9 Months Ago Was Yesterday Ebook

By Diane Jackman Skolfield

9 Months Ago Was Yesterday is a story of life pursued with enthusiasm, of death and transition, and of life after life. In this spiritual memoir Diane Jackman Skolfield artfully recounts the whirlwind events of her recovery after the sudden death of her musician husband, “Fiddlin’ Red.” As friends, fans and family mourn the los

• Language: English
• Publisher: Healing The Earth Enterprises
• Release date: Sep 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532356278

Diane Jackman Skolfield

Diane Jackman Skolfield is a healer, a spiritual teacher, a mother, a business woman, a yoga and qi gong instructor, a wellness coach and an author. More than that, she is a believer that each of us can help make this world a better place. She lives and works in De Leon Springs, Florida, and is married to Don Skolfield. She summers at Camp Etna, a Spiritualist Camp in Etna, Maine where she is chair of the building committee and Camp Historian. She explains she tries to "embrace every moment of her life," and this attitude serves her well.

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9 Months Ago

Was Yesterday

9 Months Ago Was Yesterday

"To every thing there is a season, and a time

to every purpose under the heaven."

Ecclesiastes 3:1

ii

Diane Jackman Skolfield

LLAF

Publisher

9 Months Ago Was Yesterday

Copyright 2013 © Diane Jackman Skolfield

All Rights Reservedincluding the right of reproduction,copying, or storage in any formor means, including electronic,

In Whole or Part,without prior writtenpermission of the author

ISBN 978-0-692-95333-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013940141

Love, Laughter and Forgiveness Publishing

7 Packard Square, Camp Etna

Etna, Maine 04434

P.O. Box 1031

De Leon Springs, Florida 32130

305.942.0670

[e-mail]

Third Edition

First Printing

Printed in the USA

Diane Jackman Skolfield

CONTENTS

Introduction

Setting the Stage

Chapter 1   Meeting the Fiddle Player

Chapter 2   Nearly 9 Years Together

Chapter 3   The End?

Chapter 4   Let’s Try Again

Chapter 5   Red’s Exit, Stage Left

Chapter 6   My Opening Act, Alone

Chapter 7   Family Enters, Stage Right

Chapter 8   The First Sign, The First Service

Chapter 9   Time for Talking Rock

Chapter 10 Back at the Cypress House

Chapter 11 Florida Keys and More Services

Chapter 12 We Head for Key West

Chapter 13 Back to Tavernier

Chapter 14 Home at the Cypress House

Chapter 15 Another Day, Another Trip

Chapter 16 Home for the Holidays

Chapter 17 On My Own Again

Chapter 18 New Year’s Day

Chapter 19 Phillips, Maine

Chapter 20 Time to Head for Florida

Chapter 21 The First Psychic Adventure

Chapter 22 First Valentine’s Day

Chapter 23 Key West Bound

Chapter 24 My First Time Back at The Hog

Chapter 25 A New Day

Chapter 26 Enter Brown Recluse Spider

Chapter 27 Getting Better All the Time

Chapter 28 Here Doesn’t Come the Judge

Chapter 29 Time to Head out of the Hills

Chapter 30 My First Séance

Chapter 31 Project 36 and Time to Get Away

Chapter 32 Home, Home in the Keys

Chapter 33 Sailboat Race Time

Chapter 34 Songwriters and Too Much Fun

Chapter 35 Tybee 500 and Tami’s Move

Chapter 36 Way Up Upon the Suwannee River

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9 Months Ago Was Yesterday

Chapter 37 The Psychic Workshop

Chapter 38   53rd Anniversary with Mum and Dad

Chapter 39 Fourth of July Journal

Chapter 40 Cassadaga Time

Chapter 41 Red’s Birthday

Chapter 42 Osceola County Courthouse

Chapter 43 Naked by the Bay

Chapter 44 Heading North

Chapter 45 Edgar Cayce Workshop

Chapter 46 Home Again

Afterthoughts

A New Life—Three Years Ago was Yesterday

Final  Final Chapter

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Diane Jackman Skolfield

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all the people who have lost or will lose Loved Ones.

Don’t grieve too hard or too long

for them;  they are still here.

vii

9 Months Ago Was Yesterday

Diane Jackman Skolfield

INTRODUCTION

M y mother has been telling me for over thirty years,Diane, you should write a book.

As a child, I wrote poems for homemade cards and articles for school newspapers. As an adult, I continue to write poems for spe-cial occasions. I’ve had a few newspaper articles published on natural healthcare, and I contribute a Ways to Wellness column to a maga-zine called TruthSeekerTimes.com; so I have always been writing. I have been told that is what I should do.

I just never believed I would ind the time to write a book. A real book.

But then I never thought my ity-one-year-old husband would die either.

he happiest day of our lives together ended abruptly when he  had a completely unexpected heart attack on November 30, 2007.  We had just reconciled ater a brief separation, and our future was so  bright. Unfortunately, the light we were seeing at the end of the tunnel turned out to be the proverbial train, and it hit him head on. He  died at the height of his career, and my life-train derailed and caused  a huge wreck in my world.

As I write these lines, I think it is safe to say much of the debris  from the wreck has been cleared, and my train is back on track and  gaining steam. In the process of trying to heal from the heartache of  losing my soul mate and best friend, I have done some serious self  study, researched many new healing techniques, and apparently have  given birth to my irst book.

If my husband hadn’t died I might have found the time to write  a book about the self-healing techniques I teach and some information on Natural Law heories. I think I would have called that book  I  Met a Fiddle Player on My Way to the Ashram.  I think a book about a  yogini-caregiver-carpenter married to a famous, traveling musicianluthier-pilot would have been extremely entertaining.

he story of how we met, his successful music career, the build-

ing of our homes and the trips we’d taken on land and sea for work  and pleasure, would have made a comical adventure novel. hat  book may have even inspired a few readers to begin doing yoga,  meditation, eating better, or breathing more deeply to improve their  quality of life.

here also would have been a chapter dedicated to the dos  and don’ts of being married to a musician, and trust me, I had the  don’ts down pat; don’t eat in front of him when he is on stage and  hungry, don’t yawn while he is performing, don’t sit too close to the  stage because people who want to talk to you don’t realize how dificult it is to block out what your wife is talking about, and don’t try  to drink as much as the professional musician does. hese are just a  few the things I learned in the nine years I spent with Fiddlin’ Red.

I learned a lot about myself while my husband was alive; he  was my best friend, my worst critic, and my most vivid mirror. We  were both obsessive-addictive-co-dependent-competitive personalities. We had acquired, in our short ity-one years of life, a whole list  of behaviors we baby-boomers are beginning to talk about more  openly. Where there is communication and realization, there is hope.

During our nine years together, I realized we all have imperfections and how important it is, especially when in a relationship, to  work on being a better human being through compassion, understanding, peace, and acceptance.

I have learned even more about myself, human nature, life  and life ater life since his passing. Apparently self-improvement is a never-ending job.

I believe the story I have written about the thoughts and events I  had to cope with following Red’s heart attack is more important than  the humorous adventure novel I might have written. here were so  many things he and I could have done, should have done, to make  life easier for the one let behind.

Losing my husband has been a little diferent for me than it  would be for most people. We had one of those truly wonderful  long distance marriages, so I am used to being by myself. We talked  several times daily on our cellphones, sent text messages oten, and  loved each other very much. He traveled around the southeast playing music, while I spent most of my time in Dixie County helping to

heal the earth, one person at a time.

It seems like Red died yesterday, and then it seems like years  ago. But really, it still seems like it can’t be possible. It didn’t really  happen. It couldn’t have. I can still hear his music, his laughter, and  see his smile. hen, I realize, he’s still here. He always will be.

I am proud to say I never asked God, Why?

Oh, I asked the Universe what caused his physical body to die,  but I never questioned why he was taken from this dimension on the  happiest day of our lives together. I realize he let at the very peak of  his life. We were together. We were so happy, and I believe there are  no mistakes.

I began to keep a journal to force my mind to stop reliving the  nightmare of his death over and over again. If I wrote about my accomplishments and focused on the positive aspects and how blessed  I was, I believed I could stop the scene of Red’s Tragic Heart Attack  from playing in my mind.

Keeping a journal of events, thoughts, and feelings allows me  to see how my mood does not have to be afected by the changes in  my life. Watching myself and the Universe very closely makes me  realize how I feel when things happen is entirely up to me. Recognizing the miracles happening daily in my world is helping me to  move forward. I know every step I take is a forward one, even when  I stumble. Writing in a journal also allows me to share the laughter  and the tears with others while I am learning, stumbling, and picking  myself up again.

I hope this book helps someone, somewhere, sometime. Facing  life alone isn’t easy, and I know I am never really alone, but there are  things we can do to make it easier for our loved ones when we die.

When I visited my mother in the summer of 2008, she told  me my father had put her name on both of their vehicles. I already  helped one very important couple to make the transition of being  alone in the future a little easier.

Perhaps with this story I can also help some understand the  miracles of life and death and Natural Law heories as I see them.  his book was written to help me heal, and hopefully it can help you,  too.

Diane Jackman Skolfield

Setting the Stage

July 1998

Before  I share the events of my life following my husband’s death, or better, the events of my life following the begin-ning of Red’s life in eternity, I must set the stage. Setting the stage will help you understand why I felt the way I did ater nine years of love, laughter, and life on the road with one of the greatest entertainers who ever lived, a gited musician and my soul mate, Lawrence Fid-dlin’ Red Seidman.he year was 1998, and I didn’t keep a journal then. I was quite happy with my position in life and much too busy to write down ev-erything that happened. I was forty-two years old. I’d accomplished many things throughout the years, and I was getting ready to start on a completely new life. I was headed for an ashram in California to dedicate my life to God.

I’d just spent a few years working on me, learning how to con-trol my addictive, obsessive personality and successfully conquering some severe problems with drugs and alcohol. For years I’d found it easy to blame my problems on someone else; ater all, my irst hus-band let me ater iteen years of marriage. I felt abandoned and clouded my reality with that fog of addictions. I’d successfully sent myself into my own personal hell.

Fortunately, before it was too late, I  understood  the problems in my life were my responsibility. With the help of a few close friends

and a b ook about yoga, I recovered from the loss of my irst husband,  the father of my children, and I reclaimed my life.

In reclaiming my life, I regained my self-worth and was, once  again, very proud of who I was and where I was going in life. I’d  owned two very successful retail stores, I’d had two husbands, and  I’d built a house with each of them. I’d been a supervisor of a ivediamond resort, I’d become skilled in iberglass repairs and wood  working, I’d done volunteer work for a few wonderful elderly ladies,  been a caretaker of many beautiful properties, and caregiver for a  few disabled folks—some wonderfully inspirational, some frighteningly self-centered and downright mean.

I’d lived a wonderful, full life and was preparing to make a break  from the rat race. I was conident in my actions. I was comfortable in  my skin and with my decisions once again. It felt good. I was proud  of where I was in my life, but I knew I wanted more.

I had been practicing yoga and meditation diligently for over a  year, and I’d decided to leave the Florida Keys and dedicate my life to  helping others and to advancing myself spiritually.

I was carefully packing my essential belongings, and I was on  my way to an ashram in California. I called my mother to tell her  my plans, and she asked me, When are you going to have time for  a man?

Bless her heart. At the time, she and my father had been happily married for forty-three years and believed in partnering for life.  Well, so did I until I found out it takes two people feeling that way to  make it last forever.

I told my mother I didn’t need a man in my life; I’d had enough  relationships and enough disappointments. I wanted to do something diferent.

I remember her response, and I quote her quite oten. Her voice  came ringing across the phone line, If men and women weren’t  meant to be together they wouldn’t it so good.

I laughed and told her I would come up and see her and Daddy in Maine before I headed to the West Coast because it might be  awhile before I returned to New England.

Diane Jackman Skolfield

Chapter 1

August 1, 1998

Meeting the Fiddle Player

It was  August 1, 1998. I remember the exact date, as it was the wedding anniversary I used to celebrate with my irst husband. When one celebrates an anniversary for iteen years, one rarely forgets it.

I decided to celebrate my memories, take a break from my pack-ing, and go for a walking meditation. I had forgiven the ex-husband and was thankful for the lessons I’d learned from my relationship with him—not to mention the thankfulness I felt from the blessings of my two wonderful sons.

It was Sunday, and I knew there was live music less than a half a mile away at Plantation Yacht Harbor. I’d already biked to work all week as my old Ford Van still wouldn’t start, even ater I changed the starter. Walking sounded like the perfect mode of transportation for my break from packing. I grabbed my bottle of water and headed towards some good music, some fun, and a completely unexpected turn of events.

I crossed US 1 in Islamorada, about Mile Marker 88 and headed for the Tiki Hut at Plantation Yacht Harbor. PYH isn’t there any-more, but in its day, it was  the  gathering place on the weekends. Peo-ple came from miles around, on boats, by car, by foot, and by bicycle. he music started about noon, and the party lasted ’til late in the

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evening.  Anyone who has spent time in the Florida Keys knows that  where there is music, especially  good  music, there’s a party.

Before the founders of Islamorada tore our oasis on the bay  down, the locals, and a few lucky tourists who stumbled in, sat under the Tiki and listened to bands like Roach hompson, he Sauce  Boss, (before Jimmy Bufet wrote a song about him), Dave Feder,  Built for Comfort Band, and scores of other great, down-to-earthlove-to-have-a-good-time musicians.

My youngest son, Jason, seventeen years old at the time, was  supposed to play saxophone with a local band that day. He worked at  a resort in their water sports rental shop every summer and played  his saxophone every chance he got. He was going to go to college for  music, but, because of life’s changes, he was doing graduate work in  science education at Cornell University instead. hank goodness for  those life changes.

hat night, the band was one my son had been playing with  whenever possible for the past four years. I think the only thing better than listening to great music is listening to great music when  someone you love is on stage.

I walked onto the property towards the Florida Bay, the music,  and the party, when Jason beeped me from his work. Yeah, remember when everyone used beepers instead of cellphones?

I stopped at the pay phone, which was known to work intermittently, and attempted to call him at work. On the third try, I inally  got through to hear him tell me he couldn’t make it. I contained my  disappointment, thanked him for letting me know, and told him I’d  see him later.

I carefully sat down on a bench at one of the picnic tables under the dilapidated Tiki. Hurricanes had truly taken their toll on the  structure and the seats. One always had to be careful when sitting  down on their weather-worn benches. Many of them had splinters  so big they could do some serious damage.

his was going to be fun,  I thought. he crowd was enjoying the  band, and there was a guy playing iddle. Little did I know exactly  how much fun it was going to be, and how this iddle player was going to change my life.

hey sounded great, but it was one of those unbearably hot-

humid-no-wind-days on the bay in the Keys, and the musicians  were miserably overheated. When they went on their irst break, I  approached the lead singer and told him I had some rotating fans  back at the trailer and asked if he would like to run to my place with  me to get them.

He eagerly answered, hat would be great. We’ll take my truck.  He headed toward his vehicle, and I watched the iddle player to see  if he was interested in going along for the ride. He didn’t follow us. I  thought he was rather cute and seemed like he had so much fun on  stage he’d probably be a lot of fun of stage, too.

I turned towards the iddle player, introduced myself, and asked,  Aren’t you coming? We’re going to get you guys some real fans, the  kind to help you stay cool on stage.

He laughed, put down his beer, told me his name was Red, and  that it looked like it might be crowded in the front seat of the pick up  truck. I smiled and asked if he minded if I sat in his lap, and he said,  No, Ma’am, I’m just a lonely boy from northern Georgia. I’d love for  you to sit on my lap.

I think that was the moment Cupid hit us both between the  eyes, smack-dab on the heartstrings, or wherever else that little angel  hits to make two people go weak in the knees.

he musicians and I visited at my trailer for a few minutes while  Red longingly watched the boneish rolling on the lats. I’d love to  throw a line out there, he laughed. I told him the ish were there  nearly all the time. He grinned from ear to ear. I told him I wasn’t  sure whether I wanted anyone to stick a hook in my ish’s mouths,  but he was welcome to come watch them with me, anytime.

We loaded the fans in the back of the truck and headed back

across the street. hey got on stage, and it felt like Red played just  for me the rest of the aternoon. We exchanged winks and smiles  and grinned for hours. We talked during his breaks, and I found out  there was a tremendous attraction between us. he chemistry was  something I had never felt with anyone before.

He came back to my trailer ater the gig to watch the boneish,  and we found Jason watching TV. We hung out with him for awhile,  sitting near the ocean. I told Red stories about the storms I’d watched  from my outdoors couch. he water was calm outside, but there was

deinitely something brewing between us.

Red smiled at me and asked if I would like to go back to the  band house and help him get his stuf together. I agreed to do that.  He looked at Jason and asked, Would you mind if I borrowed your  mother for a few hours? I melted at his Southern accent and his  gentlemanly manners.

Well, a few hours looked like it was going to turn into much  longer, so I called Jason to let him know I would be home in the  morning.

We spent the next three days together, never leaving each other’s  side. We watched boneish doing their thing … while we did ours,  and then it was time for him to head to Key West to play at Sloppy  Joe’s. When he was ready to leave he said, I don’t know if you are  feeling what I am feeling, but it is scaring me.

I told him I didn’t want to talk about my feelings either—they  were much too strong, too soon. So we kissed goodbye, and as he  let, he drove around the circle in front of my trailer three times,  waving and laughing each time he went by my doorstep.

He had said he’d call, but I wasn’t so sure he would, and quite  honestly, I wasn’t so sure I wanted him to. I was on my way to an ashram, and my life plans did not include a man. Of course, you know  the best way to make God laugh, don’t you? Make some plans!

Later that aternoon, he did call. He told me he missed me and  wanted to spend more time with me before he let the Keys. I told  him I would love to see him again. He ofered to drive the ninety  miles back up the Keys and pick me up, either ater his gig that night  or the next day. He had ive more days to work in Key West.

I told him he didn’t need to drive back up; it was such a waste  of gas. I wouldn’t mind riding the bus down the following day ater  I ran errands in the morning. Red laughed and told me nobody had  ever ridden a bus to see him before. I laughed and told him I wasn’t  just anybody, and I would love to be the irst to ride a bus to see him.  I checked the bus schedule as soon as we hung up and packed a small  bag for the following day. I had some sweet dreams about my iddle  player that night.

he next morning I awoke excited about spending time with  Red in Key West. he little voice inside my head asked,  Diane, what

are you thinking?  I didn’t answer, but another voice said,  Live in the  now. I liked that voice better.  OK, voices, let’s just see where it goes.

Ater I’d taken care of business, I walked out to the main highway, lagged down the bus, and climbed aboard. I had ridden the bus  oten and the bus driver said, Hello, and asked if I was headed for  some more fun in Key West

I told him I wouldn’t be riding all the way to the Key West bus  station this trip. I’d be getting of on Summerland Key at Murray’s  Grocery Store.

When I got to Murray’s Market, Red was there waiting with  open arms. I learned to love those arms, that smile, and those warm  and loving greetings.

For the next few days, I acted as his roadie and his number one  fan. He grinned and had more fun on stage than any musician I had  ever watched before. I was hooked, and fortunately, so was he.

At the end of the week, we drove back up the ninety scenic miles  of US 1 Keys, and he stayed a couple more nights with me at my  trailer. He and my son got along famously, and I overheard Jason  telling his older brother he wouldn’t mind having this guy as a stepfather. Hmmm, I hadn’t considered marriage again, but that was nice  to hear. I was glad when my sons approved of the people I shared  my time with; I’d have to see what happened next. I still wanted to  go to the ashram, but I surely felt like I was falling in love. Our souls  seemed so connected, and everything else it pretty well, too.

I watched Red pack his bag to head out on the road. He would  work for his dad for a couple of months and then would return to the  Keys to play music sometime in October. Little did I know I would  spend a lot of time over the next nine years watching him pack his  bags to go of on the road.

He had just purchased a piece of property north of Atlanta, and  we talked about my coming up and checking out the area. I said we’d  see how things went, and if I made it there and liked it, we could talk  about the price I would charge to build a house for him.

I felt slightly sad when he let, but knew it would give us both  a chance to sort out our feelings. By now he realized I was an early  riser, and when he hugged me goodbye, he asked me if I would call  him every morning and be his wake up call, so he didn’t have to use

his alarm clock. Of course, I said, Yes.

I stood in the doorway of my trailer by the sea to wave goodbye  to this new, wonderful man. He started his truck and drove around  in a circle, waving and laughing. For the next nine years, nearly every time he let to play a gig, he drove around in a circle, waving and  laughing, making me happier than I ever thought I could be.

I called him the following morning to wake him at 7:30 a.m. We  never spoke for long in the early morning conversations. I would say,  Good morning, this is your wake up call. He thanked me and called  me back ater his two cups of cofee and his newspaper. For the next  four weeks, we talked for hours learning everything we could learn  about another person over the phone.

He wanted me to ly to Atlanta and spend a few nights with him  in the mountains, and then he would drive with me to Maine so he  could meet my folks. his had never happened to me before. his  man was sure he loved me and wanted me to build him a house so  we could live happily ever ater.

I wanted to follow my heart, but I was confused. I decided to  consult a book for my answer. Oten, when I am unsure what to do, I  pick up a book and silently ask a question of Spirit. hen I will open  and read the answer to my question. I picked up a book and asked  the Universe what to do. I opened the book to a chapter on love and  marriage and the irst words I read were, When God gives you a  partner, take him into your life and consider that person a blessed  git.  OK, got it!  I said to myself.

So, Red booked a light for me and met me at the airport in  Atlanta. I loved his property. hen we drove to Maine and spent the  next nine years together in marital bliss; well, most of the time it was  blissful.

Diane Jackman Skolfield

Chapter 2

September 1998 to October 2007

Nine Years Together

I ’ll fast forward through the nine years we were together by saying when it was good it was very, very,  very  good, and it when it was bad … well, I try not to think about it. If I write another book, it’ll be about the crazy life we had together. I have the pictures, intermittent journals, and such wonderful memories.

In the beginning, I traveled everywhere with him, mostly sit-ting in the Suburban while he went into pawn shops to buy musical instruments to have repaired and to resell to music stores around the  Southeast. Of course, I learned that buying instruments meant  lotsof talking with pawnshop owners.

I sat in the car for hours: I dreamed, meditated, read, and prac-ticed being very patient.

We stayed in motels, drank wine, laughed, and loved each other.

On May 5, 1999, we decided to get married on the following  Saturday, three days away. We’d purchased wedding rings in a pawn shop back in September of 1998, a month ater we met, and had the owner of the pawn shop perform a ceremony. He pronounced us man and wife when we put rings on each other’s ingers, but now  Red wanted more, and so did I.

We got the marriage certiicate at the county oice in Tavernier,  Florida, and headed for Key Largo to shop for the party. I spent $113

on vegetables, dip, cheese, crackers, and two heart-shaped cakes. I  took the I Love Mom decorations of the cakes from the store—it  was Mother’s Day weekend. We went out on a sailboat, the Calypso Poet, with about a dozen friends. Captain Lance Holmquist, my  longtime friend, performed the ceremony at sunset.

We laughed and igured May 8, which said quickly sounded like  May-ate, would be an easy date for Red to remember, as he’d said  he wasn’t good at remembering anniversaries. We even dressed an  iguana in a top hat and tails to be our best iguana in the ceremony.

Red and I worked on designing the perfect house to it the foundation he already owned. I calculated the amount of lumber needed  for my second A-frame home, and it was delivered on my birthday,  May 25, 1999. We always joked he was going to hire me to build him  a house but decided it was cheaper to marry me instead. Besides,  then I would be around when he needed repairs or another house  built. Here I was, building house number three with husband number three. hat seemed itting.

I encouraged him to get back into playing music full-time because not only was he the most talented musician I had ever seen  on stage, he was  so  happy when he was playing music for a crowd.  Red could play any kind of music with anyone, and he always made  whomever he was playing with sound so much better, while he humbly stole the show. He would laugh and say he was a true sideman,  fulilling his namesake—Seidman, pronounced Side-man.

As the years lew by, I began to realize why he had taken the  break from the jukebox scene of a traveling musician and acted  as a cowboy the couple of years before I met him. Life on the road,  and on the stage, takes its toll, not only on relationships but on one’s  health, especially when one does not want to say, No, thank you.  I already had fourteen shots of tequila. I don’t really need another  one. It was like living on a roller coaster. When it was at the top,  it was so exciting that sparks lew when we were together. On the  downhill part of the ride it was painful, so painful, I would leave him  on the road, go back to the house, build something, and ask God  what I was supposed to do.

In addition to the diiculties alcohol was causing, we created  a tremendous amount of debt. Red loved expensive things, and he

loved to travel. Each time he insisted we go to the islands sailing or  on vacation somewhere I would say, Honey, we can’t aford this.

He would say sternly, I’m not going to live forever, and I would  give in to another fun-illed-debt-producing trip. In hindsight, I am  so glad I never said no.

Every few months or so I would have a talk with him, explain  to him,  he  couldn’t go on like this, and  we  couldn’t go on like this. I  understood how hard it was to say, No, thank you, to the ofers of  drinks all night long, but it was killing him and us.

he debt was adding so much stress to our lives I decided to  take a full-time job for a couple of years, despite his desire to have  me with him on the road.

He did his best to control his alcohol intake and his anger, and  things were wonderful for awhile. He would drink a few Heinekens  and refuse the shots, well, at least most of them. He would leave the  bar when he was done with work, call me on his way back to the  band house and laughingly say, I have escaped.

We’d talk several times each day of how much we missed each  other and how someday we wouldn’t have to spend so much time  apart.

We were so in love, and it felt so right. We were always faithful  despite the weeks we would have to spend apart. It was a story-booklong-distance love afair much of the time.

In May of 2007, I let my full-time job and went back to home  improvement work, which I could do anywhere, anytime, and began  to travel with him again. We were able to spend more time together  and things were very, very good for a while.

hen, predictably, the bottom fell out again. He was more  stressed than ever, and I couldn’t be around him when he was in that  state. I went back to northern Florida to live in the little rental house  I had purchased while I had the full-time job.

I was doing home improvements and helping promote natural healthcare at he Center in Chieland. I put together a yoga  program and realized I was doing what I loved to do most: helping  people by teaching them yoga, Qi Gong, and nutrition, and healing  the earth one person at a time.

Diane Jackman Skolfield

Chapter 3

October 6, 2007

The End?

O n Saturday morning, October 6, he called me, and he was at his ugliest. He started the verbal abuse his intense hang-overs brought on and said for the umpteenth time, Diane, we have to stop doing this to each other. I am not sure what we were arguing about; it didn’t matter, it was the same script. We had rehearsed it over and over and over, and I was in tears.

But this time, I changed my line. Instead of saying, Honey, we can work it out, I found myself saying, Red, you are right. We can’t keep doing this to each other. I am ity-one years old, and I don’t want to ight with you the rest of my life. I am going to pick up the papers and ile for a divorce.here was silence on the other end of the line.

I continued, Why don’t I pick you up at the airport in Atlanta on Monday as we planned, and we can spend one last wonderful week at the mountain and igure out how to divide everything up.

I swallowed and couldn’t believe my ears. Did that come out of my mouth? I was accustomed to hearing things come out of my mouth unexpectedly, but these words shocked me as much as they must have shocked him.he silence was broken by his gruf, angry voice. Fine, we’ll talk about it later.

He called later, expecting everything to be OK and back to nor-mal. He told me he had taken a nice bike ride and was ready to go to work. Either he was pretending the morning’s conversation had never happened, or he didn’t remember it.

I told him to have a good night at work and how I was looking forward to being at the mountain home with him one last time.

He said, You aren’t serious about this divorce stuf are you?

I said, Yes, Red, you aren’t going to change, and we can’t keep this up.

You’re right. I am not going to change for you or anyone else.  Have a good day. Maybe I’ll call you tomorrow. He hung up angrily and most likely in disbelief. I used to call the state he was in while in the Keys his alcohol fog because he would consume drink ater drink, day ater day, and there was no reality. I have been there. I un-derstand what it feels like. You drink to cover up the pain, to forget, and then you just drink because that is what you do.

When he called on Sunday, he was a bit more humble and asked if I still felt the same way. I remember thinking,  Well, at least he re-members.  I assured him I thought it was the only way. He got angry again, raised his voice, and shouted, How can you do this to me on my way to work?

I had heard him say that a hundred times. He was always on his way to work. When things were unpleasant between us he would call on his way to work so he wouldn’t have to talk to me for very long.  He knew I was one of those people who had to communicate, and he wasn’t that way. His theory was, Pretend everything is OK, and it will be.

I tried to calm him down, but it was a waste of my breath. He hung up on me, and I went back to packing my bags. I was planning on driving north to spend the night in Atlanta so I could pick him up at the airport in the morning.

Ater Red was done with his Sunday aternoon gig in Islamo-rada, he called me while he was driving to where our motor home was parked. He inally realized I was serious, and he was furious. He blamed me for the way he felt and said he couldn’t stay in the mo-tor home anymore; it was parked in the yard where three of my best friends lived.

He said  he couldn’t stay anywhere, that he didn’t belong any-where, and that he didn’t belong with anyone. He was going to get into his car and just drive. He would let me know whether or not I should pick him up at the airport on Monday. He didn’t know what to do.

I drove the six hours to Atlanta and stayed with my girlfriend, wondering what would happen next and knowing I had to do exactly what I was doing—leaving him.

When I got up in the morning and turned on my phone there was a message from him. He had canceled his plane ticket and was driving to Georgia. I rushed up to the mountain home to get some of my belongings and get out of there as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to be at the house with him in person. I was afraid he would try to talk me into staying with him, which would have been easy because  I loved him so very much. I also had a little fear I might stand my ground and really leave him, and that would make him mad, ight-ing mad.here had only been one occasion of physical violence during our entire relationship, and that was a long time ago, when I was drinking too much along with him. his time was diferent. I had never told him I was  really  leaving him before. I wasn’t going to take any chances with my safety.

I drove through the two creeks and up the hill and quickly packed my truck. I breathlessly headed down the mountain, know-ing I would meet him on the way out, actually hoping I would be-cause I did love him so very much, and I wanted to see him there in  Talking Rock one last time.

We met at the bottom of the hill. He screeched his brakes. I

stopped my truck. We spoke for a couple of minutes, while sitting in  our vehicles, and he kept saying, I can’t believe you’re doing this, I  can’t believe you’re doing this, and then he was quiet.

I asked him if there were any tools he needed, so he could work  on the guitar he was building. He said if I could spare the drill, he’d  like to use it while at the mountain and would return it on his way  south.

I climbed up in the back of my pick up truck and got the drill  out of my tool box. As I was handing it to him I noticed he wasn’t

wearing his wedding ring. I took mine of, gave it to him, and asked  him to pawn the rings and split the money with me. He’d purchased  them in a pawnshop a month ater we had met, and it seemed only  itting they go back from whence they came.

He said no,