PRAISE FOR
Two Minus One
“There are times in life when we are presented with unforeseen challenges that feel so overwhelming, we just want to shut down and hide. In those moments we have a choice, to go toward the light or stay in the darkness. Kathryn shows us her deepest sadness, and her heroic struggle to get her life back. Her book shows how she recognized that there is life after grief and suffering, and to remember that happiness is always a choice, one we do have control of.”
—JENNIFER PATE GILBERT, founder of Save the Date and author of I Never Promised You a Goodie Bag
“Kathryn Taylor’s book is a gift to anyone who is divorced and feeling hopeless, because she illustrates through her own story of suffering, disillusionment, and eventual triumph that divorce is not the end. Her words underscore the fact that good things can and do come out of the bad if we let them, and there is every reason to hope for a happy future, despite the devastation. I highly recommend that anyone who is divorced and feeling alone in their fight to survive read Two Minus One to gain encouragement, clarity, and hope.”
—LISA DUFFY, author, speaker, and divorce recovery coach
“From the words that came out of the blue—‘I’m done with our marriage’—through the desolation, heartbreak, and steps toward healing, Kathryn Taylor opens her heart and soul to take us on her journey of recovery. With resilience and grace, she reminds us that no matter what life throws your way, you can reach down and bring up the courage to not only go on but grow.”
—VIKKI STARK, author of Runaway Husbands: The Abandoned Wife’s Guide to Recovery and Renewal
“Two Minus One is a story of a woman who finally allows herself to love again, only to have everything taken from her by a man who becomes a stranger overnight. On these pages, Taylor captures the confusion, grief, and outrage that occur when one partner inexplicably walks away, and beautifully describes how she learns to stand on her own two feet. This is a powerful story of grace and resilience.”
—TAMMY LETHERER, author of The Buddha at My Table: How I Found Peace in Betrayal and Divorce
“In her memoir, Two Minus One, Taylor offers a poignant and well-crafted account of what it is like to be sixty years old, believing you are happily married one day, only to discover the next, having missed all of the clues, that you’ve been abandoned. This is certainly a story that demonstrates the powerful ways in which love is blind. This is a human story, one of vulnerability, insight and resilience. Highly recommended.”
—DIANE POMERANTZ, PHD, author of Lost in the Reflecting Pool
Two
Minus
One
Copyright © 2018 Kathryn Taylor
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.
Published 2018
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-63152-454-7 pbk
ISBN: 978-1-63152-454-7 ebk
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018947868
For information, address:
She Writes Press
1569 Solano Ave #546
Berkeley, CA 94707
Book design by Stacey Aaronson
She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.
All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.
Names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.
Author’s Note
This is the true story of my personal journey through unexpected divorce and healing. Only my feelings, perceptions, and interpretations are represented. They were all I had.
For my daughters, Brittany and Erin,
who have been my lifelong inspiration,
as well as the motivation for everything I have accomplished.
And for Robbie,
who has stood beside me throughout my journey wherever it has led.
“You can’t control what may happen to you in this life, but you can control who you want to be after it happens.”
—JENNIFER GILBERT,
I Never Promised You a Goodie Bag
CONTENTS
Preface
Prologue
CHAPTER 1
Second Chances
CHAPTER 2
Why Are You Telling Me This Now?
CHAPTER 3
Time for New Pillows
CHAPTER 4
Just Because He Says It Doesn’t Mean It’s True
CHAPTER 5
The Night the Lights Went On in Carolina
CHAPTER 6
Rescued
CHAPTER 7
The Hits Just Keep On Coming
CHAPTER 8
“What Made You Think This Would End Any Other Way?”
CHAPTER 9
Who Are You, and What Are You Thinking?
CHAPTER 10
Moving On
Epilogue
Preface
“The only people worthy to be in your life are the ones that help you through the hard times and laugh with you after the hard times pass.”
—ZIAD K. ABDELNOUR
From an early age, I imagined myself as a teacher yet also envisioned myself as a writer. In junior high school, I sent for a writing test from the back of a magazine, and my efforts resulted in positive comments and encouragement to continue to write. Of course, those who produced the test likely had a writing school that could polish and improve my skills for an extra investment that could be accomplished in several easy payments.
Once, in my twenties, I submitted a short story to a women’s magazine. Having long ago forgotten the content, I do recall one thing: it was considered lacking in depth and scope and was therefore quickly yet kindly returned.
Throughout my thirty-year professional career in education, others urged me to write books for children—either age-appropriate fiction or curricular products to enhance a mandated program. But as a single, working mom, I never seemed to have any time to initiate such a project.
Frankly, while I had little trouble with using words, either verbally or in writing, I questioned my ability to do the research required for a nonfiction text. I also lacked the confidence and fortitude even a short book of fiction would require, and steered away.
Until one spring day my life was unexpectedly and forever changed by a personal experience so profound that I found myself at a loss and unable to function. During that time, a friend and former professional colleague asked if I had written yet. I gave my excuses as outlined above. Through my tear-choked sobs—and several glasses of wine—my friend suggested that perhaps it was time. I wouldn’t have to research this story—I was living it. She was right. That night, the seed was sown. If everything really does happen for a reason, at that point in my life, perhaps the reason was to push me past the last of my fears and finally force me to sit down to write my story. In doing so, I would ultimately discover that I was not the vile and despicable person my husband attempted to portray.
Prologue
“Never tie your happiness to the tail of someone else’s kite.”
—BETH HOFFMAN, LOOKING FOR ME
TELL ME THE STORY OF US,” I SAID QUIETLY, AS WE lazed with coffee and the Sunday paper.
There was no response, and I had expected none. Ours was a story of poor timing, conflict, and pain, a
s well as romance and joy. So, turning to face him and snuggling even closer, I asked him again. I was confident he would tell me the story I cherished and could never hear often enough. He would tell me—he always did. For his love for me was so deep and selfless, and my need for confirmation and connection so strong, that, even when the edges of pain and loss were always in the retelling, the happiness we had found together was the true story and real strength.
And so he began:
“Once upon a time . . .” This was my favorite part and the way I always asked him to start. It was the only suitable opening for the fairy-tale love we had and the life we were living.
He went on: “A most beautiful mother and her two beautiful daughters arrived in my town, the school of my children, and my life. I was instantly intrigued, and I knew I had to know her. . . .”
Of course, it wasn’t a fairy tale—no life is—but we were both giving marriage a second chance, both committed to making it last a lifetime, benefiting and enriching each of us—the icing on the cake. We communicated openly and honestly in “state of the union” discussions about health, finances, sex, plans, and dreams. We awoke each morning with smiles on our faces. Both of us were filled with gratitude for our good fortune. We had healthy and responsible grown children, good health, solid finances, no elder-care responsibilities, and the ability to shape our days and lives as we saw fit—or so I thought.
CHAPTER ONE
Second Chances
“Lessons in life will be repeated until they are learned.”
—FRANK SONNENBERG
AS IS OFTEN THE CASE WITH LOVE STORIES, OURS did not begin as love, or even friendship. It just seemed Jim was always there, hovering over and around my world. He was nondescript, non-disruptive, a quiet presence constantly at the ready. He was willing to offer anything to assist my daughters and me and to be a part of our lives. He, his wife, and his children seemed to be everywhere we were. Our children were in the same grades, had the same teachers, and participated in the same activities. His daughter routinely slept at my house and mine at his. He and his wife included my older daughter on their family trips to the beach. He included both of my girls on ski trips. If I were grading papers, preparing a grade book, or doing other work-related chores at a basketball or soccer game, he eagerly offered his assistance. He would turn up to help spread mulch, to fix a leak, or to avert a household calamity. Perhaps he was just taking pity on a woman alone. He and his wife were two of only a handful of people who knew that the girls and I were on our own. They lived nearby, so it was easy to stop in and help when help was needed. I gave it little thought. He was just there.
When my daughters and I were forced to move unexpectedly and dramatically downsized our home, his presence became more and more visible and increasingly routine. He would sometimes appear with his wife and children in tow. “We thought you could use some help arranging furniture.” At times, he brought only his son and said, “The two of us can easily get that cabinet mounted in the girls’ bathroom.” Often he came alone, helping to ease a difficult transition. He restored sanity when the washer, dryer, and refrigerator did not fit into the kitchen. He was there when the TV needed to be lifted, when flooring needed to be laid in the attic, when shelves needed to be built in the garage and closets. He spent weeks planning and erecting a fence to keep an errant dog from getting loose and causing trouble in the neighborhood. He seemed always eager and willing whenever a need arose. He provided comforting words—“This isn’t as overwhelming as it seems”—and a strong back. He volunteered in my classroom, arriving at school to read to my students or help them understand, through movement, balls, and a light, what it really meant for the planets to rotate around the sun, and they seemed to clearly understand his method of presentation. But, frankly, aside from when he was there to help or when I was faced with a problem I knew he could help solve, I rarely gave him a second thought.
They happened slowly, over time—tiny actions and behaviors imperceptible both to me and to those around me. Perhaps I was just unaware. Involvement with someone was certainly not on my radar. However, a friendship was developing, as we worked together so often. He began to share some of the frustrations he was experiencing at work. He lamented, “My career seems to be stagnating at a time when I’m preparing to retire.” Issues he was facing at home came up as well. He told me, “My wife and I are growing increasingly distant as the kids near the end of high school and prepare to leave for college. I feel we are not working toward the same goals. Perhaps we never were.”
OUR FRIENDSHIP TOOK on new meaning the evening Jim, and his wife, Marge, invited me out to dinner for my birthday at a newly opened Japanese steakhouse, insisting it would be their treat. He described his upcoming vacation with his son. “We’re planning a week in Vermont over spring break, while Karen is in France for a semester abroad. The snow should be ideal, and the black-diamond slopes in Killington are a real challenge.”
I was not a skier, yet I found myself awed by his enthusiasm and wondered what Vermont in the springtime would be like, as it was one place I had never visited.
Marge’s voice broke through my momentary reverie as she said, “You and the girls really should join the guys on the trip.”
“Are you sure that kind of arrangement is appropriate?” I asked.
She remained adamant: “It’s a perfect opportunity for a getaway, and our teens will have a wonderful time together.”
Far overdue for a diversion for myself and my girls, and confident that we would be traveling with a trusted friend at affordable prices, we began planning. There would be a play and sightseeing in New York City, as well as a quick visit to Montreal (my younger daughter had a goal of collecting thirteen countries’ stamps in her passport before she completed high school). The itinerary was quickly finalized, all were excited, and the trip was soon under way.
Before the car was even fully loaded, Lemonhead candies that had been spilled had to be cleaned out, a forgotten ski jacket retrieved, and seating arrangements determined. Once we were on the road, all passengers settled in quite comfortably and easily assumed the atmosphere of a routine family outing, with companionable banter in the backseat and traffic observations and updates in the front.
The visit to New York proceeded flawlessly, as teens and adults grouped, paired, and regrouped for planned and spontaneous activities. A side trip to the world’s largest kaleidoscope was a humorous diversion on the way to Vermont. Skiing was disappointing—the weather was unseasonably warm and the snow slushy—but I was undeterred, as I had brought a swimsuit and sunbathed contentedly by the pool. A quick trip to Montreal, and we were headed back and settled into the thirteen-hour return drive. The backseat was often quiet while our worn-out teens dozed. Glancing back at them, I commented, “It appears the trip was a complete success.”
He nodded and gave me a rare smile. “Successful from our perspective as well, I hope.”
The two of us settled in and cheerfully continued to engage in animated and inconsequential conversation during the remaining hours of the trip.
Still, I never really saw it coming. I was focused on assimilating myself and my daughters into a new community. He was still a married man, and I was thrilled with my unfolding new life. My daughters were well adjusted, nearly grown, and delightful young women. I was mastering my profession in a new environment. I had friends, a network, and a home I could afford. My income was inching up and providing me with a growing, albeit modest, investment portfolio. For the first time in my life, I was beginning to feel truly independent and at peace. I had no interest in or room for a relationship in my life.
However, I soon realized that his perception of our friendship was shifting amid noticeable changes in the dynamics between him and his wife as their relationship continued to disintegrate. He explained to me, “We met in a bar while I was in college. Marriage seemed to be the expected ‘next step’ for us. Two children quickly followed and were the only thing we shared.”
Yes, even to a casual observer, they seemed to be mismatched. I would often hear the whispered comments of friends wondering, “What do you think he sees in her?” during the social situations and gatherings in which I found myself sharing time with them. He had a college education, and a solid and stable work history. He enjoyed reading, photography, skiing, and fishing, and dreamed of traveling and exploring new interests and ideas. He stayed current and interested in a variety of topics, from science and technology to pop culture. She had not attended college, had no consistent job experience or expertise, and, when pushed to work to assist in covering household expenses, chose to babysit at home during the school year. That choice afforded her responsibility-free holidays and summers, during which she could spend the days poolside with only her own two children to monitor. Of her husband, she invariably commented at every gathering, “While he possesses book sense, he is totally without common sense.” She made it clear to all that she believed herself to be the partner with the latter.
The overall impression that onlookers gleaned from their public interactions was that he was weak and she was overbearing. Indeed, on occasions when dining out was the option, she even set the criteria for the selected restaurant. She would frequent only an establishment that accepted a discount coupon she had clipped from the newspaper or received in the mail, and would order no beverage that was not free of charge. Because she controlled the budget and gave him only a limited allowance, which provided him with very little cash, she always took care of their portion of the bill—making him appear impotent.
As these differences persisted and wore down their marriage, his behaviors toward me seemed to change. He would ask me to walk with him after completing a project and became increasingly open in voicing his frustrations and sharing his plans. He conveyed specifics of ongoing conversations they had shared. “We always intended to divorce once the kids were finished with high school. Now that it’s time to leave, she’s refusing to let me out. If I fight it, what damage will be done to my relationship with my children? Women always seem to receive the support through divorce, while men receive the blame.”
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