I was living the American Dream. I had a wonderful husband, three daughters, one granddaughter, a two hundred thousand dollar home with a swimming pool right across the street from where my granddaughter went to school, and my husband and I had nice, new, cars. My husband Steve was a salesman for a temp agency making a six figure income and he was able to work from his office at home and we really had it made. But then, you always know there will be a "but then" when it starts with "I had", then Steve started hating to actually go to work preferring to stay home and hang out with me by the pool in the summer and sit by the fireplace in the winter and smoke pot. At first I thought, OK, he needs a little break but he was turning in more and more false work reports to his boss and I could feel Russell, the boss, getting suspicious, and I started getting scared. I just wasn't so sure what I was supposed to be scared of. I tried asking the girls to ask their dad to take them out to work with him to encourage him to go but they were teenagers and not too interested and that wouldn't have done much long term. Then it happened. He got fired. I stood by him writing to all of the many creditors breathing down our necks and borrowing money from my friends to keep us afloat plus I started a home daycare to do my part. He finally got a much lesser job with another temp agency in town but he was pretty miserable with it. I should mention here that Steve never took blame for anything in his life and this was no exception. He hated Russel now with a vengeance and his main goal in staying in the temp business was to try to bring Russel down. He did underhanded things like selling information about Russ to other companies and even giving it away if he had to. I was still his cheerleader as he became weirder and weirder. And smoked more and more pot and got more and more drugs from the doctor for anxiety.
We had a spat one night and I woke up the next morning after he was gone sick and vomiting. I called him at his office and asked him if he could bring me some Pepto on his lunch break (my car had already been repo'ed) and he said OK but that he was very busy. I fell back asleep and when I woke up again and went downstairs there was a bouquet of flowers in the huge kitchen on the counter with a card and a note that said, "I'm leaving the car here so you can do some running today and walking back to work." I was thrilled that he wasn't angry with me about the night before and rushed to get dressed so I could take him out to lunch. I got to his office at noon it was locked and dark. I called the main office and found out that they were looking for him, too. Then I got really worried, sure he had been mugged walking the two miles to work. I called the police who of course first asked if we had been fighting and when I told them about the spat and then showed them the flowers and the card and note they decided to put out a missing person's report right away instead of waiting the usual 48 hours. I myself started searching for him, too. It was dark and sleeting all that day and I drove the route to where he worked and back every way I could think of and then started walking it. I looked under every bush I passed for his body and kept going back and forth sometimes stopping at the house to change clothes and go again. Then I thought maybe he killed himself and when I next got to the house I searched the shed and was trying to pry open the trunk to a broke down car we had when I started hearing my oldest daughter's voice distantly calling out to me, "Mom... Mom... MOM!" and I turned and looked and she was reaching for my arm and I looked at the door way to the house and noticed that almost everyone we knew was standing in the doorway to the house as Jami continued, "Mom, come inside, please! Mom. he's not in there. It's all a joke on you. Call the bank, Mom. See if there is any money there!"
I numbly followed her into the house and someone handed me a phone and the bank automated service answered and I hit all the right buttons to find out the bank account had been emptied that day.
I remember walking to the fireplace and sitting on the floor by it. A friend, Carrie, came and sat beside me and I whispered to her, "Please, tell everyone to leave. Just you stay" and the house slowly got quiet. I stared at the fire for hours, chain smoking. Carrie sat by me until she grew too tired and moved to lay on the couch. I don't remember when I started putting the cigarettes out on myself. I know I didn't cry a tear or have a thought to think. The next morning Carrie called for help and I was committed to a psyche ward. I went without any resistance. I only remember that when I walked into the place with it's locked doors I felt safe. It was like a ca-coon wrapped around me. No phones ringing or people chattering or freezing sleet. I was safe.
We had a spat one night and I woke up the next morning after he was gone sick and vomiting. I called him at his office and asked him if he could bring me some Pepto on his lunch break (my car had already been repo'ed) and he said OK but that he was very busy. I fell back asleep and when I woke up again and went downstairs there was a bouquet of flowers in the huge kitchen on the counter with a card and a note that said, "I'm leaving the car here so you can do some running today and walking back to work." I was thrilled that he wasn't angry with me about the night before and rushed to get dressed so I could take him out to lunch. I got to his office at noon it was locked and dark. I called the main office and found out that they were looking for him, too. Then I got really worried, sure he had been mugged walking the two miles to work. I called the police who of course first asked if we had been fighting and when I told them about the spat and then showed them the flowers and the card and note they decided to put out a missing person's report right away instead of waiting the usual 48 hours. I myself started searching for him, too. It was dark and sleeting all that day and I drove the route to where he worked and back every way I could think of and then started walking it. I looked under every bush I passed for his body and kept going back and forth sometimes stopping at the house to change clothes and go again. Then I thought maybe he killed himself and when I next got to the house I searched the shed and was trying to pry open the trunk to a broke down car we had when I started hearing my oldest daughter's voice distantly calling out to me, "Mom... Mom... MOM!" and I turned and looked and she was reaching for my arm and I looked at the door way to the house and noticed that almost everyone we knew was standing in the doorway to the house as Jami continued, "Mom, come inside, please! Mom. he's not in there. It's all a joke on you. Call the bank, Mom. See if there is any money there!"
I numbly followed her into the house and someone handed me a phone and the bank automated service answered and I hit all the right buttons to find out the bank account had been emptied that day.
I remember walking to the fireplace and sitting on the floor by it. A friend, Carrie, came and sat beside me and I whispered to her, "Please, tell everyone to leave. Just you stay" and the house slowly got quiet. I stared at the fire for hours, chain smoking. Carrie sat by me until she grew too tired and moved to lay on the couch. I don't remember when I started putting the cigarettes out on myself. I know I didn't cry a tear or have a thought to think. The next morning Carrie called for help and I was committed to a psyche ward. I went without any resistance. I only remember that when I walked into the place with it's locked doors I felt safe. It was like a ca-coon wrapped around me. No phones ringing or people chattering or freezing sleet. I was safe.
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