A Genie in a Bottle

There was one other time in my life where I felt like the easiest “out” of a situation I truly didn’t want to remain in, was the BIG ONE, the “permanent out”.

I came so very close that one time. Two full refills of anti-hypertensives, a full bottle of sleeping pills and a bottle of whine. My *380 for good measure, just in case.

I left work at midnight and drove to my pre-selected spot. Somewhere secluded that was closed for the summer and where only a cop making his nightly rounds would find me. I plugged in my old Alice Cooper tape and opened the back door of my van. I sat there for I guess and hour or two, talking myself through this, making sure this is what I wanted to do. I hated to embarrass anyone or make anyone feel bad but inside I was tired of hanging on. I just couldn’t see leaving and embarrassing everyone with a divorce that was bound to turn ugly.

I eventually opened that first bottle and poured about half the little pills out into my hand. I held them for a long time. As I was listening to the night creatures all around me I kept trying to extract from my head any reason for not going through with it.

I looked across the parking lot I had chosen to the elementary school I had gone to so many years ago. I wondered how many of my classmates had made something of their lives, and wondered if they were happy. How many were somewhere right now, at 3 in the morning, wishing they had someone to talk to. Someone who would tell them everything will be alright.

Life can be so full of joy. I can remember some of them in my own life. The births of my children. The Christmases where they were just beginning to learn about Santa. Their little ballgames and their big moments like getting their learners permits. They brought me joy throughout their little lives.

I have wished, like a child with a genie that I could go back. Wished that I could go back to that time when I had the children. Back when they were young and fun and putting their fat little arms around my neck, kissing me with their smudged faces. Back to when I was spending my days taking them to school and cooking their dinner and cleaning their clothes and picking them up from school. You never, ever realize how much you will miss those times until they’re gone.

Now they’re making their own memories. One makes them with me included, one without me. My son hasn’t had anything to do with me since I made the decision to leave his daddy rather than commit suicide that night. He was a senior in high school that night. The last thought I had before I spit out that first handful of pills was that if I do this I will ruin his senior year.

It has been 9 years since that night. I could never have imagined he would have listened to his daddy’s lies, forgetting the past 17 years when it was me, his mother that he came to when he was hurt or sad or in trouble, never fathoming he would choose his father who had never given him anything emotionally. Then, I never imagined it could possibly last this long…his anger towards me. His two children don’t know their “other” granny.

It makes me wonder if I truly made the right choice that night.