Haven't posted in awhile because I've been working on this new book. Not the happiest of stories, but one that contributes my insights into why my seemingly loyal and loving husband became a sometimes cheating spouse. The whole story in a short ebook is available on Amazon Kindle. Click on book cover to go to Amazon page.
Actor Tom O'Rourke, my husband of thirty five years, who I loved and adored, confessed from the afterlife that he had cheated throughout our marriage. Devastated, I had to look back at our life to understand who he really was, whether he'd ever loved me and why he had to come clean about his infidelity, even after his death. Tom was an actor you've seen many times TV in "X-Files", "Law and Order", and who played Justin on the "Guiding Light". I was a model with Eileen Ford. We were baby boomers. This is our story.
As I gazed out my kitchen window, a large black pickup truck rolled slowly and ominously up beside my home and stopped. Its presence was chilling and solemn, and I knew it was death. Recounting the strange dream to my husband of thirty three years the next morning, little did I suspect that I had seen the legendary death coach of Irish folklore, the Coiste Bower, which signifies the inevitability of death. "Once it comes to earth, it can never return empty, because some greater power has decreed a person's death and mortals may do nothing to prevent it." (Wikipedia) A little over a year later, my husband had passed away, and all our dreams for this world were ended, or so I thought. Blame my Irish grandmother for this dubious gift of second sight, something I'd always considered merely an ignorant superstition. But that was before I learned how permeable the veil between life and death is and how closely bound and intimately cherished our earthly loves and endeavors are by our creator.
It has been six years since I lost Tom, and I now live in the Pacific Northwest, a place that I believe God must have created last, saving all that was most beautiful and benevolent for his final triumph. But to love it as I do, you must be a person who thrives on rainy days, dark winter afternoons, trailing mists, and skies of smudged gray clouds. It is hauntingly lovely, bounded by the pale silky waters of Puget Sound, wondrous islands on the horizon that tantalize the imagination, and always the mist drifting thoughtfully over the rocky shores and catching ghosts in the evergreen spires, rendering everything insubstantial and timeless, as if you are in a dream and can't wake up. It's a naturally mystic landscape, conducive to reverie and a very forgiving place for the broken hearted.
Tom was the love of my life. We were an unlikely couple: I, a graduate in Environmental Science from Barnard, a model with Eileen Ford, and a Bob Dylan fan; he a former paratrooper and graduate of Goodman Theater School in Chicago, now a New York City actor and an Elvis fan. We'd met due to our shared pursuit of theater, acting and the arts as a profession. Both of us had been born into the inhospitable world of dysfunctional families, where your parents often were your worst enemy. We each had one parent who could emit love as from a distant planet, an intermittent signal, often garbled and fuzzy, but nevertheless sometimes it offered solace that we were not entirely alone in the universe. Tom's mother, much abused and beaten, still could feel something for her first son. My father, devoted to his narcissistic, sly and manipulative wife, was still proud of his daughter's good sense.
When I said goodbye to Tom, I buried the only true friend I'd ever had. We had both been each other's Hail Mary Pass, our last hope to find a kindred spirit in this world, someone who understood what a desperate struggle life could be, even for a child; someone who understood how deep the need for love could be, and how very lonely life could be. But when he was gone, at least I had his memory and the consolation that I had been loved. Whatever else had gone wrong, I had been loved.
Then the deeper vision that is second sight visited me again in a dream. This time, after so many previous experiences with psychic seeing, I knew what I saw was manifestly true. It was a very real dream, too real. I woke up constantly in the early morning hours, revisiting the dream, falling back to sleep and weeping throughout the dreams, woke up and wept and wept more. In the dream, I was watching Tom as his younger self, and he was chasing after other women, in a way I recognize instinctively as sexual heat. He glances back at me with a cold face, walking away from me after them. Ignoring me. It was impossible to believe. Even in the dream, I couldn't quite believe he was doing that, ignoring me, going off deliberately with other women, almost as if to show contempt for me. I called out to him to come tell me if it is true that he has been unfaithful to me. There was a white haired man sitting nearby, head down, with shoulders slumped, facing the other way. I waited until he left to ask Tom. Tom just stared at me coldly. I woke up again and again, crying, sobbing, exhausted.
It felt almost as if I had been prepared by the creator all my life to believe in psychic experiences, so that by the time this devastating dream arrived, I would know it was the truth. And now I was left all alone to face this hurtful confession. Could it really mean what it seemed to showing me? There was no one I could tell. People abruptly change the subject when you mention any kind of psychic insights. They either think you're just getting too full of yourself by claiming you have special powers, or you have lost your mind, or the devil is after you. And no one who knew us as a couple would believe this without more evidence than a dream. Even I would like to have more evidence, but that seems unlikely since the dream refers to a younger Tom of many years ago. These psychic experiences have been weird and unsettling right from the start, to the point where I now find them scary. But rejecting them doesn't seem to be a choice that I've been given. They have come to seem like part of my destiny which I must accept. So here I am with the tormenting knowledge that the one person I loved and trusted in the world has shown me he betrayed me.
Exploring the possibility that this dream is sent by dark forces, I suddenly recall the old man in the dream and reexamine him. Yes, I see the slumped shoulders, the bowed head, and the white hair scraggly on the back of his neck, which I know so well. The old man is old Tom, bowed down with sadness at what he did. So, it's clear that Tom feels remorse and is involved in sending me this knowledge for some reason.
It's all so puzzling and so terribly upsetting. I hadn't had even the slightest suspicion of any kind of infidelity when he was alive. Was my whole thirty years of married life a sham? An empty drama where I wrote one script, and Tom wrote another? I felt as if I didn't even know who I was any longer.
Could it be that the man who told me daily that he loved me was lying every day? I had to first understand how and when he could have cheated and with who and why. Searching my memory of our married life, I began to ferret out gaps and inconsistencies which had always puzzled me. There were several women who had been involved in these incidents that I put on a list of suspicious parties, and a vague pattern began to emerge. Unable to bear not knowing the whole truth, I consulted famed psychic Pam Coronado from "Sensing Murder" for a reading. She immediately described a woman and got one of the names on my guilty list. Suddenly, things started to make sense. Then we looked deeper at Tom's motivation, and what she told me she saw changed my whole perception of my married life and who my husband really was. Lastly, Pam and I tried to figure out why he had come back to own up to his misdeeds, she couldn't get an answer. But, given the woman and motives for deception, I have my speculations about what he needed to accomplish.