Shhh…. I have a secret

We arrived in my hometown (no, I’m not going to specify just in case someone I actually know reads this).

I was so happy to see my kids, and my folks.

Everyone was happy to see me. ER not so much.

My parents thought that we were moving too fast. To be honest, we were.

I believe that at this point he was officially divorced. It took another couple of weeks before I was. (Married on the 25th, officially divorced on the 23rd almost 13 years later.

And the kids? Well, they didn’t really know what to think. Although, kids are smart. They knew that their father had decided to live with other kids and try to make them want a ‘new’ mom. But, they weren’t having it.

My kids love me. They have always known that I love them. I have always been there for them, and will be, to my last breath.

My ex, he had deserted them. As my daughter put it, “he threw us away. He got a new family and we weren’t good enough for him. We’re… broken.”

Just makes me furious that she felt like she wasn’t good enough for him. He didn’t, doesn’t, deserve either of them. They have grown into fine adults. Yes, they have issues, but they are kind, empathetic, caring adults. Both are willing to do anything for their family.

I raised kids that I am proud of.

But back to the story…

We were in my hometown for a couple of days and then I took him home. He lived in Oregon too, but across the state.

I dropped my kids off with their other grandparents on the way down. I wanted to ensure the family knew I did not intend to interfere with the family bond. Family is important. Especially then. They needed to know that just because their son was an asshole, I was not going to cut off their grandkids.

Or in the case of my sister and brother-in-law (who I got in the divorce), their niece and nephew. My SIL rarely talks to her brother; we’re talking once a year type of contact. We, on the other hand, talk all of the time.

They spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family.

Anyway, we dropped the kids off and went the rest of the way to his parents house.

Yes, he was living at home. Moved when the divorce proceedings started. Or I should say, after he was arrested.

Yep, arrested. Yeah. Information I didn’t have at the time.

At the time, I thought it was for domestic disturbance.

As he told it, he and his ex-wife were not getting along so well at that point.

His was her 8th marriage.

Apparently, she married for what the men could do for her. ER and family reroofed and replumbed her house.

His dad bought a car for her, allowing her to pay it back $200 a month, which she never paid a penny on.

ER cleared her property of brambles and downed trees.

Then, after a fight, he was arrested.

His folks told me that whatever she said, they were sure he didn’t do.

I was confused. Domestic disturbance? No one was hurt, he was released on his own recognizance. What is the big deal?

It wasn’t a domestic disturbance. It was sexual assault.

On her 12-year-old daughter and possibly some of her friends.

Claims of him getting them drunk at a sleepover and taking advantage.

Also, collecting, trading, and possibly making underage porn.

What? Again, I didn’t know this until later.

I still thought it was a domestic disturbance.

I go back home, picking up the kids on the way.

He shows up at my door a couple of days later. He moved in. Found a job.

Two months later, I’m pregnant.

Eight weeks in, we fought when he came home for lunch. Right before he left, I really started to feel bad. I mean bad.

I knew something was wrong and I begged him to stay. He refused, and left.

Shortly after, the cramps started and then the bleeding.

Mom took me to my doctor.

She admitted me and then it was done.

I lost our baby. He showed up tight as I got out of surgery. He was apologizing for not listening, not being there when I needed him.

I was glad we hadn’t told his parents yet.

We got married a couple of weeks later in his hometown. None of my family or friends were there.

At this point my dad was showing heavy duty signs of Alzheimer’s. Mom was terrified that he would insist on driving the 8 hours. She was right. He would have.

Both the daughter and I got sick before the wedding. You know, the run down, only want to sleep one? Almost, like you are sedated? (Spoiler).

Anyway, we got married and moved into our own place, just a block from her school. It was a small three-bedroom, one-bathroom house. But it had an office with two built-in desks on either end.

I thought we were happy. Things just moving along.

Daughter started to have nightmares. Kept telling me that there was something wrong with the house. There was an attic, not accessible from inside the house, although I suspect that it originally was. She said that a ghost of a girl lived up there. That she had died horribly in the house. She said the girl was trying to warn her about something, that she was in danger.

I just passed it off as trouble adjusting to all of the changes in her life in the last year.

His mom ended up in the hospital. We were told to come and say goodbye. (she had cancer and despite being removed a few years earlier, she never recovered). She died shortly after we arrived. Stayed to tell us goodbye, I guess. Before she died, she talked to me briefly alone. She told me that she was glad that I had met ER, I was a good influence on him. He wasn’t a bad man, just made some bad choices at times. And she asked me take care of him.

What was I going to say? No? She also told me that sometimes it takes a family member leaving, in order for a new member to emerge. I am pretty sure that she was telling me that I would be pregnant soon.

A couple of hours later, in the early hours of the day, she died peacefully in her sleep.

She was a good woman. I really liked her and the way she made us feel welcome. She was also right.

A couple of weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. Again.

I started back at college that fall. Decided it was time I got a degree. I thought I wanted to teach, and signed up for core classes and some computer.

For some odd reason, they wouldn’t count my computer class from 16 years earlier. Go figure.

My second day of class…. I started bleeding again.

I only had one class left in the day, and of course it was one I hadn’t had yet. I went to my professor’s office and told her that I was pretty sure I was miscarrying and needed to go to the hospital. There must have been something in my face that told her I wasn’t lying.

Within an hour, I was back at the doctor’s office. An hour after that, the hospital and it was done. No longer pregnant. My doctor told me that the probability of me getting pregnant and carrying to term was small. Either way, there was no way I would be able to get pregnant again for at least 6 months.

I went back to school two days later. I tried to keep myself busy, so I didn’t think about what could have been.

We went to a friend’s wedding during the last half of October, and a week later, I knew I was pregnant. I actually felt when the egg attached. It was weird. It felt like a quick, deep pinch, and I immediately knew. I looked at ER, and said, “I think I’m pregnant, again.”

Talk about bad timing. We had been fighting and discussing getting a divorce. I am not sure how serious we were. I just know that I felt like I wasn’t important enough to him. I was feeling neglected. Just like I was when I was married to my Ex.

‘But the doctor said I couldn’t get pregnant for at least a few more months.’

Yeah, she was wrong. I miscarried at the end of Sept. I knew I was pregnant by the end of Oct. I Waited until right before Thanksgiving to go in and get tested at the clinic. Positive. I ran into my doctor in the parking lot.

The conversation was basically, “I’m pregnant again.”

She said, “there is no way. It is too soon.”

I assured her I was. She had me walk over to her office and she both retested my blood, urine and did a vaginal ultra sound.

Yep, she agreed, I was pregnant and about 6 weeks along.

She was amazed. There should have been no way I could be pregnant only three weeks after I had a miscarriage. And yet, I was.

I was told I was going to need to take it really easy. Nothing too strenuous.

Full time student.

Mom to a 12-year-old and an 8-year-old. Both of which were having issues in school. (But that too is a separate story).

Helping my mom deal with my father steadily getting worse.

And of course, my marriage that wasn’t even 9 months old.

Easy peasy. Not.