wincing. She had just quit one job and I had visions of her handing in her notice to us as well. Hubby had been working himself up into a tizzy for the past half hour and was in full-swing, so to speak.
“You are a liar!” was followed by more epithets and expletives that I would prefer not to put into print. This was coming from my beloved husband who treated me with respect and kid gloves for over forty years. The insults kept flying and I could take no more:
I will not allow you to talk to me like this! I do not lie to you! Stop this or I will spend the rest of the evening in my room!
(of course, Hubby could not change course, he was on a roll.)
It may not seem the mature way to handle the situation, but I have learned that only removing myself from the fray, can reduce the momentum of such an event. I not only went into my room, but I locked the door.
A booming voice on the other side of the door could not be ignored.
“You open this door right now!” Hubby demanded.
I ignored the instruction.
I will open the door when you are nice to me again. (Seemed a reasonable offer to a man totally out of control.)
“You open this door or I will break it down!”
Hmm… I remember being a little girl and locking my bedroom door when my mother made the same threat. Not realizing that my tiny mother (who towered over the me-child), was incapable of delivering the goods, I meekly opened the door to a furious adult. That memory made me smile as Hubby was also making a threat on which I was sure he could not deliver.
For the first thirty years of our marriage, Hubby worked out in the gym three days a week for three hours per session. His muscles were so developed that he had to have his clothes custom made to accommodate the girth of his arms and neck. No shirts or jackets could fit this sculptured body. Such a threat from Hubby then would have been taken seriously (although he never threatened me and respected me always). When he volunteered for the Israeli army, he was nicknamed “Samson” for his strength. He wore the badge with honor!
Fast forward to the present. When I refused to open the bedroom door, Hubby pounded on it twice.
“She has her body against the door!” He proclaimed, referring to me… the enemy)! Hence, he could not force the door to open.
“When are you coming out?” He demanded.
Not tonight. Go to sleep.
The house indeed went quiet. Blessed silence.
This morning, I had an appointment. I wrote a message to Hubby in bold type, and printed it, telling him when I would be returning. He asked me why I wrote the note.
Because I do not want you to be angry at me if you forget what time I am returning!
“I could never be angry at you. You are my wonderful wife.”
Writing a letter to Hubby when I go out, has turned out to be a terrific tool. He can never retain what I have told him about the time I will return. Every time he asks where I have gone, and when I will be home again, he is handed the missive. The letter gives him structure and calms the angry beast. Even the worst experiences can teach me a trick or two for the future.
And thus, the roller-coaster ride continues.
