Rounding Home: A Memoir of Love, Betrayal, Heartbreak, and Hope with an Intimate Look into Raising a Child with Severe Autism

by Sarah Swindell

  We headed back to my apartment where everyone had parked their cars, chatted for a while in the parking lot, then everyone started to say their goodbyes. I watched Megan and Greg walk to his truck together. She giggled with obvious flirtation and climbed into the passenger seat. They were going back to his place together, and I did not like it one bit.

  The next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of the phone ringing. I answered with hesitation, already guessing it was Megan wanting to give me the whole play-by-play of her evening with Greg. She was bursting with a giddy energy. “Oh my gosh!” she squealed with delight, “he is Aaaammmmazing!”

  She told me all about her night with him, what a good kisser he was, how cool his high-rise condo was, and how much she liked him. I nervously asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

  I held my breath for the response. “No, but hot damn we played around a lot!” I suddenly felt a rush of relief run through me. After we hung up, I called my mom and told her tearfully, “ I think I just set up the love of my life with my friend.” I could not get Greg out of my mind, and it was sort of freaking me out.

  A few days later, the four of us went out again. It is funny that I don’t remember much about what happened on the second date, but what happened after the date is clear as a bell. Ben and Megan both had to be somewhere early the next day, so the three of them walked to the parking lot of my apartment together at the end of the night. As soon as they got in their cars, Greg turned to look up at me still standing on my balcony. With a huge smile, he motioned with his hand that said, “I’m coming back.”

  Sure enough, a few minutes later Greg pulled back into my complex and knocked on my door. My hand was shaking as I opened it and saw him standing there with a sweet smile as I took his hand and lead him inside. Then, without saying a word, we had our first kiss. The kiss I had been longing for and thought might never come.

  “I have been thinking about this all night, I am so into you it’s crazy.” Yep, as you can probably guess, I melted right then and there. We somehow ended up on my floor, all tangled up and making out like crazy teenagers for what seemed like hours. Our clothes managed to stay on, as we both seemed content with the passion only our kissing was creating. We hardly spoke a word, we didn’t need to as our hands explored each other’s bodies, generating a delicious urgency; we were careful not to go too far. It was almost as if we wanted to drag the feeling out as long as we possibly could, never wanting it to end.

  “This is so wrong to do to our friends, they have no idea!” I said when things cooled down a little and we came back to earth.

  “There is no way they DON’T have an idea,” he said with a sheepish grin.

  Needless to say, Ben and Megan could sense something was happening, and eventually the questions started coming. As much as we tried to deny anything was going on between us, it was impossible to ignore. Greg playfully told Ben he’d better not go out of town anytime soon or he was going to steal me away.

  Well, Ben did end up going out of town, and I was definitely stolen. After the night of our first kiss, we never went another day without seeing each other. Greg would come by the salon when I was working and had more shampoos done in one week than anyone I knew. Any excuse he could find to see me, he found it. Our chemistry was off the charts; just being near him made my whole body react in ways it never had before. At work I felt like I was literally floating around the salon because my heart was filled with so much love, and even my coworkers could see it.

  Our love was growing fast and furious, showing no signs of slowing down. I wondered, how did a guy like him, love someone like me? I was also aware of the whispers behind my back. I once heard one of Greg’s friends refer to me as a “cleat chaser,” and I’m sure people probably assumed I was a gold digger, being that I was a hairdresser with a child. In my eyes, Greg was so much more than just a professional baseball player with a lot of money. He was the most romantic, caring, funny and sexiest man I had ever been around in my entire life. He pursued me much more than I pursued him because I was careful to guard my heart. He treated me with a kindness that made me feel like I was the most special person in the world to him, and I was crazy in love. Best of all, he adored Hayley, and she was just as crazy for him.

  My heart would race and my palms would sweat just seeing him pull up to the salon or when he would pick me up for a date. The fact that he happened to have money was just a bonus. It’s sort of like flying coach to Italy with the love of your life, then finding out you both got upgraded to first class. I was still going to Italy, it was just going to be a much more comfortable flight!

  I knew Greg would be leaving for spring training soon, as the off-season was coming to an end. He would be going to Florida for six weeks, and I had to wonder what would happen to us being apart for so long. Would he break up with me, or would we stay in touch while he was gone? I was scared to bring the question up because I was not sure what the answer would be. It was a big year for him, and I did not want to be a distraction or something that would bring him down. But he made it clear that he wanted nothing more than to have me in his life.

  CHAPTER 4

  SEVEN WEEKS AFTER OUR first date, I stood looking into the mirror of the marble-covered bathroom in our suite at the Beach Club Resort on the Disney World property in Orlando, Florida. Hot rollers were piled high on my head, and my new Ann Taylor cream-colored dress was hanging on the door behind me, tags still attached. New matching pumps sat neatly in their box and on the counter next to the pearl earrings my sister-in-law, Melissa, wore at her wedding the year before.

  Talk about a whirlwind, I could not believe how much and how quickly my life had changed in just seven weeks. It was 1993, I was twenty-three years old and about to get married for the second time during the Houston Astros’ spring training.

  As I stood there in the bathroom, I thought back to the engagement and how it still felt like a dream. It was a typical Wednesday and not unusual for Greg to come into the salon while I was working. But instead of talking to me as I worked, he pulled me aside by the soda machine. He took my hands into his, and he was sweating nervously as he looked straight into my eyes. He proceeded to pull out a tiny black velvet box and slowly opened it. Inside was the most beautiful diamond ring I had ever seen. He looked at me without saying a single word, but with tears in his eyes. I looked up at him as my heart lept and said, “Is this, is this . . . ?” and without letting me finish my thought, he nodded his head with a vigorous yes.

  A few days later, Greg called my boss at the salon to ask permission to take me to spring training for six weeks and if I could have that time off. Greg flew my parents in to watch Hayley for a few weeks before the three of them would join us in Florida. I didn’t even own a decent suitcase or clothes, for that matter, so my mom and I had a last-minute shopping spree before I left town as Greg Swindell’s new fiancée.

  Being with Greg sometimes felt like I was living a Hollywood movie. He was a celebrity around town, and we received star treatment everywhere we went. People would stop him in the mall for an autograph or picture, or come up to our table at a restaurant just to shake his hand and wish him luck for the upcoming baseball season. Even with all of the attention he was getting, he always made it a priority to make me feel like I was the only thing that mattered. The only person he wanted to give any of his attention to was me, and I loved every sweet second of it.

  Looking back, I should have felt at least a little hesitation about how fast we were moving, but I didn’t. Greg’s divorce from his first wife, Molly, had not even been finalized yet, they were in the middle of messy paperwork and custody details for their two-year-old daughter, Shelby. Our girls got along beautifully, Shelby was two and Hayley was three. Other than his ex-wife understandably not being too thrilled about how fast things were moving, I had absolutely no hesitation about any of it.

  At twenty-three, I never thought about how painful it all must have been for Molly. While I was not the cause of their divorce,
as they had already filed by the time we met, I certainly did not help make her situation any less painful. I wish I would have been more sensitive to her situation and more understanding about why she was making it so difficult for us, or so it seemed to me, when we wanted to have their daughter stay with us. Now that I am older and have been through the very same situation, I know how crushing it is to see the man you love choose another woman over you.

  After living through gut-wrenching custody situations with Hayley and her father, I knew what was happening with Greg’s own daughter, and Molly would be extremely difficult to deal with. There was a lot of arguing and tears between the two of them. He felt that his daughter was caught in the middle, just like Hayley had been. The back and forth went on for a long time, and the stress was taking a toll on everyone. At one point, it was suggested that it might be better for everyone if we just let go and allow Shelby and Molly to move forward without us in their lives. Molly had just remarried to a wonderful man, and everyone just wanted peace.

  My life has plenty of regrets and wishful do-overs, and this situation is at the top of that list. At the time, we thought we were doing what was best for everyone. Looking back, we should never have agreed to let Greg’s daughter go. Maybe we did do the right thing, but we will never truly know for sure. All I know is that I have no doubt Greg’s daughter must have felt as if we didn’t want her; most importantly, that her dad didn’t want her. I can’t imagine how she must have felt when she was old enough to know that Greg had moved along to live a life with a new family. It’s terrible to even write about this now, and I almost didn’t. After a conversation with Greg during the process of writing this book, we felt that we had to be completely honest about everything, including the shameful stuff, and Greg wanted me to share this part of our story.

  At that time so many years ago, we both believed we did the right thing by not having her go back and forth from house to house with parents who could hardly even speak to each other. We saw the relief in Hayley’s life once that stopped for her, but it didn’t come without a price to pay down the road for both girls and for the entire family. Hayley and Shelby spent a year together as tiny children. We have an entire photo album filled with just the two of them playing together and enjoying life as sisters.

  I think if the adults would have worked harder, things would have become better over time, but sadly we will never know. Not only did we lose Greg’s daughter, an entire family never got to know their half-sister, granddaughter, aunt, and so on. I know Greg has been wracked with guilt from that decision over the years, and he thinks about her all the time. I know if we both could have that do-over, being in his daughter’s life would be number one on that list. I know Greg’s wish, as well as mine, is that someday we will all have a relationship and that she will meet the family that has never stopped thinking about her. We have heard that she is happy and has had a beautiful life, which makes it a little less difficult to accept the decision we made so many years ago.

  On my wedding day in 1993, I never dreamed that life could get any better than it was at that very moment, even with all the moving parts that were swirling around me.

  CHAPTER 5

  OUR TINY WEDDING WAS an intimate ceremony at a resort on the Disneyland property in a simple white gazebo. It was a beautiful warm and sunny spring day, and all the flowers on the grounds were bursting with vibrant color. With only a few family members in attendance, Hayley stood right beside us, looking as cute as ever in the floral print dress with a big bow in the back that she helped pick out the day before. We stood hand in hand as we recited our vows while tears welled up in our eyes. I was filled with so much love, it was almost too overwhelming to hold all the emotion in.

  Right after he slid the ring onto my finger, Greg suddenly said, “Wait, there is one more thing I need to do.” Greg reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a tiny gold ring with a pink stone in the middle. He took Hayley’s little hand and put the ring on her finger, just as he had done with me moments earlier.

  “Now I am complete,” Greg said with a smile.

  It was one of the most magical days of my life, and I will truly never forget it. Sadly, my brother had forgotten our camcorder in the house we had rented for spring training and only had one of those throw-away cameras for still pictures. To this day, that one grainy photo is more than enough. It still sits comfortably in the same frame I placed it in the moment I had it developed and is the only decent photo we have of our wedding.

  That night we invited all the players and staff of the Houston Astros, along with a few players from the Cleveland Indians, to a private party at a club on Disney property that Greg had rented for the night. The promise of new love, a new baseball season, and the beginning of a spectacular time in my own life filled the air. At the end of the evening, Greg and I spent our first night together as husband and wife. Exhausted, a little drunk and more in love than I ever thought possible, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Shortly after the wedding, spring training came to an end, and it was time to fly back to Houston, Texas, as a new family. The entire city was buzzing with excitement to see what was ahead for their beloved Astros and the new players who had joined the team. While we were in Florida, Greg had decided that we needed a proper home when we got back, and our realtor had sent us several flyers of homes for sale in the West University area of town. Back then, there was no such thing as Realtor.com, or even the internet for that matter, so we happily house-hunted the old-fashioned way.

  After only one day of looking, we found the perfect home on a quaint, tree-lined street in the West University neighborhood, just a few miles from the Astrodome. West U, as it is casually known around town, is different than other areas of Houston. The lots are small, but all the homes have a Southern charm to them with each one being different than the next. Nothing like the huge master-planned communities that seem to be taking over the entire state of Texas now. You might see a tiny old one-story with a classic front porch right next door to a giant remodeled two-story with plantation shutters and a wraparound balcony.

  Ours was a gray two-story stucco home with white shutters and the generous front porch I had always wanted. It wasn’t a giant home, but large enough so we could immediately start adding to our family, which we were very actively working on. I remember thinking over and over again how incredibly lucky I was to be so in love and finally moving out of my old, dark apartment into a gorgeous new home with my new husband. The moving process quickly began, and I loved every minute of it. This may have been the start of my moving addiction. I loved everything about the transformation of turning an empty house into a beautiful home and the sense of accomplishment when it was all done.

  I loved unpacking (I know there must be something seriously wrong with me) and getting everything organized and put away in its proper place. I became so good at moving over the years that it was common knowledge that by the end of move-in day, I would have everything unpacked, pictures hung, music playing and candles burning. My favorite part was always having my mom right beside me, helping to organize with skill that would make Martha Stewart proud. My favorite memories of my mom are of us working together in whatever new home we were moving in to, while listening to The Backstreet Boys, or the latest boy band that was popular at the time, as we unpacked. We drank wine as we worked and chatted about life and didn’t stop until everything was complete. I think I lost count around twenty-seven moves; it must be over thirty at this point. Trust me, I am scratching my head even typing this. Clearly there is some hidden reason for my love of moving that only a licensed therapist can uncover.

  But, let’s go back to 1993 to the first of many homes the Swindell family would have. My parents were living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, at that time and agreed to come to Houston and stay at Greg’s condo for a while to help us with Hayley. They were thrilled to be a part of this exciting time, adored Greg, and they felt pretty cool staying in their new celebrity son-in-law’s high-rise. I
n a matter of just a few months, I went from barely making ends meet, making a hundred dollars a week, to money not being an issue at all. Greg gave me his credit card to get all new clothes, shoes, purses, and anything I wanted to furnish our new home.

  “Don’t worry about a thing, babe! I trust your taste in making our house perfect,” Greg playfully said when I asked him about a budget for furnishing our new home. “Just put anything you want on the card,” as he handed me his American Express.

  I had never had a credit card before, other than using my mom’s Dillards card on occasion when I needed clothes for Hayley when I was single. My mom and I had a blast furniture shopping at the Houston Design Center and cute little furniture boutiques in West U. The Amex card and I quickly became dear friends.

  Greg and I both received new cars from a dealership in Houston, in return for doing a commercial, and were on the cover of West U Magazine as featured celebrity residents. Kids from the neighborhood would come to knock on the door for an autograph or to wish Greg good luck with the new season. I remember constantly feeling it was all too good to be true and wondered when someone would jump out from behind an imaginary curtain and yell, “You have been punked! Greg ran off with Christy Brinkley and your old job washing hair is waiting for you. Show is over!”

  It was opening day at the Astrodome, and I could hardly contain my excitement for the game. It all felt very surreal as I was guided down the stairs to the family section of the stadium. For a moment, I suddenly felt as if I did not belong. For one thing, my clothes were all wrong, as I realized I was very under dressed. Neiman Marcus quickly became my preferred place to shop with the help of the kind and enthusiastic salesladies. They were more than happy to load up my dressing room with presentable clothing, thanks to my limitless new credit card. My old wardrobe had consisted of black pants and t-shirts for work, Western clothes for when I went dancing three nights a week, and a couple of nice dresses. I also had Rocky Mountain jeans and Justin Roper boots in every color. And right now you are laughing if you know what those jeans are, they were the Gloria Vanderbilts of the Western world.