The Worst Day of My Life

All in all, I have a very happy life.  I am thankful for so many things.  I have never been divorced, I have never been addicted to a foreign substance, I have never been suicidal, I have never been bankrupt, and I have never lost a child.  But I have cried myself to sleep once or twice.  I can think of a couple specific days that I would rate as The Worst Days of My Life.  I don't use that phrase loosely and it bothers me when people do.  A certain person in my life has often uttered the words to me, "I had the worst day of my life today."  After hearing her use this phrase more than a handful of times, I finally called her out on it.  "Wow," I said.  "You sure have a lot of worst days of your life.  I'm glad I don't have the worst day of my life as often as you do."  OK, maybe I was a little too harsh.  But that phrase carries a lot of meaning and shouldn't be thrown around so carelessly.

The Worst Day of My Entire Life was December 23, 2003.  I was two months pregnant with Big Sis and I was very sick.  I had done very little Christmas shopping, as I was barely able to leave the house.  My mother had been acting strange for a while and I could tell she was hiding something from me.  Finally after my constant hounding, she revealed that she was concerned about her only sister who was going through some problems.  I quickly brushed it off, stating that everything would be fine.  It always was.  You would have to understand how close my family is to have a concept of why this was so traumatic to me.  My aunt is a mix between my big sister and second mother.  We are neighbors and see each other every day.  Two days before Christmas, her poor excuse of a husband decided to rip my family and church totally apart by telling his wife he was leaving her.  He told her that he didn't find her attractive and that he hadn't loved her in a long, long time (his exact words).  He packed up his things and moved to South America to be with a woman he had been seeing for some time.  He left behind his three sons, the youngest who was 8.  He left behind a luxurious home with a stay-at-home wife who couldn't afford it.  He fought to get out of spousal and child support.  He was a minister who tore apart a church as well as a family.

This news hit me like a ton of bricks.  All I was able to do was lie on the couch, sobbing and vomiting from morning sickness.  I couldn't eat.  My poor little boys, aged 4 and 2, kept asking what was wrong.  They would place their tiny hands on my cheek and say, "Why are you crying, Mama?"  I couldn't care for them.  It broke my heart.  I worried that I was going to lose my baby because I wasn't taking care of my own needs. 

Seven years have passed and I have recovered.  But I still consider that day The Worst Day of My Life.  I would kick that man in the face if I ever laid eyes on him again.  Thankfully, I haven't.  My aunt still struggles every day of her life to pay bills that she can't afford.  She has two boys in college and one in high school.  Their father cut the oldest two off the day they turned 18.  Classy.  And his story?  He didn't stay with the mistress for very long.  He ended up cheating on her too.  But she became a bit more violent than the first woman he shafted.  (Ha!)  He hooked up with another foreign woman and moved to Asia.  They are married now and he has three step-children.  He treats them better than he treats his flesh-and-blood sons, which disgusts me.  The only consolation I have is that he is going to get what's coming to him.  He may be living in the lap of luxury now with servants, personal chefs, and chauffeurs, but what goes around comes around.  I just hope I get to be there to see it when it does.