6. Out of Energy: Lord, Sustain Thee. Please?

Four months into our marriage Rob got mad. Well, madder than his usual mad. We were remodeling the cabin, and I was pitching in fiercely. I learned how to hang drywall, and how to make a mean cornerbead. When I messed something up I tore it down and did it again. I'd work all day long swinging a hammer, mixing mud, demolishing walls, and tearing up carpeting, then clean up and have dinner hot on the table every single night. While I performed to these outstanding standards Rob appeared fairly happy. One day, however, I said or did something wrong--and Rob walked up to me and calmly announced this was just not working out, our marriage was probably a mistake. The cold, stoney look from so many engagement break-offs was back on his face. I was devastated.

Rob's main complaint about me was that I was a nag. I nagged him when I asked him if he really wanted to wear those wrinkled pants to his business meeting, or pointed out he was holding up twenty cars in the passing lane while talking on his cell phone. I nagged him by asking him to repair a leaky faucet or help me carry fifty pounds of dog food up the stairs. To top things off, I had the audacity to crack my knuckles. It's true this is a habit in which I'm eternally entrenched but Rob was well aware of my habit from the first day we met. Now that we were married, however, popping my knuckles was seen by him as an attack, a carefully orchestrated plot to drive him mad... a defiant show of disrespect and insolence.  I was becoming simply intolerable! Between the constant nagging and the knuckle popping... well I was obviously a total failure as a wife. 

Intimacy became obsolete. Rob began to come home from work, eat his hot meal and drop on the sofa in front of the TV, telling me to leave him alone while he unwound. After unwinding time was over it was off to bed for more unwinding with a good book. Absolute quiet was expected of me during this time... no talking, no throat clearing, no laughing, belching, popping, no noise-making of ANY kind; this was ROB's TIME TO RELAX AND DRIFT OFF TO SLEEP. Violation of the quiet rule often resulted in loud verbal reprimands, many times followed by him simply getting up and going to another bedroom.

I Don't Wanna See it. Ever.

I'm an amateur photographer. I take landscape photos and people portraits. Some of them are quite good, and I've gotten tons and tons of compliments on my work. In 2005 Rob bought me a digital SLR camera for Christmas. I bought myself some more lenses and gear and ended up with a pretty impressive collection of picture-takin' stuff. One of my favorite things in the world to do, next to shooting pictures, is retouching pictures. I took a class on Photoshop and excelled at it. With what I learned at school combined with the natural eye for photos that God gave me I've been able to create some beautiful images.

At first, I really wanted to show Rob my work; we were in Utah and I had no friends there, only Rob. I thought he would enjoy looking at my work and offering me critique. Especially images of his kids, his work, his house, his hobbies etc. Rob wasted no time in turfing me off to a friend of his whom was also a photographer, to show my work to and 'talk photography with'. I was a little embarrassed about this but respected Rob's desire to be left alone. In very short time I learned that I could only grab Rob's attention with my photography if the subject were exclusively his kids or his dogs, and then only very limited images.

In 2007 I bought myself a digital video camera. I taught myself how to take movie clips and edit them into stunning music videos. I was really proud of my ability to fit video clips with absolutely perfect music, throw in complex special effects and text and come up with really nice, professional looking music videos. Rob was agitated again: I had finally given up on showing him my photography and now I had this newfangled video stuff with which to bother him completely. I managed to sit him down many times to watch my little videos but it was always obvious that I was absolutely interfering with his winding down time, or his Simpsons time, or his quiet bed-time time.

Sometime in 2007 I discovered Youtube and thought, hey I could share my prince's interests with videos of stuff he loved: vintage dirt bike commercials and old enduro home movies, funny dogs, great bridges across the country he had worked on, music videos of his favorite old rock bands. I set about making my husband love me bunches by finding and showing him all kinds of cool Rob stuff.

My idea did not work out as planned.  One day Rob said he had to have a talk with me. He stood there and simply said Trace there's something I want you to know. If you ever have something to show me on your computer, whether it's samples of your photography, these stupid Youtube videos, even pics of my own kids-- if it's on your computer and you want to show it to me I DO NOT WANT TO SEE IT. EVER. I'M NOT INTERESTED IN IT, I WON'T BE INTERESTED IN IT MKAY?

I was crushed. I called my daughter Courtney later that night and told her what he said and she cried. She told me later she never felt so much anguish over such an inconsiderate remark from a man to his wife, and it broke her heart that her mommy had been cut to the quick by the man who had vowed to cherish her forever.

5. Out of Time: Will You Marry Me, for Sure This Time?

My daughter Kim caught an immediate flight to Utah and drove me home. I was a complete wreck, a limp rag. I downed some valium and slept through the drive home. Over the next four weeks I cried, prayed, begged, slept, threw up, threatened, and cajoled. Rob remained stoney silent. Then one day in January, out of the clear blue sky he called me and asked me to come home and marry him. Again. Thrice burned, I asked him to fly to Vancouver and marry me there, with my family. Rob was on a plane in two days, it was like a fairy tale. We were married by my son-in-law on January 13th in a lovely home ceremony. Rob was sure to bring the prenuptial agreement I had agreed to several months earlier, and we signed it at the same time we signed our marriage license.

Finally.... all my time waiting patiently, knowing, just KNOWING he loved me and really, truly wanted me for all time had paid off! We were married and it would last forever. I would live happily ever after with my handsome, darling prince. It was OK that he insisted I abide by his terms of absolute financial submission, after all he made four times as much money as I did. There was no way I'd ever be able to contribute equally to our household, so I was very, very lucky that this man was so gracious as to allow me to live under his wing! I would work very hard to prove my love to him by being a team player, attending all his outings and errands, never asking of anything for myself. Dinner would forever be hot on the table when he walked in the door just like his mom had done for him. His tee's would be bleached, the lawn would be mowed, and I would never, ever say a word about his dirt bike collection. I loved this man more than my own life. I loved him so much it hurt, and I'd give one thousand percent to our marriage.

4. Out of Despair: Lord, Seriously?

My First Red Flag: Ken 2004

Ahhh, Ken. The source of my first-ever red flag with Rob. His 29 year old ten-year-old. The guy three people in two states have taken me aside and asked politely 'is he mildly retarded?'

Ken is not retarded at all. He's not even developmentally disabled. What he is is career-challenged. That first red flag? When Rob and I were still just talking by phone, hadn't met in person yet, he told me about his son living with him. We were chatting away and Rob launched into how completely proud he was of his son for going out and landing two part-time jobs; one at Safeway and the other at Sears.

Cool, I thought, the kid sounds motivated! I wondered if he was saving up for a car or maybe college, and if this was maybe his senior year in high school. Rob was going on: Ken would be working 10 or 15 hours a week at each job and... he just couldn't be prouder of him! When I asked him Ken's age, the red flag that flew up and smacked me square in the face when Rob said TWENTYFOUR was huge and I should have paid IMMENSE attention to it. Thinking of my own daughter, who, at 22 was a college graduate and 911 dispatcher with her own 401k, I was astonished and, frankly, turned off at the pride that gushed forth on the phone that night over his 24 year old son's new career collecting shopping carts.  Oh, would that I have known then, that this adult-child would be a key player in the ultimate ruin of my life with my prince. He would win his daddy's heart and I would lose it.

The Red Flags Keep Rolling Out...
Rob first proposed to me in March of 2005. (I say first because it was the first of three marriage proposals. He kept proposing, procrastinating, and breaking it off.) We had driven to Eden, Utah to look for a house to buy. He had accepted a job there and wanted to have his house purchased before he began the new job. Anyway, he asked, I said yes, and the next morning I sang some silly song to him about taking me away to the mountain castle blah blah blah.

In May we talked about how hard it would be for us to be apart, he was leaving in June and I was not welcome to marry him until I had paid my car off and was completely out of debt. We ultimately decided it would just suck too much to be separated by two states so I would quit my job on June 1st and move to Eden with him. My dream was coming true! We still could not talk about the whole getting married thing, even though I had a ring I had no indication of a date. I had, after all, a car to get paid off before I could marry him.

Things went smoothly during the move, I was in heaven moving into this beautiful big house in the mountains of Eden with my Prince who would love me and cherish me forever. (Well, as soon as that little marriage thing was fulfilled anyway). Weekdays he worked at his new job and I unpacked and set up our new pad, cleaned and cooked. On weekends my prince would surely want to share our days off together, doing things he liked to do with me, as I would him?Wouldn't we run errands together, take little road trips, do stuff together? His stuff and my stuff? Wasn't that what couples did?

Well, we did stuff. We ran errands. We took little road trips. His stuff. His errands. His trips. Exclusively. A month or so after moving to Eden we drove into Ogden one day to run some of these infamous errands. Home Depot was on the radar. I really wanted a cup of coffee but Rob didn't so... we didn't stop for coffee. We did go to Home Depot and all his other places and he promised we'd stop for coffee, but we never did. Before I knew it we were on our way home.

I said nothing until we got back up to Eden, a little confused at the touch of selfishness I had just witnessed in my Prince. We pulled up to a four-way stop and I looked at him and said  'can I ask a question? Why do we always do your errands and side trips, but ignore what I ask to do?' and, I'll never forget this, Rob stared at me, sitting at that stop sign, and his face became very dark. And out of absolutely nowhere he spat out You know what Trace I listened to that for twenty years and I am NOT about to listen to it for another twenty years. I am NOT going to marry you. He drove like a maniac the last two miles home, slammed the door, and I didn't see him for the rest of the day. I retreated to the guest room I had so carefully decorated with all my worldly belongings and wondered what had just happened. Was this real? Surely it had to be a bad dream, my Prince would never go from loving me with all his heart to slamming me with a break up over a simple question?

Rob half-heartedly apologized a day later. My prince was back... he did love me! The incident was forgotten.  Over the next few months I worked hard to be a team player, to always be pitching in with 200% effort to show how much I worshiped Rob and wanted him to be happy with me. I got a job. I kept our house spotless and fixed all his favorite meals. In November his daughter moved in with us. She stayed for about a month and decided to move back out. On the day she left Rob returned from taking her to the airport and went straight to bed. It was around noon. I lay down next to him, just wanting to be there for him to cry on my shoulder about how much he would miss his little girl. After a few hours of dead silence Rob suddenly blurted out that he really didn't know where our relationship was going. No warning. No hints, just Trace I think I'm done with you. We both cried when I asked him if he still wanted to marry me and he said no.

I fell apart. I worked twice as hard to make Rob happy to have me living with him. Floors were spotless, dinners were hot and on time, snow in the driveway was shoveled. I tiptoed around the house; maybe I were invisible enough he would enjoy all my efforts but not be bothered enough by my actual presence to ask me to leave. Christmas was strained but I worked hard to be a good partner. I thought things were going to be OK when Rob bought me a nice camera for Christmas. Photography was my passion, I saw art in every tree, mountain, and snowbank and I wanted to capture it. I was good, too. God had blessed me with an eye for taking photos. Rob must have thought so too, otherwise why would he have given me such a nice gift, this professional camera?  

In January Rob agreed to attend a pre-marriage class at a local church. We went for six weeks, did our homework, talked about what we learned. Rob never showed much emotion so when he seemed kind of dry throughout the class I wasn't worried. It's just his princely demeanor I told myself. That very logic-driven brain, devoid of irrelevant feelings, was precisely what made him a brilliant professional engineer. Who was I to question his successful life?

In March I had the audacity to bring up a possible date, we had been engaged now for one year. Rob replied he just really didn't know, in fact he didn't even know if he wanted to get married ever. His reason this time: he was a selfish man, he said, and he wanted what he wanted, with no one to be accountable for it. He wanted to start collecting dirt bikes and was not about to have some wife give him grief for it. That was his great reason for dumping me. Again. I gave him his ring back and moved into my little room downstairs.

In May Rob announced he had purchased and closed on a house on the other side of the valley. He would be moving into it--alone. I could stay in this house, he said, until he sold it. I put on my bravest face and helped him pack and move his stuff out. I was fortunate, I told myself, to have such a generous boyfriend to let me live in one of his houses for free. Surely if I pitched in, gave more effort and kept a cheerful demeanor he would realize I belonged with him. So I helped him pack, move, and unpack his things. I cleaned his new cabin spotless. I put clean sheets on his new bed and prepared him a bunch of meals he could heat in the microwave for dinners. Then I went back to the big quiet house, completely empty now except for my little room downstairs, and cried myself to sleep.

In July Rob moved his son into his cabin. I cleaned house and cooked meals for them every week. If I ever spent the night I was instructed to sleep on the sofa. When I finally got tired of the big empty house I took the initiative to rent a little apartment. Bob visited occasionally and we courted as if we had just met. Five months into apartment-living I grew some kahonas and told Rob I would be moving back to my family in Washington if we weren't engaged by the end of the year.  On New Years Day he pleaded for a little time, I gave it, and in February, two years after his first marriage proposal, he asked me to marry him and stay with him in Eden. He still wouldn't commit to a date, but since my car was now paid off and I was out of debt with money in the bank, I was closer than ever to being in compliance as a fiance.

We were engaged again! I moved into the cabin with him. Spring came, then summer. Kids visited, grandkids were born, life went on. We went on many, many day trips to pick up old dirt bikes. I loved going with him. I loved being with him. I loved his nasty old dirt bikes, spiders and all. I did cringe inwardly when he rebuked me for daring ask if we might ever take a photo-shooting day trip, but I cheerfully went with him on every single dirt bike-buy, and that was ok. We got along, shared hours and hours of delightful conversation about politics, family, dogs and cats. I was deliriously happy with my prince. I waited patiently for him to bring up a wedding date but that conversation never came.

In December, ten months after my second dream marriage proposal, Rob dropped a bomb on me once again, saying wow he just didn't know if he really wanted to get married.  Shocked once again, I took hold of myself and stood my ground, and calmly said goodbye.

3. Out of the Fog: there is a road up ahead!

Tonight is the eve of the five year anniversary since we first met. It's not a night to go into details of that first glimpse, date, walk, or anything like that. Phooey to all that, it was all a lie anyway, just neither of us knew it at the time.

What tonight IS is a time to rejoice in the fact that my God has decided that through all this pain I shall grow strong, tall, and bold. Tonight I decided, after reading the fabulous, life-saving book Life, Laugh, Love Again: a Christian Woman's Guide Through Divorce, that I would write my own story. Like authors Michelle, Connie, Rosalind, and Carla I too will put to pen my experience, my highs and lows; the story of how my Prince Charming galloped up on his white horse (or in this case, wearing his white engineer's hat) and whisked me away, stealing my entire heart, mind, and soul. It will tell of red (or at least yellow) flags, some of which bore a great big black diamond in the center, but which blew so fast in the breeze of blind love that they were blithely ignored.

Like Michelle and her book, this is not about bashing Rob, and the intent of this journal is not to make him a monster. (In fact, his name, along with the names of his family members, was changed once I decided to publish this blog).  This is something I do to cope with my tremendous loss, and hopefully it will help me find my way to the end of this cold, dark tunnel, the most agonizing heartache imaginable. If that means writing about the scary, the embarrassing, the abusive; it's certainly not something I'm doing with any malice. It just is what it is.

I'm still too tender around the ears to go into any detail about the beginning; the how-we-met and when-he-proposed moments will have to wait until after I've cleared the Acceptance hurdle and am happily on my way to Life After Divorce.

Tonight I'm all about the negatives: the tales of woe (which should have been whoa!) the red flags, the betrayals, the signs, the hmmm that's odd behavior moments. Those are what strengthen me now, while I'm still swimming in this sticky tepid pool that lies somewhere between the third and fourth phases of grief. We all know those, right: denial, bargaining, anger, depression, acceptance. The five golden steps. Tonight I'm lolligagging between anger and depression. I'll be honest. I like the anger a lot better. Srsly. I gotta say I really have no use for this depression thing. Anger kicks ass. It gives me strength, and, very non-biblically, it gives me peace. I could camp out on the Anger step for EVAR.

I'm still standing pretty firmly on that step, but today, eighteen days into this, my little toe on the left foot took a tentative little poke out onto the Depression step. I didn't love it. I had to take a pain pill in fact. When it kicked in God said Write. Write it all down. Journal, Blog, whatever just put it down somewhere. So heeeer we go.

2. Out of Nowhere: Shock

"When I was just a little girl

I asked my mother, what will I be?

Will I be happy, will I be rich?

Here's what she said to me: 

Que sera, sera

whatever will be will be,

the future's not ours to see...

que sera, sera"

Typing this hurts. It hurts my fingers, my hands, my toes. There is no spot, not one atom of my body that does not hurt; is not broken.

"I lift up my eyes to the Lord. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, Maker of Heaven and Earth".

The kind of pain I feel is not comparable to physical pain. I've not been cut, or bruised. My skin is not hanging in a burned mess; my bones are not mangled. Physically I am whole. Light a few tears, but other than that, whole.

Did I really walk that roadway two days ago?  Did he really leave me abandoned on the side of the highway... is all this real, or just a bad dream?

The sting of this pain is beyond physical. It is the pain of self-torment; of rejection, regret, and disbelief. Somewhere in the mix, according to the medical experts, shock. Shock is our body's defense against unbearable pain or anguish. When the body is in shock blood is perfused from the limbs into the central body organs, to preserve them and nurture them with extra oxygen and nutrients. People in shock have described a feeling of numbness, or tingling, or 'deadness' in their arms, legs, toes, fingers.

Through the grace of my God and the miracle of pain meds for arthritis, I'm able to track my journey in writing. This is a new kind of pain, and it dwarfs any kind of physical pain I've ever felt. It is excruciating. Right now I don't want to survive it.

1. Hitting the Road: The Beginning of... the Beginning

How it all went down...

I had served dinner, and my husband Rob had retired early for our sunrise road trip to Central Washington. I packed snacks and water bottles for our trip, and put together food and bedding for the dogs, who were coming with us. Fed the cats, took out the garbage. When I was finished I stood at the top of the stairs and silently thanked God for the kazillionth time for blessing us with our beautiful home in the forest, and headed to bed.

Next morning I got up early, showered, and fixed breakfast. Ran upstairs and counted out vitamins for two days, grabbed our overnight bags and dashed downstairs. After giving the house one last glance-over I casually walked right out the front door. I had no idea it would be the last time I'd ever see my home-- my pets, my kitchen, my bedroom--again.

Our road trip that morning took a turn south with a simple, silly argument over finances.  Somewhere in the fray, in a less-than-brilliant defensive tactic I reminded my husband of all the money he had spent that month on his huge collection of dirt bikes. I knew the moment the words left my tongue that I had just committed a grave error, and braced myself for return fire: obscenities, pouring  freely like water through a canyon.

Our visit in Central Washington was less than perfect, and on our way home the next day my husband looked at me with rage in his eyes. 'Trace our marriage has been a mistake. I do not want to be accountable to anyone any more. I don't want to eat your (expletive) organic food, and I want to buy (expletive) dirt bikes when I want. I don't like being around you; I think you're a nag. When we get home to Olympia I want you to pack your stuff and move (expletive) out of my house. If you don't leave when we get home I will call the sheriff and have you thrown out."

We stopped for gas about twenty miles from Wenatchee, Washington and I got out of the truck, five years worth of obscenities, name-calling, and temper tantrums swirling around my head. I'll walk, I thought. I'll walk behind this gas station to show him how hurt and fearful I am of him right now. He will finish filling the tank, cool down, and then he'll come get me. Maybe he'll even apologize. 

I remember watching some branches on apple trees begin to blow around and thought how weird that was, because there was no wind. That was the last rational thought I would hold in my head for the next three months.  Rob Dyer drove away from that gas station with his dogs, his son, and a bottle of cherry wine someone had given us... but not his wife.   I never saw him again.

I walked for hours. Through the numbness, survival kicked in, and finding someone willing to let me make a long distance call became my first priority. I came to a small cafe where no one spoke any English. The woman behind the counter took one look at me when I walked in--and wordlessly handed me her telephone. I called Rob's daughter in Wenatchee and she drove out to rescue me, and put me up for the night. The next morning my daughter Courtney drove out from Spokane to pick me up; I sought refuge there for three months. 


It was in the dark, on the first morning in Spokane that God first spoke to me. He showed me Job 42:3, you asked 'who is this who questions My wisdom with such ignorance?' It is I, and I was talking about things I knew nothing about; things far too wonderful for me to understand.  


For several months I regarded that morning as the beginning of the end... I was wrong, for it was actually the beginning of the beginning. 

    I told myself on that drive to Spokane: one year from today you will turn 50, and on that day you will put this event behind you. I made a promise to myself and to God that I'd allow myself one year exactly to cry and grieve, then I would move on. I had no idea how difficult it was about to get.

This is my journey...