January 8 – Obituary
I packed my father’s things and brought him home from the hospital today. I set up interviews and hired a nurse to assist him over the next few weeks with his medications in preparation for his surgery. There were just too many for him to keep straight.
After dinner my father pulled out one of his yellow legal pads and handed it to me along with a perfectly sharpened No. 2 pencil that he always managed to have around as a retired engineer. As we sat there together, he asked me to help him write his obituary. Somehow, it comforted us both. He had lived a good life—married to the woman he loved for over sixty years. He and my mother had raised three wonderful children and were surrounded by grandchildren in their later years. He had run a successful company for years that he later passed down to my brother, Greg. He had travelled the world, sailed the seas, and still went skiing even into his eighties. He was truly blessed with a full life and loving relationships.
That’s when I realized I didn’t quit my marriage. I survived it. I know deep down I am making the right choice. It is hard to accept that my marriage had failed. But I knew Scott wouldn’t be there for me to the end, holding my hand if I ever got ill like my father had for my mother. Scott isn’t the type to hang in there when times get tough. Scott proved he was nothing like my father; Scott lacked compassion and integrity. I deserve more. I deserve better. Filing divorce papers was like writing my own obituary: “We had good times, raised three kids, travelled the world, blah, blah, blah…”
During the conference call with our counselor at the hospital I told Scott that I planned on returning home on the 11th and would prefer that he move out. I wasn’t surprised when Scott refused. Scott was not willing to look for an apartment claiming that we needed to save money. Aware of Scott’s abuse over the years, our marriage counselor assisted us with this agreement as we hashed out the details. Scott asserted with our counselor during that conference call that he will remain in the house, agreeing to sleep in the guest room until the divorce is final. Scott assured us both stating that he wanted the divorce to be an “amicable and peaceful process.” LOL
Having Scott remain in the house was a huge mistake. . . I had no money of my own, all of our finances were joint. And for the sake of the children I was forced to stay in the marital home during the divorce process, even when he refused to leave. I had asked for a monthly stipend, that he of course refused. It wasn’t until later that I learned in order to get a mortgage, you need to show income for at least six months. By his refusal, he essentially locked me in his invisible prison.
I suffered through stalking, verbal and physical violence, hidden cameras, malevolent financial intrigue, and his flamboyant and unpunished violations of court orders. I lived in a House of Horrors and was imprisoned in a dungeon built by his malice. Months following resulted in court hearings and appearances for Exclusive Use of the Home, and Personal Protection Orders – all because he wouldn’t leave or let me leave. For the narcissist, its all about control — and in this case, about revenge. How dare I abandon him.
I had no privacy, no safe place. He broke into my bedroom, my car, my files, my emails, – stating it was his house/his property and that he had every right to invade my privacy whenever he felt like it. On more than thirty occasions, he carefully orchestrated devastating attacks designed to make me look crazy, even staging events trying to put me in jail. He set out to destroy me, just as he always threatened. Words cant even begin to describe what I went through that year. But somehow, I survived and lived to tell the tale. .