Written on 12/1/17
On November 17th, I stayed a little late after work like I always do. A whole group of us usually go up the road to have a beer, and talk about the week we had. While I was driving home I noticed that I had a missed call from my husband at about 5:30 pm which I hadn’t heard because my phone was on silent. By the time I picked up my daughter, and pulled into our drive way it was already 6 pm. So, I tried returning his call before we even set foot inside the house, but it went straight to voicemail. As I walked up the side of our house I realized his car was not where he usually parks it so I assumed the earlier call had been to let me know he was going out. I left it at that because I knew that he’d find a way to call me if he needed something, or if what he needed to tell me was urgent.
After getting our little to bed, and putting up the laundry I decided to open up a bottle of wine, and have a glass. It had been a gift from the company earlier that afternoon so I figured I’d pop in a movie, and have a taste. While pouring my glass I noticed that it was already after 8 pm, and I still had not heard back from my husband. I got this weird feeling in my stomach, and I remember whispering “Please just let him get home safely.” Of course, this scenario and this kind of worry is not uncommon for me. If y’all only knew. So, I began the normal routine of trying to find out where he was. I tried calling his phone again, but it was still off. So, I sent a quick message to a friend asking if they had heard from him recently, and they said that they hadn’t. And this is when my anxiety started to kick in. Overthinking, and worst-case scenarios began to play in my mind. I tried my best to push all of the irrational thoughts out of my head because that does no one any good. And just to answer the obvious unspoken question: Yes, even with everything going on I still worry about him. I always want to make sure that he’s okay. That he’s safe. And that he’s not in some ditch somewhere, or worse. So I kept watching the door, and turned the volume on the TV down low, half expecting to hear that damn stereo system thumping a block away. I was so ready to give him an earful about how much worry, and anxiety he had caused me. To say “Next time call me from your friend’s phone so I know you’re OKAY!” But none of that happened.
After the longest forty-five minutes of my life I received a call from the sheriff’s office informing me that my husband had been arrested. They allowed me to talk to him, and he told me to speak with the bail bondsmen in the morning. After the relief washed over me - he wasn’t dead - I became really angry. “What the hell happened? What did you get arrested for? Was anyone with you? Why the hell couldn’t you wait until I got home before heading off?!” There was a string of “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. Just call the bondsmen tomorrow….” and then the line went silent. I was redirected to an officer who informed me that they couldn’t tell me much, but they did give me some numbers to call the following morning. And it has been a very uneasy, and uncertain time ever since. From finding out the charges, to finding out how much it would cost to get him out, and then finally talking with a lawyer about what to do. There are times when I’ve cried, and felt pretty damn helpless. I’ve felt guilt over not coming home right away that evening. I've been angry over what he did to get himself arrested. But the hardest part was having to tell our daughter that her dad wasn’t going to be home for a while. I almost broke down as she clung to me, and offered to give me her piggy bank money if it would help get her daddy out. Though I know that this is not my fault, and I know that this was bound to happen at some point due to the choices he was making. It still sucks. I still feel some responsibility, and I hate seeing him in there.
Now this is a small town. So small in fact, that someone runs an “In the Jail House Now” page which takes the previous days arrests, and then posts their mugshots all over Facebook. The Saturday after his arrest my phone was going off continuously. People were asking if I was okay? If our daughter was safe? Had she been taken away? Was I in trouble? They asked if I had seen the posts on all of the local groups. And when I finally got the nerve to look it up, at the reactions, I saw something that I didn’t like. Posted by a certain someone who had no business talking. And the anger just kicked in all over again. At him for doing something so stupid, and reckless. At her for even thinking that she had a right to laugh after all she had done. At myself for even giving a fuck about what was published online. And the truth is, that I don’t care what people think about me. Or what they say about me; about my relationship. I don’t care because they will never know the truth behind our closed doors. They don’t know the struggles, and demons my husband has fought over the years. Some that he’s won, and some that have sadly taken over. But what I do care about, fiercely, is our daughter. When it came time to explain to her what was going on I left a lot of details out. I only let her know that her father made a few mistakes that he was having to take responsibility for by staying in jail for a little while. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t hear other things from someone else. So yes, I care. I care about how she’ll get treated for this at school. About how little ears hear nasty things from adults, and then they get repeated on the playground to my daughter. It’s happened before on several occasions. I care about how much she misses her dad, and how she feels about this whole situation. And I think the fact that this is all even happening, that she has to experience this at all, is what both angers and saddens me the most.
For now, all I can do is try my best to stay positive and adjust to what’s going on around me. Because the truth is that my husband will miss Christmas, and more than likely our daughter’s birthday next year. The truth is that he is the only person responsible for what’s happening to him. And even though all of this really sucks it was probably the best thing for him in the long run. And even though my husband will become my ex-husband in a little over a month there are very few people who are in his corner at the moment. Even fewer who are able to help come up with the funds to hire a lawyer, and get him out in a few months. But I intended to be one of them. I intended to do what I can. To be there for him in whatever capacity that I can.
After getting our little to bed, and putting up the laundry I decided to open up a bottle of wine, and have a glass. It had been a gift from the company earlier that afternoon so I figured I’d pop in a movie, and have a taste. While pouring my glass I noticed that it was already after 8 pm, and I still had not heard back from my husband. I got this weird feeling in my stomach, and I remember whispering “Please just let him get home safely.” Of course, this scenario and this kind of worry is not uncommon for me. If y’all only knew. So, I began the normal routine of trying to find out where he was. I tried calling his phone again, but it was still off. So, I sent a quick message to a friend asking if they had heard from him recently, and they said that they hadn’t. And this is when my anxiety started to kick in. Overthinking, and worst-case scenarios began to play in my mind. I tried my best to push all of the irrational thoughts out of my head because that does no one any good. And just to answer the obvious unspoken question: Yes, even with everything going on I still worry about him. I always want to make sure that he’s okay. That he’s safe. And that he’s not in some ditch somewhere, or worse. So I kept watching the door, and turned the volume on the TV down low, half expecting to hear that damn stereo system thumping a block away. I was so ready to give him an earful about how much worry, and anxiety he had caused me. To say “Next time call me from your friend’s phone so I know you’re OKAY!” But none of that happened.
After the longest forty-five minutes of my life I received a call from the sheriff’s office informing me that my husband had been arrested. They allowed me to talk to him, and he told me to speak with the bail bondsmen in the morning. After the relief washed over me - he wasn’t dead - I became really angry. “What the hell happened? What did you get arrested for? Was anyone with you? Why the hell couldn’t you wait until I got home before heading off?!” There was a string of “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. Just call the bondsmen tomorrow….” and then the line went silent. I was redirected to an officer who informed me that they couldn’t tell me much, but they did give me some numbers to call the following morning. And it has been a very uneasy, and uncertain time ever since. From finding out the charges, to finding out how much it would cost to get him out, and then finally talking with a lawyer about what to do. There are times when I’ve cried, and felt pretty damn helpless. I’ve felt guilt over not coming home right away that evening. I've been angry over what he did to get himself arrested. But the hardest part was having to tell our daughter that her dad wasn’t going to be home for a while. I almost broke down as she clung to me, and offered to give me her piggy bank money if it would help get her daddy out. Though I know that this is not my fault, and I know that this was bound to happen at some point due to the choices he was making. It still sucks. I still feel some responsibility, and I hate seeing him in there.
Now this is a small town. So small in fact, that someone runs an “In the Jail House Now” page which takes the previous days arrests, and then posts their mugshots all over Facebook. The Saturday after his arrest my phone was going off continuously. People were asking if I was okay? If our daughter was safe? Had she been taken away? Was I in trouble? They asked if I had seen the posts on all of the local groups. And when I finally got the nerve to look it up, at the reactions, I saw something that I didn’t like. Posted by a certain someone who had no business talking. And the anger just kicked in all over again. At him for doing something so stupid, and reckless. At her for even thinking that she had a right to laugh after all she had done. At myself for even giving a fuck about what was published online. And the truth is, that I don’t care what people think about me. Or what they say about me; about my relationship. I don’t care because they will never know the truth behind our closed doors. They don’t know the struggles, and demons my husband has fought over the years. Some that he’s won, and some that have sadly taken over. But what I do care about, fiercely, is our daughter. When it came time to explain to her what was going on I left a lot of details out. I only let her know that her father made a few mistakes that he was having to take responsibility for by staying in jail for a little while. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t hear other things from someone else. So yes, I care. I care about how she’ll get treated for this at school. About how little ears hear nasty things from adults, and then they get repeated on the playground to my daughter. It’s happened before on several occasions. I care about how much she misses her dad, and how she feels about this whole situation. And I think the fact that this is all even happening, that she has to experience this at all, is what both angers and saddens me the most.
For now, all I can do is try my best to stay positive and adjust to what’s going on around me. Because the truth is that my husband will miss Christmas, and more than likely our daughter’s birthday next year. The truth is that he is the only person responsible for what’s happening to him. And even though all of this really sucks it was probably the best thing for him in the long run. And even though my husband will become my ex-husband in a little over a month there are very few people who are in his corner at the moment. Even fewer who are able to help come up with the funds to hire a lawyer, and get him out in a few months. But I intended to be one of them. I intended to do what I can. To be there for him in whatever capacity that I can.
