TOTAL MARITAL MISCOMMUNICATION !!

IT'S BETTER TO LOSE YOUR PRIDE TO THE ONE YOU LOVE, THAN TO LOSE THE ONE YOU LOVE BECAUSE OF PRIDE. (so true.)

Story goes like this:
TOTAL MARITAL MISCOMMUNICATION !!
A fatal misunderstanding and the person who loves me the most in this world is gone forever.
Cruel misunderstandings, one after the other, had disrupted the blissful footsteps in our family. Our original and noble intentions of having Mother enjoy some quiet and peaceful moments in her remaining years with us went terribly wrong as destiny's secret was finally revealed at a stiff price and before we knew it, every thing became too late.
Just two years after our marriage, hubby brought up the idea of asking Mother to move in with us from the rural hometown and spend her remaining years with us. Hubby's father passed away while he was still very young and mother had endured much hardship and struggled all throughout her own life to be able to provide for him and see him through to a university degree. You could say that she suffered a great deal and did everything you could expect of a woman to bring her son, my hubby to where he is today. I immediately agreed and started packing the spare room in the house, which has a balcony facing the South, to let her enjoy the sunshine and plant some greenery. While going through my chores, Hubby stood in the bright room, and suddenly just picked me up and started spinning me round and round over his head. As I begged for him to put me down, he said: "Lets go fetch mother." Hubby is tall and big-sized and I love to rest on his chest and enjoy the feeling of him picking me up any moment. Whenever we had an argument, and both of us refused to back down, he would pick me up and spin me over his head continuously until I surrender and beg for mercy. I became addicted to this kind of panic-joy feeling.
Mother brought along her countryside habits and lifestyle with her when she joined us. For example; I was so used to buying flowers to decorate the living room and she could not stand it and would often comment: "I do not know how you young people can spend your money, what do you have to buy flowers for? You also can't eat the flowers!" I would often smile to her tirades and would usually say: "Mum, with flowers in the house, our mood will also become better." Mother would continue to grumble away and hubby would just smile: "Mum, this is a city-people's habit; slowly you will get used to it." Mother would usually stop saying anything. But every time thereafter, whenever I came home with flowers, she would ask me how much the flowers cost. I would tell her how much and she would shake her head and express displeasure. Sometimes, when I came home with lots of shopping bags, she would ask each and every item and how much they cost, I would tell her honestly and she would get even more upset. Hubby would playfully pinch my nose and would say: "You little fool, just don't tell her the full price of everything and that would solve it." There began the friction to our otherwise happy lifestyle.
Mother hated it most when hubby would wake up early to prepare the breakfast. In her point of view, how could the man of the house cook for the wife? At the breakfast table, mother's facial expression was always like the dark clouds before a thunderstorm and I would pretend not to notice. She would use her chopsticks and make a lot of noise with it to show her silent protest.
As I was a dance teacher in the Children's Palace and I was usually exhausted from a long day of dancing around, I did not wish to give up the luxury of that additional few minutes in the comfort of my bed and hence I decided to turn a deaf ear to all the protests mother made. From time to time, mother would help out with some of the housework, but soon her help created additional work for me. For example: she would keep all kinds of plastic bags, accumulate them so that she would sell them later on, and that resulted in our house being filled with all the trash bags; she would scrimp on dish washing detergent whenever she was helping wash the dishes. So as not to hurt her feelings, I would quietly wash the dishes again.
One day, late at night, mother saw me quietly re-washing the dishes, and "Bam", she slammed her bedroom door and cried very loudly in her room. Hubby was placed in a very difficult position, and after that, he did not speak to me during the entire night. I pretended to be a spoiled child, tried acting cute, but he totally ignored me. I got mad and asked him: "What did I do wrong?" Hubby stared at me and said: "Can't you just give in to her once? We couldn't possibly die eating from a bowl however unclean it is, right?" After that incident, for a long period of time, mother did not speak to me again and you can feel the awkwardness of the situation hanging in the house.
During that period of cold war, hubby was caught in dilemma as to who he would please. In order to stop her son from having to prepare breakfast, mother took on the "all important" task of preparing breakfast without any prompting. At the breakfast table, mother would look at hubby happily eating his breakfast and would cast that reprimanding stare at me for having failed to perform my duty as a wife. To avoid that embarrassing breakfast situation, I resorted to buying my own breakfast on my way to work. That night, while in bed, hubby was a little upset and asked me: "LD, is it because you think that mum's cooking is not clean that's why you chose not to eat at home?" He then turned his back on me and left me alone in tears as the feeling of unfairness overwhelmed me. After some time, hubby sighed: "LD, just for me, can you have breakfast at home?" I was left with no choice but to return to the breakfast table.
The next morning, I was having porridge prepared by mother and I felt a sudden churning in my stomach and everything inside seemed to be rushing up my throat. I tried to suppress the urge to throw up but I couldn't. I threw down the bowl and rushed into the washroom and vomited everything out. Just as I was catching my breath, I saw mother crying and grumbling very loudly in her dialect, hubby was standing at the washroom doorway staring at me with fire burning in his eyes. I opened my mouth but no words came out of it, I really didn't mean it. We had our very first big fight that day; mother took a look at us, then stood up and slowly made her way out of the house. Hubby gave me a final stare and followed mother down the stairs. For three days, hubby did not return home, not even a phone call. I was so furious. Since mother arrived; I had been trying my best in putting up with her, what else did he want me to do? And for no reason at all, I kept having the feeling of throwing up and I simply had no appetite for food. Coupled with all the events happening at home, I was at the lowest point in my life. Finally, a colleague said: "LD, you look terrible, you should go and see a doctor." The doctor confirmed that I was pregnant. Now it became clear to me why I threw up that fateful morning and a sense of sadness floated through that otherwise happy news. Why didn't hubby, and mother who had been through this before, thought of the possibility of this being the reason why I threw up that day?
At the hospital entrance, I saw my hubby standing there. It had only been three days, but he looked haggard. I had wanted to turn and leave, but one look at him and my heart softened, I couldn't resist and called out to him. He followed my voice and finally found me but he pretended that he didn't know me; he had that disgusted look in his eyes that cut right through my heart.
I told myself not to look at him anymore, and hailed a cab. At that moment, I had such a strong urge inside me to shout to my hubby: "Darling, I am having your baby!" and have him lift me up and spin me round in circles of joy. What I wanted didn't happen and as I sat in the cab, my tears rolled down my cheeks. Why? Why our love couldn't even withstand the test of one fight? Back home, I laid on the bed thinking about my hubby and the look of disgust in his eyes. I cried and cried and wetted the corner of the blanket. That same night, the sounds of the drawers opening woke me up. I switched on the lights and saw hubby with tears rolling down his face. He was removing the money from the drawer. I stared at him in silence; he ignored me, took the bank deposit book and some money and left the house. Maybe he really intended to leave me for good. What a rational man, so clear-cut in love in money matters. I gave a few dried laugh and tears started streaming down again.
The next day, I did not go to work. I wanted to clear this out and had a good talk with hubby. I reached his office and his secretary gave me a weird look and said: "Mr. Tan's mother had a traffic accident and is now in the hospital." I stood there in shock. I rushed to the hospital and by the time I found hubby, mother had already passed away. Hubby did not look at me, his face was expressionless. I looked at mother's pale white and thin face and I couldn't control the tears in my eyes. My god, how could this happen?
Throughout the funeral, hubby did not say a single word to me, with only the occasional disgusted stare at me. I only managed to find out brief facts about the accident from other people: That day, after mother left the house, she walked in daze toward the bus stop, apparently intending to go back to her old house back in the countryside. As hubby ran after her, she tried to walk faster and as she tried to cross the street, a public bus came and hit her...
I finally understood how much hubby must hate me, if I had not thrown up that morning, if we had not quarreled, if...In his heart, I was indirectly the killer of his mother. Hubby moved into mother's room and came home every night reeking of liquor. And me, I was buried under the guilt and self pity and could hardly breath. I wanted to explain to him, tell him that we were going to have our baby soon, but each time, I saw the dead look in his eyes, all the words I had at the brink of my mouth just fell back in. I would rather he hit me real hard or give me a big and thorough scolding, though none of the events that happened had been my fault at all. Many days of suffocating silence went by and as the days went by, hubby came home later and later. The deadlock between us continued, we were living together like strangers who didn't know each other. I was like the dead knot in his heart.
One day, as I passed by a western restaurant looking into the glass window, I saw hubby and a girl sitting facing each other and he very lightly brushed her hair for her. I understood what it meant. After recovering from that moment of shock, I entered the restaurant, stood in front of my hubby and stared hard at him, not a tear in my eyes. I had nothing to say to him, and there was no need to say anything.
The girl looked at me, looked at hubby, stood up and wanted to go, hubby stretched out his hand and stopped her. He stared back at me, challenging me. I could only hear my slow heart beat, beating one by one as if on the brink of death. I eventually backed down. If I had stood any longer, I would have collapsed, together with the baby inside me.
That night, he did not come home, he had chosen to use that as a way to indicate to me: Following mother's death so did our love for each other follow. He did not come home anymore after that. Sometimes, when I returned home from work, I could tell that the cupboard had been touched. He had returned to take some of his stuff. I no longer wished to call him. The initial desire to explain everything to him vanished.
I lived alone. I went to my medical checkups alone. My heart broke again and again every time I saw a guy carefully helping his wife through the physical examination. My office colleagues hinted to me to consider aborting the baby. I told them No, I will not. I insisted on having this baby. Perhaps it was my way of repaying mother for causing her death.
One day, I came home and I saw hubby sitting in the living room. The whole house was filled with cigarette smoke. On the coffee table was a piece of paper. I know what this was all about without even looking at it. In the two months plus of living alone, I had gradually learned to find peace within myself. I looked at him, removed my hat and said: "You wait a while, I will sign." He looked at me, mixed feelings in his eyes, just like mine. As I hang up my coat, I kept repeating to myself "You cannot cry, you cannot cry..." My eyes hurt terribly, but I refused to let the tears to come out from there.
After I hung up my coat, hubby's eyes stared fixed at my bulging tummy. I smiled, walked over to the coffee table and pulled the paper towards me.
Without even looking at what was written in the paper, I signed my name on it and pushed the paper to him. "LD, you are pregnant?" Since mother's accident, that was the first time he spoke to me. I could not control my tears any further and they fell like raindrops. I said: "Yes, but it's ok, you can leave now." He did not go. In the dark, we sat, facing each other. Hubby slowly moved over to me, his tears wetting the blanket. In my heart, everything seemed so far away, so far that even if I sprinted, I could never reach them. I could not remember how many times he repeated "sorry" to me. I had originally thought that I would forgive him, but now I couldn't. In the western restaurant, in front of that girl, that cold look in his eyes, I will never forget, ever. We had drawn such deep scars in each other's heart. For me, it was
unintentional; for him, totally intentional.
I had been waiting for this moment of reconciliation, but I realized now, what had happened in the past was gone forever and could never be repeated. Other than the thought of the baby inside me that brought some warmth to my heart, I was totally cold towards him, I no longer ate anything he bought for me, I didn't take any presents from him and I stopped talking to him.
From the moment I signed on that piece of paper, marriage and love had vanished from my heart. Sometimes, hubby would try to come into the bedroom, but when he walked in, I would walk out to the living room. He had no choice but to sleep in mother's room. At night, from his room, I could hear light sounds of groaning. I kept quiet. This used to be his trick; whenever I ignored him, he would fake illness and I would surrender and find out what was wrong with him, then he would then grab me and laugh. He had forgotten that last time I cared for him and was concerned because there was love, but now, was there any more love between us?
Hubby's groaning came on and off, continuing all the way till baby was born. Almost everyday, he would buy something for the baby, infant products, children products and books that kids like to read. Bags and bags of baby stuffs were stacked inside his room till the room was full. I know he was trying to use this to reach out to me, but I was no longer moved by his actions. He had no choice but to lock himself in his room where I could hear him typing away on his computer keyboard. Maybe now he is addicted to web surfing, but none of those mattered to me anymore.
It was sometime towards the end of spring in the following year, one late night, I screamed because of a sudden stomach pain, hubby came rushing into the room, it was like he did not change and sleep, and had been waiting for this moment. He carried me and ran down the stairs, stopped a car and held my hand very tightly and kept wiping the sweat off my brows throughout the journey to the hospital. Once we reached the hospital, he carried me and hurried into the delivery suite. Lying on the back of his skinny but warm body, a thought crossed my mind: In my lifetime, who else would love me as much as he did? He held the delivery suite door opened and watch me went in, his warm eyes caused me to manage a smile at him despite my contraction pain.
Coming out of the delivery room, hubby looked at our son, and finally at me, his eyes filled with tears of joy and he kept smiling. I reached out and touched his hand. Hubby looked at me, smiling and then he slowly collapsed onto the floor. I cried out for him in pain... He smiled, but without opening that tired eyes of his... I had thought that I would never shed any tear for him, but the truth was, I had never felt a deeper pain cutting through my body at that moment.
Doctor said that by the time hubby discovered he had liver cancer, it was already in terminal stage and it was a miracle that he managed to last this long. I asked the doctor when did he first discover he had cancer? The doctor said about 5 months ago and he consoled me, saying: "Prepare for his funeral." I disregarded the nurse's objection and rushed home, I went into his room and checked his computer, and a suffocating pain hit me.
Hubby's cancer was discovered 5 months ago, his groaning was real, and I had thought that... The computer showed over 200 thousand words that he wrote for our son: "Son, just for you, I have persisted, to be able to take a look at you before I fall. It's my biggest wish now... I know that in your life, you will have many happiness and maybe some setbacks, if only I can accompany you throughout that journey, how nice would it be. But daddy now no longer has that chance. Daddy has written inside here all the possible difficulties and problems you may encounter during your lifetime, when you meet with these problems, you can refer to daddy's suggestions... Son, after writing these 200 thousand words, I feel as if I have accompanied you through your life journey. To be honest, daddy is very happy. Do love your mother, she has suffered, she is the one who loves you most and also the one who loves me most..."
From play school to primary school, to secondary, university, to work and even in dealing with questions of love, everything big and small was written there in my hubby's computer. Hubby had also written a letter for me:

"My dear, to marry you is my biggest happiness, forgive me for the pain I have caused you, forgive me for not telling you my illness, because I want to see you in a joyful mood waiting for the arrival of our baby... My dear, if you cried, it means that you have forgiven me and I would smile, thank you for loving me... These presents, I'm afraid I cannot give them to our son personally, could you help me to give some of them to him every year, the dates on what to give when are all written on the packaging..."
Going back to the hospital, hubby was still in coma. I brought our son over and placed him beside him. I said: "Open
your eyes and smile, I want our son to remember being in the warmth of your arms..."
He struggled to open his eyes and managed a weak smile. Our son, still in his arms was happily waving his tiny
hands in the air. I pressed the button on the camera and the sound of the shutter rang through the air as tears slowly rolled down my face...
THE END