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

by Sarah Swindell

Dawson’s occupational therapist, Angie, also came into our lives around this time and played a pivotal role in his progress over the years. Just like Olivia, she never gave up on him. She was always looking for new and creative ways to make his very complicated body physically stronger and less disorganized. She had an infectious smile, gorgeous green eyes, and a kindness about her that instantly made everything seem not so shitty. I have never seen someone commit so dutifully to teaching a child to ride a bike with training wheels in the steamy, humid Texas summer heat as Angie, excitedly cheering for him as if he was her very own. Since Dawson is completely nonverbal, getting through to him can be extremely challenging. His therapists and caregivers never gave up trying new ways to reach him. They had more patience than I could ever dream of having.

  Angie also had a son with autism, so she understood all the ups and downs that came with having a special child. This gave me the feeling that we were a family, in a way. I remember us laughing hysterically one day as we shared poop stories about our sons—how many people can you have that conversation with? She was there with open arms when the tears would come, which happened often during the years she helped Dawson. Like Olivia, she saw the beautiful sides to my family, along with some of the worst, without showing any kind of judgement, and never pulled away from us. Evidence once again that there are true angels on this earth.

  Shortly after we settled back in Austin, Greg and I separated for the second time. Again, I cannot tell you what sparked Greg to pack the bye-bye bag. I can’t recall one specific argument, but this time Greg got an apartment and was there for a quite a while. I really don’t remember much about that chapter of Crazy Town. I was confused, feeling both relief and sadness that he was gone. There was so much tension between all of us at that point, that it felt good to not be constantly walking on emotional eggshells. I remember feeling like I could suddenly breathe and laugh with the girls again. It was like a giant, long exhale that desperately needed to come out.

  The “naughty burglar” thing, as we called it, was also in full swing between Greg and me during this long separation. All the kids would be in bed, then around 10:30 p.m., at least three nights a week, I would hear tapping on the French doors outside my bedroom. I would instantly feel an intense rush of excitement to feel his closeness. It was a strange and indescribable comfort. There was literally a physical reaction when we would get together; it made no difference whether or not we were on speaking terms. I don’t have a word to explain it, other than pure chemistry, plain and simple. It is a real thing, folks, and if you have never felt it, you need to go find it because there is nothing else like it.

  On the nights when we would meet during our separation, a word would hardly be said, and we would get right to the task at hand. Those times go down in history as the most exhilarating and satisfying sex we’ve ever had. He would then quietly slip out into the night without the kids even knowing he had been there, back to his apartment downtown. I remember wondering if other couples did the same thing during a separation; I am pretty sure the answer is a big No. It’s a chemistry I tried really hard to duplicate in other relationships (maybe a little too hard) and honestly never could.

  Greg eventually came back home again, and we vowed to work harder on our relationship. Our circle of friends was starting to expand in Austin, and, looking back, it was a crazy, chaotic time. Some of our couple-friends were normal and happy, while others lived on the edge with clear volatility in their marriages. Some of the husbands got along and some didn’t, but for the most part, all the wives enjoyed each other. There were many Girls Night Out evenings, and we would come up with any reason we could find to have Happy Hour.

  As the months passed, a smaller group of girls started to form, and with these girls, there was no question we were probably going out more than we should. Sometimes it felt like we were crazed, hormonal teenage girls looking for the nearest keg party. But in reality we were just a group of middle-aged moms sharing wine and laughing about life. It felt so different than being at home, with all the doom and gloom of my life there. When I was with my friends, I forgot all about the sadness and was a normal woman, just like them, even if it was just for a couple of hours. But something bad was in the air, and I don’t think I was the only one who noticed.

  I soon became extremely close with Amanda. I liked her instantly. Her husband had a lot in common with Greg, and we all became fast friends. Amanda had this thing about her: She was magnetic and had a way of making you feel like you were the most important thing to her when she wanted to. She would constantly tell you how beautiful or how amazing you were, along with everything else you would want to hear about yourself. She was stunningly gorgeous and would turn heads wherever we went. I envied how she carried herself, like she didn’t have a care in the world. She had a curvaceous, athletic yet feminine figure, long golden-brown hair, and an infectious smile. She had the kind of beauty that looked flawless without a stitch of makeup, wearing a baseball hat, side braids and ripped-up jeans. Most of all, she always had the perfect golden tan to match her golden hair, thanks to the tanning salon membership she used probably more than was good for her.

  Everyone seemed to be drawn to her, especially men. I would just sit back in a bar or restaurant and watch in awe as she would work a male bartender or waiter into thinking she was truly interested in him. She had her flirt down pat and would turn any man into mush just by flashing her Farrah Fawcett smile and giving them her undivided attention. Her husband Dave was no slouch either. They were pretty much the most gorgeous couple in Austin, if you ask me. Dave was quiet and a bit shy, but tall, with boyish good looks and a body to go along with it. Their personalities could not have been more opposite, and I noticed when he sometimes seemed uncomfortable with her outgoing behavior but would just sit back, smile, and lovingly shake his head.

  They had numerous get-togethers at their sprawling white Texas stone house, hosting dinners and game nights that everyone wanted to be invited to. Greg and I were actually in a pretty good place at this point, at least I felt we were. We had committed to our marriage and promised each other there would be no more separating when things got tough. We said we were going to talk more and not shove things under the rug. It felt nice to be confident that all was going to be okay with us and that maybe the worst was over—we would get through this together.

  CHAPTER 14

  WHEN A MARRIAGE STARTS TO CRACK from lack of respect, bad things can, and will, happen. Those ugly cracks only give trouble a free pass to slide right in, sometimes unnoticed.

  The flirtation between Amanda and Greg was very subtle at first, then it became curiously obvious enough for me to ask a few friends if they’d noticed anything. Some said Yes, and some said there was no way either of them would do anything to hurt me. What kept nagging at me was that I had witnessed how Amanda could put a spell on men, especially vulnerable men. Greg and I had our troubles in the past, but now we were working on our relationship, and we were moving on. I was committed to making it work, and I wanted to make sure Greg knew how much I loved him. I was confident we were going to be fine. But I soon started to feel like I was the only one working on our marriage.

  Looking back, there were signs of impending trouble. They were so small, yet blinking lights, right in front of my eyes. One day Greg told me he wanted to go to the UT football game with Amanda and Dave. Greg knew I couldn’t go because we would not be able to get a sitter for Dawson on such short notice. I told him I thought it was a little strange to go with just them. We didn’t have a fight about it, but I knew he could tell I didn’t like the idea. He went anyway.

  About thirty minutes later, he walked back into the house, took me in his arms and cried. He apologized profusely, said he felt horrible about the whole thing. It was so bizarre that he would cry about something so small and feel bad about something I wasn’t all that upset about. Now I know it was his guilty conscience messing with his head. There was that fleeting moment when he decided to come home instea
d of going to the game with them. He was feeling guilty about something, but what about, I did not know yet.

  Shortly after that incident, I had arranged for us to have dinner with Amanda and Dave at our favorite Mexican restaurant. I had just gotten off the phone with Amanda, when Greg came in the back door happy and in an exceptionally good mood.

  I told him about the dinner plans and he said, “Yes, I know.” What? I vividly remember thinking, How did he know about this already? When I asked him how he knew about our dinner plans, he stammered and made up something that really didn’t make sense, but I just blew it off.

  The signs continued. He started wearing cologne every day and had a little spring in his step that had not been there in quite a while. I was either too busy to really worry about it, or my subconscious didn’t want to see it.

  Amanda was even more over-the-top nice to me during this time, and we saw each other almost daily. She confided in me about everything, from her own marriage issues to probing me for information about mine. When I saw her, she would tell me how much she loved me and how I was like a sister to her. I loved her like a sister as well.

  The night the four of us went to dinner at that Mexican restaurant changed the path of so many lives. On the way home from dinner, I confronted Greg about Amanda being just a little too friendly, in a flirtatious way, during dinner and acting bizarrely giddy. I was just getting over the flu, so I was the only one not drinking as they were pounding shots of tequila. I saw everything with crystal-clear eyes. Greg got extremely defensive about my observation as we pulled into the garage, and made me feel horrible for even asking about such craziness. He even raised his voice to me . . . that never happened.

  Greg got out of the car once things cooled down a little bit, and went inside the house. I was going to meet Amanda halfway between our houses since Brenna, who was now fourteen, was babysitting her kids. Amanda suggested we meet halfway so I didn’t have to make the full twenty-minute drive to come get Brenna. When we met in the parking lot, I confided in her about how Greg was acting strange and that we got in a little argument on the way home, but I didn’t tell her what it was about. She told me she and Dave got in a fight as well, and we chatted about that for a minute before we hugged each other and said goodbye. She gave Brenna a big bear hug in true Amanda loving fashion, thanked her for watching the kids, and we drove away.

  All the way home, I was convinced Greg would welcome me with a heartfelt apology for overreacting the way he did and all would be smoothed over. But that is far from what happened.

  When I got home, Greg was already asleep and snoring loudly; so much for that apology. I was exhausted from the evening and from Dawson being up so much the night before, so I decided to sleep in the guest room—something I rarely did. I knew a good night’s sleep and a sober husband would make the whole strange situation better, and we would laugh about it later.

  When I woke up the next morning, Greg was gone. There was a note on the desk saying how he did not appreciate my accusations about him and Amanda, and he needed to cool off at a friend’s house. It wasn’t even a big enough fight to cool off from, and I was suddenly very confused. How did he leave the house without me hearing him or the garage door opening? Most importantly, when did he leave? He was sound asleep when I went to bed well after 10:30 p.m. It was completely out of character for him to just leave in the night, and a strange sense of panic filled my head.

  I had plans to hold an open house for a new listing later that day, and Greg was still not home by the time I needed to leave. I was irritated that he had forgotten about watching Dawson, and now had to ask one of our daughters to be in charge, which I hated doing. I texted him before I left but he did not respond, so I figured he was sleeping it off, enjoying the quiet at his friend’s house, which only annoyed me even more. I would have given anything for a full night’s sleep, and was now starting to get officially angry.

  A few weeks earlier, Amanda had mentioned that they wanted to sell their big house and get something a little smaller. I texted her and told her she should come to see the cute house I was holding open that day, thinking it would be perfect for their family. An hour later she showed up at the open house. The first thing I thought when I saw her was how disheveled she looked. She was in a frenzied mood, with wide animated eyes as she spoke to me. She went on to describe the fight she’d had with Dave, and I told her how Greg had actually left the house and I had not heard back from him yet.

  We walked through the house, joking and laughing just like any other day, like best friends do.

  “Oh my gosh, Greg would LOVE this giant mirror!” I said with a laugh when we got to the master bath. Greg always enjoyed a good mirror nearby during sex, and that was the first thing I thought of when I saw it. As soon as I said it, her face went as white as a sheet.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked nervously.

  “You know how Greg likes mirrors, silly. We just talked about that last week!”

  She let out an awkward laugh, which made me laugh as well.

  When she decided to head on out, she gave me a big hug goodbye, followed by the usual “I love you!” She flashed a big smile as she waved and climbed into her SUV.

  When I got home, Greg was there. He looked like he had been up all night, not at all as rested as I had imagined he would be. I hugged him tightly, told him how sorry I was about the previous night and that I would not bring it up again. He didn’t hug me back. Right then, I knew something was terribly wrong.

  I started to feel horrible for thinking the things I had told him in the car the night before, and I could tell he was still mad. He didn’t say much the rest of the day, and I decided I would not bring it up again.

  That evening, we decided to meet a few couples at the golf club we belonged to for dinner, and I was relieved to think about a nice night out. It would be good for us to see friends, instead of giving each other the silent treatment all night at home. By the time we headed back to the house later that evening, all seemed to be fine between us, and I was feeling much better.

  After we got ready for bed, I tried to initiate sex. It had been a little longer than usual since the last time, and it was sort of my non-verbal peace offering.

  He took my hand off of his chest and said, “Not tonight.” Another first.

  “What is wrong, babe?” It sounded more like a plea than a question. I noticed he had a nervous sweat starting to form on his face.

  “Nothing is wrong, I’m just tired and still a little hungover.” He said it with a raspy voice that gave me a very uncomfortable feeling.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” he responded as he rolled over and went to sleep. I did the same, but my mind was going a hundred miles an hour as I lay wide awake.

  At 4:30 a.m., I got out of bed with my head still racing. I noticed the light blinking on Greg’s Blackberry charging by his sink, indicating there was a message. In all our years of marriage, I had never looked at his phone, but this time something was telling me to look at it. I swallowed down my feeling of guilt, picked up the phone and clicked.

  “I Love you more” illuminated the screen. I blinked to clear my eyes. It was from Amanda.

  I instantly felt a rush of dizziness, combined with the need to throw up. Were the words I was reading real? It was the only text that was there when I tried to scroll with trembling fingers. He was careful to delete his last text to Amanda, never thinking he wouldn’t have the chance to delete her response in the morning. Greg had told her he loved her before he fell asleep next to me.

  The night after the four of us left the Mexican restaurant, Amanda didn’t sleep on her couch, and Greg didn’t cool off at a friend’s house. They both left their homes after their spouses had gone to sleep and went to a hotel for the night. It soon became clear why Amanda was disheveled the next day at the open house—she had come straight from the hotel to see me after spending the night with my husband. She actually acted as if it was just another day, pretending to be my best
friend just hours after spending the entire night with Greg.

  CHAPTER 15

  AFTER I READ THE TEXT, I started to tremble uncontrollably and the whole room felt like it was turning upside down. At first, I could not actually comprehend what I was reading, I was seeing the reality of my worst fear right in front of my eyes. I have never cried so violently since that day and hope I never will again. I’m positive I sounded like a wounded animal caught in a trap, because that is exactly what it felt like.

  I walked over to Greg’s side of the bed where he was still sleeping, sat him up, and slapped his face—hard. I had never slapped anyone in my entire life. My body just did it, involuntarily, without warning and without my consent. You can probably imagine the look of pure horror on his face, seeing his wife, or some version of her, leaning over him screaming and crying.

  “I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT!” I cried, over and over again as he just sat there wide-eyed and stunned from the rude awakening of my slap. When he finally spoke, he acted like he had no idea what I was talking about and cooly told me to calm down.

  “It was an ‘I love you’ like a brother and sister would say, NOT what you’re thinking,” he tried to explain.

  But I knew better, and there was no denying it or convincing me otherwise. I said more curse words than I could count as I paced our bedroom floor with my face in my hands, crying uncontrollably.

  “Get the fuck out of this house!” I managed to get out through the sobs. I could not bear to look at his face when I said it. I thought I actually might be sick to my stomach.

  I don’t remember if he packed a bag, but I do remember asking him, as he walked out the door, “Do you love her?”

  He quietly and confidently, without much expression, turned to me and said, “Yes.”

  At that moment, my heart dropped to the floor like a lead weight. I felt dizzy with grief. Just like that, without any real warning, I knew we could never survive this. It was over. I knew I had just lost the love of my life and our family was broken beyond repair.