A year of lasts....

Here I sit in the car with little Ella, waiting in the parking lot as I have so many times, while Derek does the grocery shopping, or the clothes shopping, or any other kind of shopping. Today he took Dillon in with him, which always gives me mixed emotions: on the one hand it gets him out of the car, but with the constant risk that something he does will set Derek off. This sitting the car thing started a few holidays ago, when the hassles of carting both small children into the store just for a few things seemed unnecessary. Somehow it's become a regular routine now, even if I want to come in. "Stay in the car," he says, "I'll call you if you can come out." Then he goes, sometimes asking  at the last second if there's anything I need. Gee thanks.

As an added measure of control, he always takes the keys out of the ingnition or asks me, "Do you want the a/c or can you put the windows down?" I've told him countless times that it's up to me to decide if I want the windows down or not, and I will make that decision myself when I choose. I've told him that he cannot dictate such things when he's not even in the car. But still, every time, we go through this dance. Now I pretend just to satisfy him: oh, yes, take the keys out. Then when he's gone, I put them back in and start the car's a/c to avoid the blistering heat of the day. 

So today I sit again, while he wanders through the isles, making all the decisions, and we wait. And wait. And wait. Usually I read. Or pray. Or just visualize things. Today I watched as people filed out with post Easter goodies, plastic ducks and colorful baskets and chocolate bunnies with hats, all at discount prices. It made me think of our Easter at my father's private club, how beautiful and festive it was; how smiles and warm smells of food filled the room, how anybody should have been happy. But of course Derek was not. He was nasty and rude and impatient with me, but it was still better than being stuck at home alone with him.

I sat in the parking lot today, watching the end of another holiday, one that I hoped would be our last together. Our last Easter together. But then I remembered all the holidays that I hoped would be our last: Our last Christmas, and then New Year's came. Our last Valentine's day,  my last birthday with him, and now we're at Easter. Our last Easter.

There was a time when I couldn't imagine any holiday without him; I was so in love. And now, I can't get through a holiday -- or any day -- without being screamed at, degraded, insulted, criticized, and so our children as well. Not a day goes by that we aren't reminded of what losers we are, what pigs, what rednecks, what idiots, what brats, morons, and all the rest of it. It's probably hard for anyone to imagine how literal I mean it, but it's true: he rarely stops his attack anymore. It's basically continual throughout the day, as he monitors what ever we're doing and provides a running commentary on how inadequate and pathetic we are.

Our last Easter. Our very last. Please, please, yes please.

Until next time, dear friend....