The End of a Chapter

I remember one bright and sunshiny day, Travis and I were headed down to spend the weekend with a couple of friends at their house by the lake. This was summer of 2012, I think. My clothes were already packed in the duffle bag we were taking. I brought the bag into the living room where Travis had his clothes set up nice and neat on the couch. When I went over to put his clothes inside the bag, he flew out of the guest bedroom (where his clothes were kept) and grabbed the stack of folded clothes out of my hands. He told me he would put them in the bag and gave me some excuse as to why he wanted to do this. Of course, this threw me into high alert. I let him put the clothes in the bag without saying anything. On the hour drive to our “relaxing” weekend getaway, all I could think of was about what he might be hiding.

We pulled into a gas station to pick up a case of cold beer for the weekend. Travis went in to get the beer and I watched through the windows of the store as he began walking towards the back. I seized the opportunity. I turned around and unzipped the duffle bag in the back seat, started rummaging through the clothes when I spotted a pack of cigarettes between clothes. What an odd place. All of a sudden, Travis flung the door open and he stated he wanted me to come inside for something or another. I went inside and it appeared as if he literally dropped the case of Bud Light on the floor where he was standing to hurry and come get me. We made our purchase and then drove the rest of the 10 minutes it took to get to our friends’ place. All the while knowing I needed to find out what was in that pack.

When we arrived, our friends emerged from their house and of course, I took it upon myself to get our duffle bag. I grabbed the very light cigarette pack out of the already unzipped bag and before I knew it, Travis was literally trying to yank it from my hand. I’m not kidding. It was a total tug of war situation. He won. After asking him what was inside, he told me it was a surprise for me. He was planning on giving it to me this weekend, he said with enthusiasm. Then we carried on with our friends because what an awkward situation they just witnessed. We lounged by the water, soaked up the sun, we sipped on beers and homemade margaritas. But relaxing was far from what that weekend entailed for my racing, paranoid mind.

The next weekend he decides to give me the “surprise” he had for me the weekend before. It was a wedding ring. One that looked identical to the one I put on his finger when we got married. One that he had lost. See, a few months before, I came home from work to find Travis sobbing on the couch. He had stated that he lost his ring while mowing that day and had looked for hours trying to find it. I remember immediately going outside and scanning our huge yard looking for the ring. Nothing.

So I guess my surprise was him buying himself another ring? And that’s supposedly what was in that light cigarette pack that I had found the weekend prior.

Travis played in a pool league each fall/winter. Billiards, that is. One night, one of his pool team’s girlfriends asked me if Travis was sick. Said he was looking skinny. Ok, so maybe I wasn’t crazy? Other people were noticing things… So later that night, with a little bit of liquid encouragement, I decide to approach the subject lightly. I ask him if he might be using again. He gets angry and sad. I feel guilty.

I remember being so paranoid ALL the time about whether or not he was using. One time I ended up looking under the bathroom door at his mom’s house just to see where his feet were at. See if he was really using the restroom. It made me feel crazy. It made me feel guilty for not believing anything he said. It made me feel like a shitty wife.

Fast forward just a little–

March 2013- I had just returned on a Sunday from a long weekend getaway with the girls. Late that night, my stomach started aching in a way that I’d never felt before. It carried into the next day. I consulted with the RN that worked at the agency I worked for. She said I should probably go to the emergency room and get it checked out; it was probably my appendix, she said. She ended up being right. I called Travis and told him I was heading to the ER and he said he’d be on his way too. Before he arrived, I also called my mom because I knew she’d be upset if I didn’t tell her that I had gone to the ER. She proceeded to let it slip that Travis had borrowed a couple hundred dollars from her this past weekend. I flipped shit. She said sorry and that she thought I knew that.

Travis arrived a little bit later but by that time, there was way too much commotion going on. We were making a plan for me to be transferred to a different hospital for the appendectomy. Travis drove me the hour to the next hospital and because of the pain I was in, I really didn’t feel like discussing this major problem that I was just made aware of.

I remember waking up from my surgery definitely feeling under the influence. They took me back to the recovery room where Travis was waiting for me. The nurse leaves and I just lay into him. I confronted him about the money he borrowed and asked what the hell he needed it for. When he tells me that he blew it all at the casino, I was livid. As if it were yesterday, I vividly remember telling him, “You can fuck me over, but don’t you dare fuck over my family.”

We left the hospital at 4AM later that morning, stopping off at Walgreens pharmacy to pick up my prescription for the pain from the surgery. The doctor had prescribed me Tylenol 3 because I, ironically, am allergic to Hydrocodone. I wasn’t walking very well, as expected after surgery, so Travis said that he would go in and pick up my prescription. After sitting in the car for a few minutes, I had a weird feeling so I started walking inside to check on Travis. I found him coming out of the bathroom with my prescription bag in hand. He asked me what I was doing inside and I lied and said I had to use the restroom as well.

I was so tired when we got back home and really just wanted to go to sleep. Travis asked me if I wanted one of my pills for the pain. I told him I did and he handed me the bottle. I opened it and immediately thought there was way too few pills in here for a 2 week recovery. I dumped the pills in my hand and started counting. There were 10 pills. Oh my gosh, if I’m supposed to take these every 4-6 hours, then I only have enough for about 1.5 days. Turning the bottle in my hand to just then stare at the label. The spot where the quantity should have been looked as if it was ripped off the bottle. Totally confused, I looked up at Travis. He goes, “Don’t look at me,” with his hands in the air, “I would never take your pills.” Of course he wouldn’t, I told him. Of course my husband wouldn’t steal pills from his wife who had just undergone surgery.

The following day, Travis took me to my mom’s house because I needed someone to be with me. About mid-morning, I decided to share with my mom what had happened. I told her that I think he might have taken them. She tells me to call the pharmacy and ask them how many pills they gave me. So I did. They said, “we gave you 20 pills.” Holy shit. I was so angry. He stole them. I had my mom take me back to my house, I packed clothes, I called Travis’ brother and told him that I was moving out and explained why. He already knew about Travis’ history with drugs. I told his brother that I was afraid that Travis might try to hurt himself in some way or another after I told him that I was leaving.

Travis got off work and came to my mom’s house to pick me up. We went outside so we could talk. I told him that I knew everything. He stole my pills. I told him how I figured it all out and I had packed a bag and would be staying at my mom’s house for a while.

Here’s where I have trouble explaining why I ended up going back to my home with Travis that night. We spent hours talking outside. He, of course, denied everything. He cried and said he would never do something like that to me. Ever. He loved me more than anything in the world. It had to be the pharmacies fault. This was on them. He was going to prove it to me. He promised me that he would go and get piss-tested to show me that he was clean. He promised to contact Walgreens the following day. He promised to prove to me that it wasn’t him. And I believed him. The next day, he told me he had an appointment to take a urine test later that week. He told me he contacted the pharmacy and the police to see what could be done. He stated that the police said they could investigate by going and looking at the cameras set up in Walgreens. It all sounded good. Sounded like he was absolutely telling the truth. I mean, look at the great lengths he was going to prove it.

Thursday, the day he was supposed to get tested, I called him later that afternoon to see how it went and he told me he didn’t go. He got a little irritated and said that the pawn shop got busy and he couldn’t leave. He tells me, “I work alone. It’s not like I can just get someone to cover me while I’m gone.” My response was “No, but you can lock the store up for the rest of the day.” I went to bed angry that night. But by that point, he had convinced me throughout the week that he hadn’t stolen my pills. By that point, I didn’t have any other choice but to believe him. Once again.

April 3rd, 2013, my Grandma passed away at the age of 66 after battling with lung cancer. This was by far the hardest loss I have ever faced. On April 6th, we laid her in the ground.

Even though I was hurting, I didn’t forget this was Travis’ anniversary of being 1 year sober (he’d been attending NA and had been accumulating those chips of sobriety that you get). So I took him outside of my Grandma’s house where we gathered after the funeral and I gave him a congratulations card. He couldn’t believe that I thought of him during this time, he says. He hugs, kisses, and thanks me for being an amazing wife.

The next month, May 2013, my alarm clock goes off. I flip over and press ‘Snooze’. The first words I hear are, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” My heart started racing. I started panicking. Maybe he’s found out about Dylan. Shit, shit, shit. Next, I ask him, “What is it?”  He responds, “You already know.” Pause. “I’m using again.”

I sighed. Without another word, I get up out of bed, walk outside, and proceed to chain-smoke a pack of cigarettes on the porch. Numb.