Dear Ted…

I don’t know why I’ve named you Ted but I had to name you.

We’ve never met. Or at least I don’t think we’ve ever met. You’re an older guy and I see a lot of older gentlemen where I work. Asking me if the ice cream machine is working or if you can get gravy on that chicken strips you’re about to eat before pushing your cart down the concrete aisles wondering if you’re medication is ready. So maybe we have met.

You and I will never know.

But there is something I need you to know regardless of whether or not we meet and actually figure out how closely we are connected: I hate you. I’m sorry to be so forthcoming with my hatred because you are probably a really nice person. And before I go on I guess I should at least give you the common courtesy of explaining myself…

You see two years ago you changed everything. You probably didn’t wake up that fateful morning and think to yourself “self, I’d like to get in my large truck and in just a few hours hit someone in the crosswalk”. I certainly didn’t wake up 3500 miles away and think to myself “self, I’d like to receive a call in just a few short hours telling me that my beautiful wife has been hit by a truck” and I’m pretty sure I can vouch for Red that she also did not wake up that morning and think to herself “Self, I’d like everything I’ve worked so hard for the last year to be taken away from me in the blink of an eye”

Why the universe chose to bring us all “together” will go forever unanswered.

I thought I was okay. I mean in the grand scheme of shitty things to have happened, the fact that I could wrap my arms around Red less than 24 hours later and see for my own eyes she was still living and breathing at least put me at some ease with what you did…Let me ask you a question though Ted: Have you ever gotten a rock in your shoe and felt that nagging discomfort as it rubbed and pressed into your skin? You know that sweet relief once you remove the rock and that gentle sigh of “oh that’s better”? For the last two years I’ve been searching for the sweet relief. Instead that rock that you planted has been growing bigger and the discomfort as it’s rubbed my emotional state raw is wearing me down.

Two years later and I’m feeling an immense amount of anger. The problem? It’s being directed toward the two people that don’t deserve it instead of the one person that does deserve it. I’m not trying to say you’re a horrible person for what you did. I’m just trying to direct some of what I’m feeling away from my life and for that too happen I have to acknowledge it’s existence.

I’m wracked with guilt over my anger. I’m wracked with confusion over my anger. I’m wracked with sadness over my anger. When I should be blaming you for what the last two years of my life has been like, I’m blaming Red. I’m blaming myself. When I should be angry at you, I’ve been angry at Red. Angry at myself. I kept thinking these feelings of resentment for the weight gain and emotional distress would dissipate but then I feel that incessant gnawing of discomfort press into my emotional (not so) well being and I have to admit that where I am right now is not a good place.

Red didn’t ask to be hit. She didn’t ask for the weight gain. She didn’t ask for the pain. She didn’t ask for any of what the last two years has brought and yet I still internally point fingers and instead of blaming you Ted, the rightful owner of my anguish I continue to blame myself and Red.

Did you know we were married just a few months before you hit her? Funny thing about this is we hadn’t even known what it was like to live together before you forced me to drop everything and come to Nova Scotia. In the 3 1/2 months we were married we spent three weeks within hand holding distance of each other. The months before we were married and the even longer months after, were mostly spent looking at each other over Skype or saying I love you over text. We spent hours talking about our admiration for one another because of how far we’d both come in our weight loss. Virtual high fiving over weights lifted, cloth sizes discarded and miles run. We planned long hikes in the mountains for our upcoming summers together and even longer walks in our new neighborhood in our new home during the colder months…

Then Ted, you came along.

I’m afraid to write about my anger. I’m afraid to put it out there because it’s not just me. It’s us. It would be different if I could definitively force my anger in a new direction towards an entity that is not emotionally connected to me. Sometimes I look out my window at a tree and wish I could just walk up to it and scream “I HATE YOU, YOU FUCKING TREE” and then stand there. The tree wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t react. It would just be. I could kick it and throw myself at it and it would just  stay in one place taking all that anger away from me.  Then when I was completely drained of that anger it would still be there almost as if in gratitude that I no longer felt angry and it was still just a tree.

So Ted, I’m here to tell you that I’m angry at my wife. I’m angry at what has happened to her and I acknowledge that my anger is painfully misdirected. I acknowledge that my guilt over this misdirected anger is causing me to eat foods that make me feel uncomfortable. I acknowledge that my misdirected anger is keeping me from running because deep down inside I feel like I deserve to punish myself.  That my own weight gain is a form of self punishment because if Red can’t lose the weight then why should I keep trying.

As fucked up as it all sounds Ted, I’m trying real hard to not let go of those few short weeks I had with her before you hit her. I close my eyes and I see that smile full of wonder and excitement over being married and how beautiful she looked in her wedding dress. It wasn’t just that I thought she looked beautiful but you could see that she felt beautiful. Like a movie star. And now when she cries over not being able to wear the things that once made her feel beautiful I try to remember that day we found the dress. The moment she put it on and her whole being glowed because all that hard work to save herself was reflecting back at her in the mirror and she could see it too.

When I hold her hand now I’m trying so hard not to let go of what I want for her. I imagine my fingers becoming her fingers. Wanting to reach up through her arm into her heart and pull out all the pain she feels. Pull out all the fear she still feels two years later. All the exhaustion of doctor’s appointments and lawyer conversations and instead replace everything with the bright fire she had the day I said “I love you”  some 3500 miles away at 5 am in an empty parking lot while I waited for the gym to open.

You took that away from me Ted.

You took it away from Us.

You deserve my anger.

Not Red. Not my marriage. Not me.

I hope you think about us. Especially in the wake of the 5 pedestrians hit this week in my city. Our city. The city in which you still drive. I hope each time you turn on your engine and buckle your seat belt you stop, even if just for an instance, and send up a little apology to my beautiful wife.

She deserves that much.

I’m sorry Red. I know the last couple of weeks hasn’t been easy on you. On us. The holidays suck already and then to have my emotional (not so) well being be even more off kilter takes it’s toll on your already burdened (not so) well being. Thank you for saying it’s okay to blog when the last thing I want to do is air the dirty laundry that is now the Martin (Carlson)/Dowe household instead of just me.  You of all people deserve to be loved beyond comprehension.

I love you.