Invisible Me

I remember the moment I realized I had become invisible. I stood on the porch watching the storm rage. Sheets of rain fell sideways, and the young saplings in the yard were bent over halfway to the ground.

It was my 51^st birthday, and I had spent the day alone. Every time the phone rang I snatched it up, thinking maybe one of my children had remembered. Surely out of eight I had a pretty good chance of at least one of them taking note of the date and making an effort to wish me well. It was 9 PM now and looking like I was O for 8.

My husband had wished me a happy birthday that morning. He had thrown it out casually with a quick peck on the lips before leaving for work. There was no discussion of birthday plans, dinner out or any other acknowledgement that the day was different from any other. He went out the door and I finished getting ready for another day at the Hampton Inn.

I worked that day, the same as I had done every other birthday. Running hotels had been my passion for years because every single day was a mix of near disasters and moments of delight. I remember that weekend was a full house, with a baseball team, a tour bus full of elderly women going to San Antonio and a wedding party that checked in already drunk off their ass at noon. I was on my game that day, having made the keys for each group ahead of their arrival, and sporting gift bags for every Diamond and Gold member on my arrival list. It seemed like since it was a special day for me I should make it a special day for them as well.

I started my workday at 7, and 10 hours later I finally headed home. I walked through the front door expecting to see the two youngest of our kids raiding the fridge with their boyfriends in tow. The house was empty and silent.

I dialed my husbands’ number first. He texted back to remind me he was at a meeting for the Des Moines youth hockey league. His text made it sound like I should have known all about it. I probably should have, because he had probably mentioned it weeks earlier when he scheduled it.

I laid my cell phone down and walked to the living room. The sky outside was dark grey now. It had this green tinge to it, like you see when it’s going to hail. I noticed the wind had picked up, and it had started to drizzle. I suddenly felt sadness, and an awareness that I was all alone.

I dialed my children one at a time. Each time I got voice mail or an endless ringing. With each message I felt more isolated and morose. Didn’t any of them remember what day it was?

The mental spiral began with the first clap of thunder outside. It was loud and angry, as if the Gods were about to start a flood.

I sat on the couch and began to think about this birthday. Why did this one feel so different? It wasn’t a milestone birthday, and I didn’t feel old or have concerns about my own mortality. Then it hit me. I felt invisible for the first time in my life.

As the rain fell in torrents I thought about my husband. As much as I love him, we hadn’t been much more than roommates for a few years. It had probably been six months or more since we had been intimate, and he didn’t even seem to miss it. He kissed me goodbye every morning and kissed me goodnight right before rolling over and drifting off. That was the extent of the romance in my life. The rest of the time he was there but not really present. I couldn’t blame him really. I wasn’t the vibrant sexy fireball he had married. I was almost two of her and about as vibrant as muddy water in a pond. It didn’t make it hurt any less when he spent most of the evening with his face in his phone or laptop watching Hockey or Drybar Comedy.

Then I thought about my children. I thought about my oldest two, who had lived through my leaving their abusive father. I thought about the years of their dad doing everything he could to be the Disneyland dad, making sure they had everything I said no to. Meanwhile I worked two jobs to make ends meet with no child support. As they got older we had grown closer, but I always felt like they had been cheated out of a lot of years of happiness with two parents who didn’t have to mediate through lawyers and counselors. Then they had grown up, and had lives of their own two states away from us. I missed them so much, but there didn’t seem to be any time to go visit, and other than to watch their siblings graduate high school they didn’t seem to have time to come our way either.

The storm was in full force now. I listened to the thunder roll while I poured a glass of wine and moved to the window seat. I watched the neighbor’s lawn furniture blow across their yard and my mind moved on.

The relationship with my two stepsons started out so well. Shortly after we married their mother decided I was trying to take them away. From then on it had been a campaign to convince them I was the wicked stepmother who only pretended to care about them. We fought it for years, and then eventually gave up the fight. They went to live with her for the teenage years, and I wondered if maybe My husband felt like their being gone was my fault, because if he had never married me they would still be there.

I thought about the four children we had together. They were proof of the years we did it right. They were happy, loving and well-adjusted. They were turning out to be amazing human beings. They weren’t screwed up by divorce or jealousy.

In spite of how different their childhoods were, all eight of our children had one thing in common. They were all close to their father, and they were all embarrassed by me.

I watched the downpour while inside the tears flowed. I thought about all the years I worked 3 jobs and made sure everyone had what they needed. I thought about all the show choir concerts and plays I missed while working 18-hour days. It occurred to me that if I were them, I wouldn’t give a shit about mom’s birthday either.

For the next few hours I sat and wrote each of my children a letter, telling them how sorry I was for everything I had and hadn’t done that brought them a moment of hurt or sadness. I wrote my husband, letting him know every regret I had and how much I missed our life before everything died.

I told my children and my family how much I loved them. I told them how much I missed being close. Then I told them I was leaving, because I couldn’t take being a ghost in my own home.

The storm raged as I packed a bag and left the notes on the table. Moments later I walked out the door and left my life. I would love to tell you everything turned out fine and that they were all at some location waiting to jump out and yell surprise. Unfortunately, that isn’t what happened.

The truth is that no-one even realized I was gone. The even sadder fact is that I thought about how sad I would be without them. I hated feeling invisible, but it occurred to me that even as a ghost I could still watch them.

A few hours later the storm let up, and I drove back home and hid the letters in my dresser.

I’m 55 now, and I am still invisible. I’m still alone most of the time. I still work 2 jobs to make sure everything gets taken care of, and I still love my family more than they will ever understand. The letters are there, waiting for the day I decide I can’t take being a ghost anymore.