Remember When

There are times when days go by and life seems to be what we thought it would be. Not perfect, but stable. The laughter isn't too loud and the upsets are small. Plenty of interaction in the daylight and quiet hours before bed. There are times when I look around at our newly renovated home and feel such gratefulness for the heart that my husband has, knowing that his generosity far outweighs mine in so many ways. It is he who makes sure that we have nice things and new experiences. It is he that doesn't hesitate to stop at three different places to make sure that he brings home the exact treat that he felt I should I have. It is he that will leap to rescue any one of our kids from an outside situation that he feels they don't deserve.

This and much more is what creates such heartbreak when the roller coaster plummets. This is what creates so much fear as you see the signs that are recognizable so quickly once you have learned the pattern. We walk on eggshells and tip toe in our own house. We plan to do it better this time. What I have genuinely found to be my most effective statement is God please don't let it hurt so bad this time." There are times that I cannot even remember what happened, what was said but I still feel PTSD when certain situations occur or a tone is detected.

I remember when I was a young adult and the ways of the real world had not yet molded me. The plans I had for life were so well laid out that there was no room for variance. Every step I took was toward a plan of bettering my family that I would soon have. I went to college, got married to a very serious man that I had gone to college with and was pregnant before our first anniversary. When my daughter was 5 weeks old, I began working in the field that I held my degree. This is where I learned that my well laid plans could begin to change. Suddenly, I wanted to be home, raising my children, not off at a job that I now found meaningless because I never liked the field to begin with. I may have begun to realize that life had a bit more to it than what appeared text book. Seven years and two sons later, my husband and I divorced. I had learned the hard way that even the best laid plans could be derailed with thoughtless actions, careless words and even growth.

Single life helped me do what I had forgotten to do in my early 20s, grow up. I had gone from my parents to my husband and now I had to move forward. For four years I learned what it was to support myself and my children, I learned how to be alone and I learned that there was more to life than sticking the life plan that I had planned, I had to live it as well.

It was during this time that I met the man that would be my forever husband. A sign of the times, we met on the internet where his profile caught my attention with the words white picket fence. A reach back to the plans of repeating my childhood. He brought fun to my soccer mom lifestyle and sugar to my kids healthy diets. They loved him and the energy he brought and so did I.

Within the first year we saw that he had another side but that usually came out on his biological kids who were victims of a very rough custody battle. The hate that those poor kids had to hear changed who they would become. Soon after meeting these precious children, I began to see a pattern that affected my husband for weeks after the kids would go back to their mom. His sisters and parents had made little comments regarding the volatility of his relationship with his kids and kids in general, but I will never forget defending him and stating that yes, he was hard on my kids but he gave them the whole package, something their own father did not. I didn't realize that the pink flags would soon turn red. I thought at the time that all the anger came from the fighting he had to engage in to see his kids. I made excuses at every turn. It wasn't hard to do when the fun, passionate times were so much fun, the love was so intense and the highs were so high.

He fit in well with our friends and was always the life of the party. It was like a gathering would energize his very being as he told story after story. When my kids dad would not show up for visitation, he was right there making sure they had the time of their lives. When the same man tried to take my father's retirement, it was my husband who stepped up and ran it the family gas station for nothing on top of his full time job.

Looking back, he was my hero over and over again and I trusted that feeling until I couldn't. Eventually the energy that he used for us would be used against us. The intensity of his love became the intensity of his anger. Doctors appointments, therapy sessions and family counseling soon revealed that we were dealing with more than just bad moods from outside issues, he was finally diagnosed with Bi Polar Disorder and I was naive enough to feel relief. Now that we had a diagnosis, they would be able to get him on the right medicine and we could go on with our lives and he would be better. I had no idea that this was a life changing diagnosis, no idea that it was progressive and no idea of the stigma attached to the words. I had no idea that family members would live in denial for years to come and that more people would leave our lives than stay. I had no idea that I would have to learn to live with the knowledge that any plans I thought I had would be at the mercy of a roller coaster that I was not driving. Or that our vows would be what held not just our marriage together but our love as well.