Claire, my wife of 22 years, and I sat on the porch in dreary contemplation, and useless argument, again, about her son Freddie’s seeming incapacity to get “squared away.” Freddies’ wife had abandoned him, and taken their three children. He could not hold a job. He was NOT a drug addict; he simply could not function as a responsible adult. He was witty and charming. But he never repaid anyone from whom he had borrowed money. And he had moved back into our home, again. He had diabetes, but did nothing to control his diet. His favorite pastimes seemed to be television and standing in front of the open refrigerator, wondering what to eat. That, and runs for pizza or to McDonald’s.

Yes, there had been counseling and various attempts to try this or that. Nothing seemed to work. It became more and more clear to me that Freddie was going to become a permanent part of the household.

But Claire still wanted to “fix” him. Gradually, two facts became clear to me:

1. Freddie was simply born into the wrong culture. He would have done better on Samoa or some similar paradise where food was always on a nearby tree, where women were available and willing, and where temperate conditions demanded little in terms of providing shelter or an income. There was nothing to fix; nothing was broken. Just the wrong guy in the wrong place. As I began to understand this, I became less resentful, and more accepting. At the same time, I also became less responsible for this 10-year-old mentality which lived in a 25-year-old body.
2. Claire had a strong personal investment in keeping Freddie the way he was —utterly dependent. With every agreement, every new program, every financial investment to “help” Freddie, Freddie always violated the agreement, or needed an exception. He always needed money. “Can you spot me a $50?” And Claire always went along with her son. She was teaching him to be dependent and to reject any notion of personal responsibility. Gradually, the two personalities seemed to merge. Whenever Claire spoke of Freddie’s problems or issues or presumed progress, it was always, “we.” They were in this thing together.

I, myself, was in counseling to help me get my head around all this. Eventually, I concluded that, at some point, it had to end, for the sake of my own sanity.

Resigned to this reality, I rarely argued any more. Intimacy with Claire had evaporated; we lived in an uneasy truce. I knew I had to leave. I just didn’t know when, or how. So I tried to mentally hunker down—and wait.

Until that day on the porch, when Claire told me that I was the cause of Freddie’s problems. I was the responsible party, here. She went down the list of all the things I had done to make Freddie so insecure, so unable to function. Then she told me: “If I knew when we got married that this is the way things would be, I never would have married you.”

And that’s when a little bell went off in my head. The time had come.

“Well, Claire, you are going to get your wish. I’m done.”

In the fullness of time, Claire actually got what she most wanted. I made her a wealthy lady with a fully paid home and car, and an investment portfolio more than sufficient to sustain her for the rest of her days.

And today, as I write this, the home has been sold because the portfolio was depleted, over the years. Claire moved into a more modest dwelling, and she had a new nest egg, from the sale of the home she left. But that, too, has been exhausted, all the money spent on Freddie and his sister, Katy. For a time, Claire had what she wanted: a secure home, and Freddie (and his new wife) as permanent residents. But even that did not last, because Katy found her brother to be intolerable: she forced Freddie and his wife to move out; they ended up in public housing. Freddie receives dialysis twice a week and has lost a foot. Katy is now the queen bee in Claire’s home. And the money is all gone; Claire’s income is a Social Security check. Basically, Claire had succeeded in impoverishing three people. Had I stayed, it would have been four.

That leaves Randy, Claire’s eldest son, who was most bitter when advised I was divorcing his mother. He believed I was abandoning her. I was the “bad guy.” Randy was a successful and responsible man, who with his second wife Jenny, was raising a blended family of their own. But it wasn’t long before Randy and Jenny saw the truth, and understood the impossible situation in which I lived. Today, they have made me part of their family, which includes very brilliant and successful children, and grandchildren who will no doubt be the same. These people love me, and while we see each other only infrequently, it is always a celebration.

Ironically, the vision that Claire had of senior years spent happily with her children has actually become my reality, not hers. I regret that, for her, but am most appreciative of my own good fortune.

My story.

[EDIT]: Almost without exception, comments below are supportive and also speak to many similar situations.

But there are exceptions, and they are good ones. I have been reprimanded, even scolded, for my references to Samoa, with freely available fruit and sexual company. I should have seen that coming. Although metaphorical, it came off to some readers as thoughtless and prejudicial. Point taken. Current readers please understand the metaphorical intent. Just think “an island paradise, somewhere.” Thank you.

UPDATE: In mid 2021, Freddie succumbed of numerous causes, most relating to his worsening atrophy, but also to Covid. By then, Claire had been forced to move into still lower cost housing, where Katy continued to care for her. By early 2022, Claire died. I’m not sure of the causes, but based on what Katy had to say, it seemed to me that with Freddie gone, she really had no reason to live.

Curiously enough, Claire left so little, and Katy had so little, that money was short for a burial. A major part of the cost of her burial fell to me.