The weirdness continued.
As much as I was freaked out by the thought of sitting on top of a bunch of nuclear weapons (quite literally), I was even more concerned by Janice's behavior.
She had always been very warm and loving. This was exactly what I needed in my life. After my first wife died, I felt lost and adrift. I wondered frequently how a kind and merciful God - the God I'd grown up believing in - could inflict this kind of pain on me. I knew, of course, that God has a plan. Or at least, I found comfort in the idea that there may be a higher purpose in life than what we can now perceive. Our current view is so limited and constrained by the here and now, I found solace in the idea that there was a hope of a continuation beyond the grave.
But all of this seemed to ring hollow when I found myself alone.
I was not really alone. I had friends and family who loved me. But the physical and emotional intimacy I had craved with my wife was gone, gone forever. It was terribly lonely and I found myself waking up in the night crying, my pillow wet with my own tears. I knew I had to be strong for my son, but I had no idea where that strength would come from.
I met Janice on a bad day. I was cranky and did not want to be around people. But her smile warmed my heart then, the power and clarity in her eyes filled me with light, and I knew I wanted to be with her. She could be the anchor I so desperately needed. She became an angel to me. It is not a stretch to say I worshiped her a little, loving her, my queen, my goddess. I loved her with my entire soul, and I felt that love rebounding across the connection between us. It was sublime - the best and most pure feeling I'd ever known.
So now I was devastated to feel her pulling away from me. I noticed it in several subtle ways, ways she probably didn't even know how to acknowledge herself...
...she began using the foreign language in my presence. Earlier, she'd been very aware of my need to know what was going on. I guess it was easier for her to use that language - she certainly seemed natural using it. But it kept me in the dark and left me feeling distanced and isolated. She even started teaching it to our daughter...
...she was finding excuses to be away. I was not free to roam the compound, so any excursion I wanted to make had to be with her. As she was spending more and more time with her father and her brother and the others in the team I found myself spending more and more time by myself or with my son. Janice usually took our daughter with her when she left....
...she did not join the rest of our family for meals. I knew she was busy, but this was something she'd always made a point to do - have at least one meal together as a family. This may not seem a big deal to an outsider, but it made mealtimes feel cold and lonely. Soon I began having meals brought to our room so I didn't have to go out...
...but even more difficult to describe was the emotional distance that began to creep into our relationship. The strange passionate fire I'd noticed in her eyes when Rick was describing the nuclear weapons remained. If anything, it burned brighter than before. This fire threatened to burn out the passion she'd once had for me. It was a terrible and difficult thing for me. The thought that I was losing her love at all, much less to something so repugnant to me, was intolerable. But there it was - the reality of it staring me in the face.
She'd come back at night, late, exhausted but exhilarated. I'd press her for details about what she'd been up to, what was going on, but she was evasive and elusive, sharing only innocuous things that did not add up to much. It was maddening, but none of my usual attempts to wheedle more information from her were working.
I felt hopeless and dejected. Worse even, I felt rejected by something insidious and divisive, worried that I'd ever get my sweet Janice back.
As much as I was freaked out by the thought of sitting on top of a bunch of nuclear weapons (quite literally), I was even more concerned by Janice's behavior.
She had always been very warm and loving. This was exactly what I needed in my life. After my first wife died, I felt lost and adrift. I wondered frequently how a kind and merciful God - the God I'd grown up believing in - could inflict this kind of pain on me. I knew, of course, that God has a plan. Or at least, I found comfort in the idea that there may be a higher purpose in life than what we can now perceive. Our current view is so limited and constrained by the here and now, I found solace in the idea that there was a hope of a continuation beyond the grave.
But all of this seemed to ring hollow when I found myself alone.
I was not really alone. I had friends and family who loved me. But the physical and emotional intimacy I had craved with my wife was gone, gone forever. It was terribly lonely and I found myself waking up in the night crying, my pillow wet with my own tears. I knew I had to be strong for my son, but I had no idea where that strength would come from.
I met Janice on a bad day. I was cranky and did not want to be around people. But her smile warmed my heart then, the power and clarity in her eyes filled me with light, and I knew I wanted to be with her. She could be the anchor I so desperately needed. She became an angel to me. It is not a stretch to say I worshiped her a little, loving her, my queen, my goddess. I loved her with my entire soul, and I felt that love rebounding across the connection between us. It was sublime - the best and most pure feeling I'd ever known.
So now I was devastated to feel her pulling away from me. I noticed it in several subtle ways, ways she probably didn't even know how to acknowledge herself...
...she began using the foreign language in my presence. Earlier, she'd been very aware of my need to know what was going on. I guess it was easier for her to use that language - she certainly seemed natural using it. But it kept me in the dark and left me feeling distanced and isolated. She even started teaching it to our daughter...
...she was finding excuses to be away. I was not free to roam the compound, so any excursion I wanted to make had to be with her. As she was spending more and more time with her father and her brother and the others in the team I found myself spending more and more time by myself or with my son. Janice usually took our daughter with her when she left....
...she did not join the rest of our family for meals. I knew she was busy, but this was something she'd always made a point to do - have at least one meal together as a family. This may not seem a big deal to an outsider, but it made mealtimes feel cold and lonely. Soon I began having meals brought to our room so I didn't have to go out...
...but even more difficult to describe was the emotional distance that began to creep into our relationship. The strange passionate fire I'd noticed in her eyes when Rick was describing the nuclear weapons remained. If anything, it burned brighter than before. This fire threatened to burn out the passion she'd once had for me. It was a terrible and difficult thing for me. The thought that I was losing her love at all, much less to something so repugnant to me, was intolerable. But there it was - the reality of it staring me in the face.
She'd come back at night, late, exhausted but exhilarated. I'd press her for details about what she'd been up to, what was going on, but she was evasive and elusive, sharing only innocuous things that did not add up to much. It was maddening, but none of my usual attempts to wheedle more information from her were working.
I felt hopeless and dejected. Worse even, I felt rejected by something insidious and divisive, worried that I'd ever get my sweet Janice back.
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