King's Daughter's Kitchen

I left my abusive husband and moved three hours away. I wanted to get a divorce and never, ever go back. I finally had the guts to be me, by myself, free, after two years of counseling. I found a small, cheap place to live near my new job, working for the State, an indoor, sit down, phone and paperwork job, with retirement and benefits. My church family was awesome and supportive. The place I lived was full of hope and joy, the opposite of my marriage. My life began to take a positive shape for the first time ever.

Then, the phone calls started. The bank, water company, electricity, and gas called to say payments were behind. The bank was about to take the house. I stayed in contact with my husband by phone the entire time. I asked about the bills. He screamed in my ear. I paid them all, have kept on paying them, and have never talked to him about money since.

It was when he asked about food that I figured out something was really wrong. I had stocked the kitchen with a month’s worth of easy-fix meals before I left. The food must have been about gone. He truly didn’t know how to make a meal or get decent groceries to restock. His decision-making process, attention span, and short-term memory were off.

I prayed and I thought a lot. I made the hardest decision I ever had to make, to go back to him.

My husband had no friends or family to care for him. It had to be me. We went to the doctor and a specialist, who finally said he had Lewy Body Dementia. My marriage was the same as before except for this: I knew it was my mission and gift to show this bitter, selfish man the love of Christ. He tried and tried to goad me into losing my temper, but in the time I was gone from him, I had seen who I could be and found a place within myself, with the help of the Holy Spirit, of quiet calm and peace. I did not argue back, burst into tears, or blow up. Ironically, the calmer I was, the angrier and more sullen he was. Then, I figured out he did it for attention, so I quit giving that any. I determined to show him love and caring, no matter what. I decided he can get mad and glad in the same pair of pants. I am not responsible for the choices of other people. From now until the time he passes, he will see love, the love of Christ. I am happy that my husband knows about Jesus. I wish he knew Jesus as his best friend. Just once, I would like to see him full of joy. That’s my prayer for him, that the Holy Spirit touch his soul with a sense of joy and love so powerful that he will never go back to his sad self.