I’ve loved 2 women in my life…

The first was my high school sweet-heart. Her name is Mindy, and we still talk to this day.
She is a great chick, top notch human, and pretty beautiful for an old gal…
(Don’t hurt me Funk)

The second was my wife. I’ll call her Donut for fear of future retribution.
We talk now occasionally…
I usually end up crying.
She tells me to get over it…

I met her when she was 15.
She is of Spanish-English stock. She stood about 5’ tall, weighed about 105 lbs, had shoulder length dark brown hair, big brown eyes and lips to die for.
She was a gymnast and had bigger muscles than me.
I taught her to drive with a manual transmission.
She was there when I graduated from the police academy.
She was beautiful. And I fell madly in lust and love.

God I love that girl.

Everything about her was magic to me.

I could just watch her from across the room, sitting on the couch in her PJ’s, eating a bowl of cereal, concentrating on the TV and feel my chest hurt. I would almost cry just watching her. Everything she was or did took my breath away.

The smell of her hair when it was still damp from a shower.

The small of her back when I held her.

How she would chew her Saturday morning cereal.

The way she would giggle at the TV and ask me if that was real.

Her breath in my ear, her lips across my shoulders when we practiced making babies.

I watched her give birth to the ones we practiced really hard for.

She cried after her epidural, asking me to rub her legs because she couldn’t feel them anymore. I was her hero she sobbed.

She liked to pick my black-heads. She called me a baby when I screamed or passed out.

Then…she told me she didn’t love me anymore.

Then…she said she wanted a divorce.

Then…she told me she had been with other men.

Men…that I knew.

Men that I saw every day…every week.

That was the moment I realized that I really didn’t want a heart after all.
That was the day I died.
The first Trey died that day.

For a long time I told anyone who cared to listen (until they were sick of it) that I never seen it coming.

For a long time I told anyone who cared to listen, that it was all her doing

For a long time I told anyone who cared to listen that I wasn’t to blame

For a long time I told anyone who cared to listen that I wasn’t paying her any child support because SHE LEFT ME!!

For a long time I told anyone who cared to listen that I was the wronged one.

For a long time I told myself lies.

For a longer time, I had ignored my wife.

The sad thing about growing old is the day that we no longer bullshit ourselves about our short-comings and the mistakes we have made in our lives. We tend to hold honesty and truthfulness to the highest standards. It’s probably because we don’t care if people like it or not. Or…we just want to finally face the pain.

I treated Donut like a toy. She was shiny and pretty. She wasn’t real to me. She wasn’t a person.

But, I know now that I was not mature enough or aware…that there were other beings on this earth that had feelings.

That there was a woman that actually loved me at one time.

She told me so…many times.

That… she loved me.

I wasn’t mean to her. I didn’t cuss or hit her. I just…didn’t give her my best.

I mistreated her hope in me.

There is nothing in this world or universe that is more devastating to a prideful man or woman than when their spouse…their heart….tells them that they have been with other lovers.


I’m not going to try and explain the pain, because all of you dear readers can imagine it. And probably a good part of you have experienced it. I am so sorry anyone has ever felt that betrayal.

Did she betray me? In some sense maybe…I don’t know. I still have problems with that part.

It’s not easy to convince yourself of that type of admission. To face that…reality?

How did I survive those next years? I have no idea.
It probably helped that my heart was gone. It probably helped that my soul was gone. It probably helped that my reason for living was still here…but, gone.

The big problem over the past few years (after my worse alcoholic stretch) is when I came to grips with the fact that I drove her away, and how I’d done it.

Without realizing I was doing it.

That’s what kills me now. I didn’t realize it.

God I hate regret.

I’ve always told people I want my tombstone to read “Here is a good man that died with a clear conscience”

So much for that…

I never saw it coming…then

Her leaving me…

That’s what I regret the most.

I wasn’t paying attention to my lover, my friend, the mother of my children…

My wife.

It’s been 23 years since our divorce. I hurt now as I did then.

She tells me to get over it…that it was a long time ago

Right…it was 5 minutes ago to me.

Fresh as new rain…

It’s a part of me now.

I cry if I think about it too much.

What a bastard I must be in this awake place.

16 thoughts on “Regret”

    1. That part made ME cry too. Well, the whole damn thing did really….It’s the most glorious part of writing. When the writer can make themselves cry or laugh. That’s when the readers know It’s real. It’s the reason I do it I think…

      1. Well, if you’re laughing as hard as I am just now at your writing your endorphin levels must be through the roof. I can’t switch off to go to sleep. And it’s in the morning. Shiiiit.
        Writing is so cathartic and addictive. Keep it up. It’s fabulous. I want to print them out and hang them in my staffroom! Everybody deserves to laugh.
        And we all cry too. Too sad about your loss. But the hope thing is pretty big. Hope again. In yourself and then somebody.
        What am I saying? Look at who I’m talking to? I’ve just enrolled myself in the kingdom of Trey as a reasonably loyal subject. Well, no, nix on the subject. Fan. Fan’s better.
        Don’t know why you’re driving lorries. You should be doing stand-up. Oh, you are! :)x

  1. It’s refreshing to hear a man’s perspective. Now, if you added in the ridicule, emotional and physical abuse, along with the one you love being with others… you could have been talking about my ex-husband!

    I saw your response to “ChrisWrites” post today. I clicked on your blog because, well, my oldest son’s name is Trey… I’m kinda partial to it. Well, his name is really Bernal, but, since he’s the third we — the ex and I — thought to give him the nickname of Tre… which is Italian for the number 3… only I was out on drugs after he was born and the ex didn’t spell too well. Thank God he didn’t spell it Tray. I would hate to think how that would have gone over in public school!

    Anywho – nice to enter into Treylaland (I think that is what I read).

    1. Thank you. My name comes from Cajun French.. Tre’

      I too am a third. Well that was weird…I too am a third?
      I hope you like the rest of my stories. Check out my “Dream” series. Girls like that.

      And thanx so much for taking the time…

      1. We’re all related down here don’t cha know?

        I’m kin to the Trahans, Braunes’ and Fontenots’.

        My dad was a honky though…my mom was the coon ass

  2. I admire your courage writing here as well as help you process some of your thoughts, difficult emotions related to many memories. I say that becuase I have tried many times over the years and this particular blog was a start but unlike you I can only go in snippets, a poem here, a short fiction there, but all under the category “memoir”…hopefully I will be able to put some order in these stories and put them all into one “memoir”. I look forward to reading the next chapter and the one after that…You have a lovely style of writing making is very enjoyable to read with an amazing sense of humour.

    1. I just thought of this simile… or comparison;
      I spill my bitter cup over the table
      The hard gulf between us
      The liquid of ill-favor soaks us both
      Now, we share something in common
      Regret and loss that we can laugh about…

      Wow… I haven’t even had my latte’ yet! Lol

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