(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
Albert, my first husband, was born and raised in Ontario, Canada. He stood about five feet, nine inches tall. He had a fairly average build and stature. Albert had curly, light brown hair, which he kept buzzed short, and beautiful blue eyes. He kept his facial hair neat with an orange, and brown haired, goatee.
Albert and I met on a blind date. A friend of Albert’s, and also an acquaintance of mine, went to my high school . She gave Albert my home phone number after I gave her permission to do so. Albert called my number and that was that. After learning from each other that we were born on the same day, two years apart, have brothers who were born a day apart, one year apart from each other, and have mothers who shared the same first and middle name, intrigued us enough to want to meet in person. From that moment on, we were dating.
Albert’s a good guy. I know, even today, his heart has been in the right place over all. We had different views on life. Albert was more focused in the material realm. I was focused on building a family. Albert also preferred the finer things in life. Which is perfectly fine. With that said, he was challenged with patience when it came to purchasing his items.
Albert would buy something before we were financially comfortable enough to do so. When we bought a car, it had to be the showroom car. The car had to have the bells and whistles. Albert quite often flirted with the highest end of our budget. You would see him in designer clothing nine times out of ten. Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, and Polo, were his go to shirts on a regular basis. For pants, he would wear designer jeans or khaki cargo of some kind.
I tended to wear whatever was available to me. With that said, I do enjoy wearing dresses. I love flowy summer dresses. They don’t have to be from a top designer brand. They do have to compliment my face and figure. I too admire the finer things in life. With that said, I have far more patience to accumulate enough resources, before making the buying decision. At least when it came to family toys anyway. Business risks are another ballgame. I was naive in my business ventures when it came to allocating funds. That’s for a different rabbit hole. Albert, he tended to take bigger risks when it came to home purchases.
Albert was also adventurous. We went on many skiing trips together, before our babies were born. Each winter, from 1992, through to 1995, we traveled to ski. Albert and I skied in Quebec, Ontario, and Vermont in the United States. My favorite was Killington, Vermont. We had a condo right on the mountain. Each day of our stay, we had to ski down the hill to get our mountain pass for the day. The condo had a cozy fireplace with a cute kitchenette. Along with a living, and bedroom area combination. It was an open concept design. All the designated living areas were located within one giant room. The only separated room was a standard bathroom.
During the summer months, Albert and I went camping in a small two person tent. My strongest memory camping would be when we camped in Alexandria Bay in Jefferson County, New York, in the year 1992. It was the summer after my high school graduation.
My father’s interests, clothing choices, and approach to material interests, were in contrast to that of Albert. My father had a practical approach to big purchases. He often bought items which were neither too extravagant, nor too cheaply made. My dad didn’t seem to require a lot of toys from my perception. He had a lot of tools he collected over the years. Later in life he took interest in building train sets in his garage. Other than that, I don’t remember my dad being flashy, nor into any form of real adventure. My dad was the middle ground kind of character in life. He would often say, “anything for a quiet and peaceful life.”
My father would grumble at the idea of traveling. Being as tall as he was, with his long legs and bummed knee, he dreaded confined spaces. He wouldn’t go on a plane, nor confine himself in a small cabin on a cruise ship, without giving his two cents on the discomfort he would feel. He didn’t express the reason behind his grumbling per say. All he would say out loud in between his muffled grumbles was “I must follow, she, who must be obeyed.” Referring to my mother. My dad had a nasty little habit of making himself look like a victim. All the while painting my mother as the tyrant whom he must please. Today I can recognize this sneaky little tactic. Back then, I was clueless.
My mother did all the planning, organizing, packing, and itinerary for their trips. My mother was adventurous. She also craved bonding time with my dad. My dad went on holiday with my mum because my mum wanted to go. My dad couldn’t care less either way. At least that was the message he gave me over the years. Albert on the other hand, did most of the planning, or joined me on the planning for our trips. Again, quite the contrast. These contrasting characteristics left me somewhat confused.
One day, whilst on another nature walk alone, I pondered a question. How is it that Albert is like my dad? I don’t get it. That’s when Clairity chimed in. “When you were dating Albert, how often did you do things that you wanted to do?” I thought about it.
I thoroughly enjoyed our skiing adventures. I also enjoyed our trip to Disneyland in Florida. Those trips were the first thing that came to my mind.
“Yes. Those adventures were fun. What I am referring to are dates. Regular, perhaps once a week, date nights. How often did Albert swoon you?”.
That was a good question. More often than not we did whatever came to his mind. If we hung out with friends, they were Albert’s friends. When we visited family, it was Albert’s extended family we went to see. When it was just the two of us, we were either shopping for Disney collectables, in his car parked somewhere, or sitting at home together.
My dad rarely did things with my mum that didn’t involve day-to-day tasks. In their later years, my mum was alone at home on a regular basis. Whilst my dad was at work or isolating himself in his garage. The dots were starting to connect.
Clairity asked me another intriguing question. “What’s the reason a painful twinge is experienced inside of you when you reminisce about the camping trip, and the skiing trip to Killington, Vermont?”
That was a question I didn’t want to have asked. I knew the answer when Clairity asked. Even now, I take deep soothing breaths when thinking about it. I am still healing from it. Thirty odd years later.
One night, during our camping trip in Alexandria Bay, Albert and I were having sex. During sex, Albert went down on me. The next day, I awoke to discomfort in my undies. My vagina was burning. We drove the long five hours drive back to Scarborough, Ontario, where we lived. Albert took me to a walk-in clinic. The doctor said I contracted herpes from Albert. The doctor pointed out a small sore that was opened on Albert’s upper lip.
I was devastated and hugely embarrassed. It certainly didn’t help that the doctor was a man either. Albert laughed. He looked at me and laughed hard whilst inside the clinic for anyone to hear. I grabbed the prescription and ran out of the clinic as fast as I could. Albert trailed behind me. He then got into his car, and proceeded to say “it’s not my fault. Shit happens. You’ll be alright.” No concern. No apology for my discomfort. We drove home in silence.
Thank goodness, every time I have done a screening, all the results have been clear. I haven’t had any physical issues since that day in 1992. I affirm my excellent health in this area remains consistent. Emotional pain had stayed with me though. Making it a challenge to visit those memories again.
“And Killington?” Clairity lovingly prodded.
During our trip to Killington that very next winter, we were again having sex. During intercourse, Albert went down on me. Whilst he was eating my taco, my mind took me on the camping trip. I couldn’t get his laughter out of my head. I wasn’t able to orgasm. Albert became annoyed with me. “For fucks sakes Clair, would you cum already!” As soon as he said that, I was triggered. I told him to stop and get off of me. We went to bed in silence after that.
I walked in silence for a bit after reminiscing about the clinic ordeal. My mind drifted to different men who shamed me, or took advantage of my body without my permission. I thought about the deformity of my vagina. I thought about how people can be cruel. Clairity, in her wise loving voice, brought my mind back into focus.
Clairity started the next line of questioning with, “do you remember the chain of events that occurred after you became pregnant with his and your first baby?” Boy do I ever remember that.
Albert and I were living together in Scarborough, Ontario. My parents had long since moved to New Brunswick for another job opportunity for my dad. They were living in Saint George, New Brunswick. After the incident with the cliff’s edge, back in 1992, I opted to move in with Albert. Rather than move with my parents to New Brunswick.
Albert and I were making a decent household income at that point. Albert worked for a large printing company. I worked in the graphic design department of the Yellow Pages company. Since we were young and free of children, Albert and I lived a free to do as we pleased, sort of lifestyle. When I became pregnant at nineteen, Albert was not too pleased.
“We aren’t ready for a baby. I’m still figuring my shit out with work. We’ve only been living together for a few months.” My response to him was something along the lines of, “everything will be okay. There are solutions to everything. We can do this.” Albert’s rebuttal was, “if you don’t have an abortion, I’m leaving you.” I wasn’t certain if it was an idle threat, or, if he meant it. Either way, his words of leaving me, rattled me.
I thought long and hard, both at work, and at home. I thought about the potential of aborting a baby. Along with what potential spiritual consequences could come from making this decision. I confided in a close colleague for guidance. She was kind to me and never once made me feel judged.
The choice was mine to make. I thought about the fact that my parents were in another province. I thought about the fact that I couldn’t last long under my mother’s roof, even if I did move there with them. My mother and I would have ended up being at odds with one another. That was for certain. I thought about the fact that I had no friends, nor other family members to turn to. My brother was living with his girlfriend and her parents in a different township. The only resemblance of friends that I had were Albert’s friends. The only family was Albert’s. I felt alone and scared.
I also wanted the baby. I loved that I was pregnant. I love children. I may have been a child as well. With that said, I know I would have been a wonderful mother. Even at that age. My heart was broken when I relinquished my rights to motherhood. I bowed to Albert’s request and booked an appointment to abort the pregnancy.
The day of the abortion was scheduled for the same day as mine and Albert’s birthday. I turned twenty that day. Albert turned twenty-two. I was traumatized. When we left for the hospital there were pro life protests going on at what seemed like every street corner. We drove from the east side of Scarborough to downtown Toronto. It was the longest hour and a half of my life. All I kept thinking about was the fact that I was taking a life away on my birthday.
How ironic. It’s amazing how much your universe speaks to you in codes. I wasn’t picking up the clues. I was lost in grief before it was actually time to grieve.
When I woke up from the procedure, a young male was pushing me on the gurney. He was wheeling me back to the recovery area. Whilst he was rolling me along, I looked up at him with dozy eyes and said “I took a life on a day I was given life. What does that make me?” The young man didn’t respond. He just wheeled me quietly back to recovery. I held that pain for an excruciatingly long time.
Clairity brought me back to the present for just a moment to ask, “what did your mother say to you when you told her of your decision to abort?” My mum said “don’t tell your father. He would disown you if he knew you had an abortion. Your father is staunchly against it.
” Keep note of that Clair”, Clairity instructed. “When did you start to feel some sense of relief from guilt after this experience?” Clairity’s question made me think of Grandpa Joe.
The pain didn’t let up until my eldest daughter was two years old. That’s when Grandpa Joe paid me another visit. Grandpa Joe helped me to understand my choice from a spiritual perspective.
LivWithClairity 
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