Searching too far through the unwanted want ads...don't find me....don't look...don't probe....found the Bible beating wife...and her shout outs to the King....prostheltizing between coffee breaks....her goal in life to watch bastard children....something Craig would have never let me done. Our children would never have had bastard children....they would have had 4 yr degrees and been Ivy...Craig working hard thru winter nights....ignoring his new, old wife....evident on her wall...she is making posts about his nighttime duties, and silently admitting he also ignores her....work first, play second. Craig has nowhere to hide from his bi racial granchildren.
Me, with Craig in the back of my mind. Friday night pilgrimages to Denny's. No blatant prairie field full of nothingness and 5 hour drives thru Eau Claire and Black River to a child's transplant destination. No shame from Craig, verbally. No one now. Just the memory of his crooked body in pursuit of some trending action....a Civil War enactment, raking leaves, preparing lesson plans, the deathly hollows of an unsurvivable marriage....the silence and trauma of Dec. 25, 1992, racing thru our veins, the lack of speech, the silent child in the coffin, the marriage over thru unspoken sanctimony and love that never arrested in our souls.