It was a spring evening when we first met. My brother's college friend introduced us and then left. We sat in the dining room in my mother's house. Just the two of us. He talked for three hours about his European year in college. There was no inflection, not even a nod in my direction. He was more than sweet and I thought him odd. I turned down the first blind date before that night. It didn't feel right. Then I decided, 'oh what the heck." At nineteen you do that.
A week later he called and invited me to waterski. He took me to wonderful places. He was a year and a half my senior. He said we were 'puppydogs.'
That summer after his college graduation, we saw a lot of one another. With him living one hour to the southeast and a part time job, I stayed at his parent's home so we could visit. He worked every Sunday in a drug store. I liked him instantly. But everything was always about his needs. I loved him dearly.
My family wasn't much to talk about feelings, either. Dad took off, Mom did the best she could to raise us on a science teacher's salary. But even after we married, I couldn't understand his focus. Law school just isn't that hard, especially for a smartie like him.
Settling into my new job, a new apartment and a new life provided more than enough time alone. So did the next twenty-eight years, though I didn't see it coming. But law school was just the beginning for him. He was always in school. He felt more comfortable there. And he was always busy. He didn't sit. He expected everyone else to be on the go, too.
When I couldn't take it anymore, I filed for divorce. But when all of the men in your family have a form of autism you just
don't understand it. People didn't talk about it back then. They do now. While I have come to terms with it, there is a blankness to all our family photographs. He isn't there, not emotionally. He is also separate from us.
Years later I spoke with a psychiatrist friend about him. She confirmed the diagnosis based on my conversation with her. He lacked "neuronal receptors," she said. Without them he couldn't feel compassion. He was quite adept dealing with children. He had those skills. Social interactions were frightening. I never realized how scary they were. He was pretty monotonic about it. Always repetitive. Same shirts, same lunch, same pants, same schedule. The human component was missing. He was an automaton.
Some thirty years later, after I was dying physically, I filed for divorce. He never asked why I was leaving. He isn't involved with our children. Not anymore. Not with me in the picture to balance him out. He has Asberger's Syndrome. I have never known how to talk about these past years. There was a limited emotional connection. He didn't have the hardware to get there. Apparently I was missing a few spark plugs, too or I would have left.
Maybe. I still can't look at family photographs or speak his name. I lost my innocence. I gained some wonderful children. After my exodus, in the hours, days and weeks, I found the missing part. Myself. While the journey gets muddled from time to time, my inner GPS seems to right me. Eventually.
For more information:
http://www.kmarshack.com/_blog/Kathy_Marshack_News/post/Divorce_and_Asperger_Syndrome/
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