Normal people

"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be married to a normal person," she says and I look away.

In that moment I remember standing in a garage, talking to Karl who was half a world away. I was renting a room from someone whose husband was also deployed and Karl was halfway through his second deployment - the 15 month deployment, the only one we were together for. I had just gotten in an argument with my best friend, who thought I was rushing into things, who didn't understand why I had moved myself and my baby across the country for a man I had been talking to again for less than a year. I didn't know, she argued, who he would be when he came home. I didn't really know, she thought, who he was now. She was right that I didn't know who he'd be when he came home, but I knew who he was then. Even in his lowest moments, parts of him still shine through - his honor and honesty. I half listened for my daughter to wake up from her nap and I told him about the argument. She had some good points. If we were going to get married, I needed to know he was in it.

"What if you do have PTSD? What if you are angry? What if you're different? Would you get counseling?"

He sputters a bit. Counseling isn't really something he's into.

"If we're going to do this, I need to know that you're willing to do whatever it takes to make this work."

"Okay, yes, fine."

"Even if that means seeing someone for counseling?"

"Yes, whatever it takes, if I need it."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

In that moment, when my friend wonders what it's like to be married to a normal person, I am beside Karl in our old Toyota Echo. We are driving on a winding, hilly country road, on the way home from a camping trip and I am crying. I can't do this anymore. I don't want a divorce but I absolutely do not want my marriage anymore.

"You said, you promised," my voice cracks, "that you would do whatever it takes. I can't be the only one here."

I am tired. I am exhausted. I cannot be the only one in a marriage. It takes two people and Karl won't do anything. It isn't even a marriage. It is just work and I would like to quit. So I tell him. I tell him, again, how tired I am. I tell him, again, that I cannot do everything. I tell him, earnestly, that I am unwilling to be in this marriage any longer.

I want Karl. I want him to be home with me in the evenings. I want him to split the bedtime duties with me. I want him to do the dishes. I want him to pick movies on date night. I want him to split a bottle of wine with me. I want him to be my partner.

More than any of these things, I want him to take some responsibility for himself. I want him to set reminders in his phone. I want him to write himself notes. I want him to use his GPS to get places. I know he cannot do everything by himself, but I desperately want and need him to do something for himself.

I cannot be his mother and his wife day in and day out. I cannot continue to take complete responsibility for his class schedule, his chores, his hygiene, his vitamins, his life. Something has to give.

I want to be married to Karl, but I do not want the marriage I find myself in. I tell him this, again, and I ask him to choose. He can continue as he has been, but I will not continue as I have been. If he wants a marriage with me, it has to change.

He started therapy. I started therapy.

I learned to have a little faith. I stopped doing everything I had been doing for Karl directly and I started letting him fail.

He started setting alarms and using the calendar on his phone.

I started taking vacations, alone, where I am not responsible for anyone.

We still fight, regularly, about him taking responsibility for himself. I do not answer him when he asks what we are doing today. I look at him a little incredulously until he consults the google calendar on his iPhone. I buy him vitamins when he runs out, but he doles them out to himself and takes them when his vitamin alarm goes off. I do not remind him to do his homework, but I do find myself very annoyed when he stays up until two in the morning, rude and cranky, because he hasn't allotted himself time to do his homework during the day.

I do remind him not to walk off when he is filling his cup at the fridge. I also remind him when it is time to pick up the kids or take them somewhere or put them to bed. If no one else will suffer when he messes up though, I let him fail. It is better for all of us.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be married to a normal person too. I wonder what we would fight about if all our fights didn't revolve around Karl forgetting something because he trusted himself to remember it. I wonder what it would be like not to wonder if my husband, age 30, will forget who I am within the next ten years. I wonder what it would be like not to try to shield Karl from loud noises and crowds. I wonder what it would be like if I didn't fight with neurologists and neuropsychologists. I wonder what it would be like if it was different: if he had died; if he and I had never gotten back together; if, when I said, "I can't do this anymore," Karl had said, "ok, don't"

Today I went by the mall to pick up a bath bomb for my kids from Lush, my favorite indulgence. A saleswoman who knows me by sight asked how my husband was. Another saleswoman looked at us questioningly and I said, "My husband drove over a bomb." She got a look of horror on her face.

I laughed.

Probably, sometimes, my husband wonders what it would be like to be married to a normal person too.