By TRESSA ECKERMANN, SENIOR STAFF WRITER
“My life closed twice before its close; it yet remains to see if immortality unveils a third event to me, so huge, so hopeless to conceive, as these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.”
“He wanted all to lie in ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaved would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk; I said I should fall asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine…”
-Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
After the events of the Carmichael Campaign.
The story of my husband’s political undoing is one that has been well documented. It’s been spoken about so many different times in so many different contexts that all of the lies have become jumbled with the truth.
The story of his personal undoing — that itself has been torn apart and investigated and analyzed. That’s why it’s so surprising to me that know one has truly reached the truth of what happened. I was there; I knew him and I loved him. No one who knew him, though, came through completely unscathed; myself included. I don’t talk about it because I don’t want people to think I’m complaining. I myself had a small part in his crimes even if it was indirect.
It’s unusual, the disconnect I feel from what happened and what has been said. I should be grateful that I have become so oblivious to what happened. Perhaps it’s my only saving grace. Maybe that’s not the right word. There was no such thing as salvation for people like us — for people like my husband.
I suppose many people could call me a cynic and they wouldn’t be wrong. In fact, no word could describe me better now. But before the events of that campaign, I was different. I was an optimist, a romantic. I believed in the truth above all else. I clung to the simple idea that nothing in the world was more important than the truth. In some ways, I could say that my husband and his dreadful actions set me free from the optimism that plagued my life that allowed me to believe in people like him.
Yet I do not feel grateful; I don’t feel anything at all.