All the little things

It’s the little things that add up to big things. My first relationship as an adult started with a little smile, followed by a little conversation. Seven years of little encounters later we found ourselves engaged and grappling with not so little problems. After our engagement, I moved to the small island in the Caribbean where we both grew up to help take care of his elderly grandparents while he pursued a Master’s degree. Two months after my relocation, his grandmother was placed in a hospice and shortly after his grandfather died. My fiancé began to unravel by drinking a little at first, followed by, a little gambling, a little partying, and consuming a little drugs.

As the grief laid roots in his being, not even a lot of drinking, drugs, gambling or partying could help him cope. I stood by his side while he self-destructed; while his grief turned into depression. I believed over time he would learn to manage his grief. I did not realize that all my little acts of kindness and support while he underwent his seven stages of grief would engulf me like a black hole engulfs a star.

When he started verbally abusing and belittling me, I wrote it off as a result of the grief. When he first hit me after a night of drinking and partying, I blamed his grief. I even blamed his grief when he violently broke a whisky glass against the floor and proceeded to choke me against the wall the night my brother married his first wife. The more he hurt inside, the more he wanted to make me hurt.

While I was at work one day, his mother called to inform me she had just bailed him out of jail. He had been arrested for illegal gambling. Even his mother knew the havoc his despair was causing in both our lives. She would ask me why I stayed with him; even she did not recognize the man her son had become. Still, I stayed. In my mind, the moment I agreed to marry him it became my duty to be with him in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, for richer or poorer.

The end of our relationship happened on the date most couples celebrate love. On multiple occasions leading up to Valentine’s Day I had asked him if he wanted to do something special. He would dismiss the inquiry by saying he didn’t know yet, or by saying he was too tired to think. On Valentines Day I asked him if he had decided what he wanted to do and he screamed at me that he did not want to do anything. In fact, he did not want to be near me, or marry me because who would ever want to be with a woman so ugly, useless, and insignificant as me. In that moment, I did not see grief. I only saw a broken man that I was desperately trying to “fix”. I realized that for seven years I had been in love with the man he could be instead of the man he was. By trying to love him so desperately I had stopped loving myself. The void I felt in the pit of my stomach was proof that I had hit rock bottom; I had no more of myself to give. I was also filled with a sense of relief. I could stop trying to save this man who did not want to be saved. I was reclaiming my life and my dignity.

Until I was able to transfer from my job and move closer to my family, we lived in his apartment like roommates. We led two separate lives only seeing each other briefly. After our break up, he first tried acting as if nothing had happened, as if our lives had not been changed. He made multiple attempts to reconcile. Every time I refused his attempts, his little acts of kindness, he would lash out by either berating me or trying to physically hurt me. His pleas for forgiveness, red roses, boxes of chocolates, and promises of changing came a little too late. The sun never shone so bright as the day I finally moved out of his apartment and relocated to Florida.

He called me when he received the inheritance from his grandfather. He asked for forgiveness and said he wanted to compensate me financially for all the pain and heartbreak he had caused me for so many years, especially the last one. I informed him that I did not want anything from him and asked him why he wanted to help me. He said it would have made his grandfather happy for me to receive some of his inheritance since I had done so many little things to make sure he was taken care of during the last days of his life. I still refused his money. I did not want him to feel a sense of entitlement over me because he gave me a little money. I did not want him thinking he had helped me with my new future without him in any way. I did not want my climb to rock bottom to be overshadowed by his road to redemption. My dad called it pride; I called it respecting my worth.

When I received the next statement from my student loans, my debt had decreased by $20,000. My ex-fiancé had retrieved my student loan account username and password from a little black Moleskin notebook I had left behind in his apartment and he paid the entire balance of my highest student loan debt. Ironically, it was the debt I incurred for attending the university where we had met and fallen in love.

When I called to thank him and to tell him that I forgave him so that we may both be able to move forward with our lives, I offered him a piece of advice: “It’s all the little things, the little actions you take that lead to the big things. I hope you are able to find happiness from all the little things”.