learned that only drove her to higher peaks of rage. So over the years he modified his response—he offered passive resistance and simply ignored her since it did no good at all to reason with her. Finally, he left the house when she was angry with him. Initially, he left for an hour or two. Later, it took a whole day for him to feel that he could go home and not be met with her accusations. Inevitably, Mike’s short-term absences from his marriage lengthened until, by 1994, he was ready to walk away forever.
He felt he could no longer remain in the marriage and believed that all of them would be happier if he were to remove himself from the home. Maybe he was the odd man out, and the one who triggered anger and dissension in his family. He was depressed and hopeless in the twelfth year of his marriage, convinced now that things would never get better. “I hated to fail—I had never failed at anything,” he said, “and I especially hated to fail in my marriage. But there was nothing else to try. I knew it would be terrible when I told Debora—and it was.”
Once before, after five years of marriage, he had concluded that he and Debora would never be happy together, and he had almost asked for a divorce. But he had reconsidered—they had Tim and Lissa by then—and decided to work harder at making the marriage succeed. And it was work. Mike and Debora had managed to limp along for seven more years, using vacations and work to avoid the reality that they were two people going in opposite directions.
“The house was disheveled all the time,” Mike would remember. “There was no attempt to keep it in order. There was no attempt to get the kids to try to follow rules, to keep their rooms cleaned up. There were no boundaries set for them … it was a pretty bad living situation. Obviously, any of us that have children know that a house is not going to be kept in perfect order—but it did concern me…. It was a bad example for the kids. You know, I think that there has to be some semblance of order in a house you live in.”
Although Debora would say later that she was totally surprised when Mike asked for a divorce in January 1994, he believed she knew full well what was coming. She could not have missed seeing how unhappy he was, and she had told the women she played tennis with that her husband was cheating on her and she feared he might leave her.
In retrospect, Mike believed that Debora tried to forestall exactly the conversation he knew he had to initiate. Suddenly, she did a complete turnaround, which she was capable of if she wanted something badly enough. For two weeks, Debora was solicitous of Mike’s needs, becoming—for those fourteen days—the ideal wife. However, the change came far too late. And Mike no longer trusted her motives.
Finally, he told her he was moving out and wanted a divorce. And as soon as Debora realized what he was saying, she turned and stomped down to the basement, shouting at the top of her lungs. Tim was in the family room watching television and Mike didn’t want him drawn into their discussion. It was too late.
Debora grabbed whatever objects were closest and began to throw them around the room. Books and toys thudded against walls; lamps and knickknacks shattered. She was screaming incoherently and yelling at Tim, recruiting him to her side. “God damn,” she shouted at her son. “Now look at what he’s going to do. I’ve done so much for him—you know that—and now he’s going to cheat us out of what is ours!”
Tim, twelve years old, looked at her, stricken, his face pale and fearful. Debora kept screaming at him as Mike tried to draw her aside. “We’re going to lose all this!” she cried, sweeping her arms wide.
“Debora— don’t …” Mike pleaded, but it was as if she didn’t even hear him.
“Your father is cheating on me!” Debora shrieked. “He’s going to leave us and we’ll lose everything we have. I’ll have to go back to work, and I
He felt he could no longer remain in the marriage and believed that all of them would be happier if he were to remove himself from the home. Maybe he was the odd man out, and the one who triggered anger and dissension in his family. He was depressed and hopeless in the twelfth year of his marriage, convinced now that things would never get better. “I hated to fail—I had never failed at anything,” he said, “and I especially hated to fail in my marriage. But there was nothing else to try. I knew it would be terrible when I told Debora—and it was.”
Once before, after five years of marriage, he had concluded that he and Debora would never be happy together, and he had almost asked for a divorce. But he had reconsidered—they had Tim and Lissa by then—and decided to work harder at making the marriage succeed. And it was work. Mike and Debora had managed to limp along for seven more years, using vacations and work to avoid the reality that they were two people going in opposite directions.
“The house was disheveled all the time,” Mike would remember. “There was no attempt to keep it in order. There was no attempt to get the kids to try to follow rules, to keep their rooms cleaned up. There were no boundaries set for them … it was a pretty bad living situation. Obviously, any of us that have children know that a house is not going to be kept in perfect order—but it did concern me…. It was a bad example for the kids. You know, I think that there has to be some semblance of order in a house you live in.”
Although Debora would say later that she was totally surprised when Mike asked for a divorce in January 1994, he believed she knew full well what was coming. She could not have missed seeing how unhappy he was, and she had told the women she played tennis with that her husband was cheating on her and she feared he might leave her.
In retrospect, Mike believed that Debora tried to forestall exactly the conversation he knew he had to initiate. Suddenly, she did a complete turnaround, which she was capable of if she wanted something badly enough. For two weeks, Debora was solicitous of Mike’s needs, becoming—for those fourteen days—the ideal wife. However, the change came far too late. And Mike no longer trusted her motives.
Finally, he told her he was moving out and wanted a divorce. And as soon as Debora realized what he was saying, she turned and stomped down to the basement, shouting at the top of her lungs. Tim was in the family room watching television and Mike didn’t want him drawn into their discussion. It was too late.
Debora grabbed whatever objects were closest and began to throw them around the room. Books and toys thudded against walls; lamps and knickknacks shattered. She was screaming incoherently and yelling at Tim, recruiting him to her side. “God damn,” she shouted at her son. “Now look at what he’s going to do. I’ve done so much for him—you know that—and now he’s going to cheat us out of what is ours!”
Tim, twelve years old, looked at her, stricken, his face pale and fearful. Debora kept screaming at him as Mike tried to draw her aside. “We’re going to lose all this!” she cried, sweeping her arms wide.
“Debora— don’t …” Mike pleaded, but it was as if she didn’t even hear him.
“Your father is cheating on me!” Debora shrieked. “He’s going to leave us and we’ll lose everything we have. I’ll have to go back to work, and I
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