(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Mature subject matter. 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 was an 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 mustache and goatee.
Albert and I had met on a blind date. A friend of Albert’s, and also an acquaintance of mine, went to the same high school as me. She had given Albert my home phone number after I gave her permission to do so. Albert called my number and that was that. We learned from each other that we were both born on the same day, two years apart. We have brothers who were born one year and one day apart. Albert’s brother was born on June 15th, 1971. My brother was born on June 16th, 1972. Albert’s mother and my mother share the same first and middle name as well. This intrigued us enough to want to meet in person. From that moment on, we dated.
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. Albert’s patience when it came to purchasing his items was challenged. That was where we had differed significantly.
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 all 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. Clothing which had represented Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, and Polo were his go to shirts on a regular basis. Albert also wore many designer jeans or khaki cargo of some kind. Albert’s style was important to him.
I tended to wear whatever was available to me. With that said, I do enjoy wearing dresses. I love flowy summer dresses the most. My clothes don’t have to be from a top designer brand. They do have to compliment my face and figure. I admire the finer things in life too. With that said, I have patience to accumulate resources before I make a substantial purchase. At least when it came to family toys anyway. Business risks are another ballgame. I was naive in my business ventures. I had a difficult time when it came to allocating funds. That’s for a different rabbit hole. Albert took bigger risks when it came to our home purchases.
Albert was also adventurous. We went on many downhill ski trips together before Liv and Laura 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 ski trip, 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 ski pass for the day. The condo had a cozy fireplace with a kitchenette. We had 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 standardized bathroom.
During the summer months, Albert and I went camping in a small two person tent. One of my more painful memories camping would be when we camped in Alexandria Bay in Jefferson County, New York, in the year 1992. It was summer after high school graduation. Albert was different from my dad, or it certainly looked to be that way on the surface.
My father’s interests, clothing choices, and his approach to material gain, 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 that he collected over the years. Later in life my dad took interest in building a train set in his garage. Other than that, I don’t remember my dad being flashy nor into any form of real adventure. My dad was one for the middle ground in life. He would often say, “anything for a quiet and peaceful life.” He seemed simple to please when it came to material success.
My father would grumble at the idea of travel. Being as tall as he was, standing at six feet three inches tall, he dreaded confined spaces with his long legs and bummed knee. My dad wouldn’t go on a plane nor confine himself inside a small cabin on a cruise ship without giving his two cents on the discomfort he would feel. My dad 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. I recognize this sneaky little tactic today. Back then, I was clueless.
My mother did all planning, organizing, packing, and the itinerary for their trips. My mother was adventurous. She also craved bonding time with my dad. My dad only 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. I imagine that was the message he had given my mum too. Albert on the other hand, did most of the planning, or joined me on planning for our trips. Again, quite the contrast. These contrasting characteristics left me somewhat confused.
One day whilst on a nature walk, 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 had wanted to do?”. I thought about it.
I thoroughly enjoyed mine and Albert’s ski adventures. I also enjoyed our trip to Disneyland in Florida. Those trips were the first thing that had come 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 our family, it was Albert’s extended family we went to see. When it was just the two of us, we were either shopping for different Disney collectables, in his car parked somewhere, or sitting at home together watching tellie.
My dad rarely did things with my mum that didn’t involve day-to-day tasks. My mum was often alone at home whilst my dad worked or isolated himself in his garage. This routine was more in the later years. Dots were starting to connect. I had noticed a pattern.
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 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 this. 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 had awoken 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. Albert and I drove home in silence that day. I felt emotionally abandoned by Albert. I felt broken with no way to mend the crack. Quite literally.
Every time I have screenings, and before having sex with someone new since then, all the results have been clear. I haven’t had any physical issues since that day in 1992. I don’t even know if what the doctor had diagnosed was the truth. I took the doctor at his word. I had little choice.
I affirm my excellent health in this area remains consistent. Emotional pain stayed with me though. Making it a challenge to visit those memories again. “No one would ever want me”, was all I could think from then on. I am a broken toy that no one would want to play with.
“And Killington?” Clairity lovingly prodded.
During our trip to Killington that very next winter, we were again having sex. During foreplay, 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 have not been able to orgasm that way ever since.
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 very cruel. Clairity, in her wise loving voice, had brought my mind back into focus.
Clairity started the next line of questioning with, “do you remember the chain of events which had occurred after you became pregnant with his and your first baby?”
Boy do I ever remember that. Albert and I had been living together in Scarborough, Ontario. My parents had long since moved away to New Brunswick for another job opportunity for my dad. They lived in Saint George, New Brunswick. After the incident with the cliff’s edge, back in 1992, I opted to move in with Albert; instead of moving with my parents to a province I had known little to nothing about.
Albert and I were making a decent household income at that time in my life. Albert worked for a large printing company. I worked clerical in the graphic design department at Yellow Pages. Albert and I had lived a free to do as we pleased sort of lifestyle since we were young and didn’t have children . Albert wasn’t happy about me being pregnant at nineteen. I was scared and also accepted the circumstances we had found ourselves in. I was good with being a mum at a young age.
“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 Albert 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 deeply.
I thought long and hard, both at work, and at home. I thought about the potential of aborting a baby. I thought about what spiritual consequences could come from me making this difficult decision. I confided in a close colleague for guidance named Janice. 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 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 my first 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 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 about to take 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 had awoken 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. The memory is vivid to this day. It is a memory which shall stay with me. I know this.
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 over two years old. That’s when my Grandpa Joe paid me another visit. Grandpa Joe helped me to understand my choice from a spiritual perspective. There is no judgment. Pain you place on yourself, yes. Harsh and cruel judgment from a god, no.
LivWithClairity 