Tag: family

42. Life’s not that simple.

It’s been a strange day today.

A playlist of break up songs on the radio (intended to take the piss out of the current political shit storm) most of which didn’t really make a dent until Odyssey came on with the lyrics ‘So if you’re looking for a way out, I won’t stand here in your way.’

I uncovered a family height chart under the wallpaper of a house I’m renovating. From ‘mum’ and Betty G’ (who were tiny) past the kids, and ‘Sid’ and even ‘milkman’! And then it got to ‘Mike’, who was very tall.

Back at home the land line rang. It’s been quiet for so long I’ve almost forgotten we, whoops I, had one. I rush to answer it, because somehow I know I need to. The familiar sound of a dear friend on the end of the line makes me sit on the stairs. Because it’s someone he should have told. Hadn’t been brave enough to. They were the friends we stayed with in America, the last time we were really seen as a couple. Because soon after, so soon it still feels weird, we changed everything.

And I had to do the telling, again.

It doesn’t get easier. I think I’m doing well, and I am in reality. But there are times when I feel fragile all over again. When, especially, I break someone else’s heart with the news. And I have to try and explain, make sense of the situation. That’s when it’s hard. Because I don’t have an explanation. Not really. I suppose there isn’t one. Life’s not that simple. And there’s no point in me just blaming him to make it sound more straightforward, or vice versa. I have moments when I’d like to, but truly, it would only make me feel worse.

Tonight we met up with a bunch of our friends. We were saying goodbye to one of our local pubs. closing down after years of cheap beer, average food and entertaining evenings. It’s good to have the distraction of a crowd. Chatty mates catching up with tales of the daughter, work, street gossip and dog antics. I told him about the names under the wallpaper and it was lovely to hear him laugh about the milkman. But in the next breath he was tense about something I didn’t even understand. And I knew it was hard. It is hard. And I still can only say goodbye when I leave. No hug, when I hug everyone else. That is still the hardest.

 

 

33. So many moments.

We’ve seen each other a couple of times this week. Not for any reason in particular. It’s been ok. Almost pleasant, but with a weight. I think I’m ok, but then a wave of sadness hits and I realise that I’m not. Oh! how that wave hurts.

Today he popped over to see his dad, as they’re working together on something this afternoon. The dog went into meltdown as she was so pleased to see him. And he came upstairs, asked first of course. Hugs with the daughter in the kitchen, so good and so hard to see, when I stand by the door with my arms round myself.

I hand him a few more things I have found of his while I’ve been dissecting the cupboard. And we stand in the hall, talking about how cold his flat is and his new yoga class. We are surrounded the whole time by the photographs I have taken over the years of our lives together. Lots of joyful, funny beautiful photographs. Lots of him and daughter, some of us all, some of just us. I take good pictures. They aren’t your average family holiday picture. And I was, am, always the one with the camera. I have recorded so many moments, printed and framed them and hung them on the wall.

There is a new moment. The one where I ask him if he’d like some of the pictures. Because it seems only reasonable. We look at some of the pictures we both know he loves. There are several pictures of he and daughter on Formby beach. We used to go there regularly when we went to visit my mum in Liverpool. A wonderful, sprawling beach with great light and huge sand dunes. The first time, when the daughter was a toddler, I took a photo of him walking with her walking away from the sea. Holding hands, him carrying his big boots, her with a little sandy bum. We re-took the photo over the years – not the bare bum, but them walking together, away from the sea, while she grew to his elbow then to his shoulder.

And I grieve for the shots I’ll no longer take, and for the pictures no longer there. Not just for the picture itself, I could reprint if that were the case. But for the end of that life we had, the moments we shared. I’m saying goodbye to all of that, just in photo form.

The walls will have more gaps – and what do I fill it with now?

22. Christ, if this isn’t therapy for beginners! 

We’ve had a sort of a break through.

That feeling when you feel so angry you can’t move past it, a complete cloud is covering you and nothing is visible outside it. That is what he’s been carrying for the last few weeks. It has filled the flat with it’s red mist. He would grunt, only say ‘hello’ with an accusation of things unsaid, Give a look that would say much but actually say nothing at all. . But yesterday, when the daughter was harangued for not doing something she was supposed to and then a whole pile of emotions were finally released, the fog finally cleared. He has finally let go of the anger. He said

And now he can see that we’re all hurting about this situation. It’s not just him, and it’s not just about him. He’s not being cast aside just because he’s the one moving out. And the fear he’s been hiding is now out there and spoken about and acknowledged. By him, more than anyone.

Christ, if this isn’t therapy for beginners! 

I had to explain that, while the daughter is indeed a pain-in-the-ass teenager and a bit slack at doing her share of chores around the flat, it’s not all she is. For, while our marriage ends, and we pick our way through the pieces and try to build a different relationship, one of the things we can be rightly proud of is that we grew a good human. She’s clever, kind, interesting, funny, thoughtful, wise, and lots of wonderful things that we helped her become. Yes, she’s many other things too. Aren’t we all? But the weight of all things negative have been placed on her lap and the tension between them both has been mighty of late.

I don’t want them to have a bad relationship. it would reflect badly on our history together if they did. It’s not a competition – who she get’s on best with – because the child / parent bond always changes over the years. She’s had times of being a Mummy’s and a Daddy’s girl. That’s how it should be. Kids should not the weapon of choice in any break up. It isn’t here, and I’ve helped that. And the flat feels better for it.

Next stage… shared custody of the dog!

21. It’s all I can do to put the Christmas cards on the mantlepiece.

There’s a big ‘6’ in the window made out of fairy lights and wire. Our little Brixton Street has an Advent Window thing we do in December. People get a number between 1 and 24 and on that corresponding date we decorate one window with that number so all the neighbours can see. It’s quite fun walking around each day to find the next one. They’re all different, and all lovely. Behind many of the decorated windows the signs of Christmas are starting to show, some have trees decorated, some have wreaths on the front doors.

It’s all I can do to put the Christmas cards on the mantlepiece.

I like Christmas, but he never has, not really. It has aways been me to do the decorating of the tree, the fairy lights around the bannister. I’ve planned stockings, advent calendars, and Christmas cards. And I used to love it.

Can’t say that the build up to Christmas is exactly an exciting one this year.

I can’t help but look back at the festive times I’ve had before him, before our family, when it was just me. The gatherings of friends, all of us avoiding and escaping the ‘Christmas at home’ gloom, so sharing the time in hilarity and chaos that only a bunch of good mates with no pressure to get it right can have. I think of our early years together when we first had our daughter and the magic the a small human can add to the day, how every new fascination with baubles, lights and wrapping paper is the simplest of joys.

We have a few of us for Christmas this, the last, time – if nothing else a respite for the daughter. (There are pros and cons of being an only child and I’ve always felt Christmas was one of the lesser joys if not surrounded by cousins or friends.) There should be lively chat, some laughs, certainly lots of food. It’ll keep things busy and bustling along with all the to-dos of the day. Who does what, chopping and preparing, fitting in a dog walk, the timing of sprouts versus the perfect roasties.

So this will be our last one together. Well, as a couple. No doubt there will be others shared. But our future will be filled with an invite for Christmas, as a guest not a partner. That is a very strange thought to pull out of a cracker.

4. We Need To Tell You Something

And now on to the next person.

Downstairs we went to tell my father-in-law, my one day to be ex husband’s dad. This one really hurt. Even now I keep welling up, getting that awful pit of the stomach feeling. Because this good, kind, annoying, funny, practical man won’t be my father-in-law, and that breaks my heart. That moment when I realise that this huge family that I’ve been part of for twenty one years won’t be mine has hit me badly, and even now, especially now, I want to say more, to fill in the gaps, to make it make sense.

But it doesn’t really make sense. It’s just two people wanting the same things, but just not the same way. Wanting better. He just gave up before me. And I don’t blame him. I want better too.

But to say it out loud is really, really hard. And there’ll be more soon. More shocks, gasps, whats?! Because no one has seen this coming. Or have they? Soon find out I suppose as the news slowly seeps out through the branches of the family and friends. So the test of our relationship (that was) will now be in the way we can still be as we were but in a new way.

Many of our friends are intertwined as neighbours and also people himself works with. And thats complicated. Oh! it’s all complicated I suppose. So do we tell everyone together? Stick it on the street email group, pop it on the community facebook page? There has been a strength and a gentleness about telling people together. But I am joking about the facebook page.

3. How To Watch Telly

There were a gaggle of teenagers for dinner. Lovely, loud girls and the conversation bounced. We talked about listening to podcasts and watching tv. And a point was made.

“My dad won’t sit and watch things me and my mum want to watch just to be together and I watch things with my dad that I don’t really care about. He just won’t watch something he’s not into.”

Now theres a thing.

“Yes,” says current husband (ok, I need to think of a new term) “It’s such a waste of time. You could be doing something together. Why not make a cake together rather then watch Bakeoff, it’s just crap lazy telly. It’s a waste of my time”

And I think of the football I’ve watched, just to share. Or the fact that we haven’t done things together instead, because, quite frankly, I can’t be arsed baking at 8pm when i’ve been on my feet all day and I like a bit of Sandi and Noel of an evening.

But it’s good to know that it’s not just us. That many make separate viewing choices. It’s finding the common program that’s the challenge. So, of the things the other watches here’s My ‘Nope list’ – Boxing, League Football, Horror films, Anything with Larry David. Here’s His (I’m fairly sure of this) Strictly, Most comedy – especially Stand up, Virtually all Reality stuff. Common ground appears to be the occasional series, and, curiously, Dragon’s Den.

So this evening we sat on the sofa, in that familiar, comfortable way we have, and watched the last episode of Get Shorty.

And I wonder if we’ll find another. Which makes me feel terribly sad. Because now I don’t know if we’ll try.

We’re going to be sharing the house for quite a while yet. This split is not a quick one – is anyone’s? And we have one living room. But it’s the thought of taking off to watch what you want on the laptop that feels strange. To not make the ‘together’ effort anymore. If we have decided not to be is that what we have to start doing now? Practice so that when he leaves we have developed a new normal, and it doesn’t feel as bad? One thing doesn’t feel as bad.

How do we watch telly? isn’t one of the questions I thought would come up.

2. Am I imagining it?

I listen to the radio at work. I’m on my own most of the day and I usually need a distraction of some sorts. BBC London out of preference, if my usual presenters are on. Bit of 6 music, occasionally Radio 4.

You know the usual people of a certain age type stuff – news-ish. bit of music. chat.

But am I imagining it or was all the music about leaving?

Yes I know, I’m being oversensitive. It’s like seeing pregnant bumps when you’ve had a miscarriage. Like I’m tuned in to it. I am going to make an effort not to care. Or keep a count.

And now onto other matters. To tell the next person. His dad, who lives in the bottom half of the house no less. Separate, but not that separate. (I’ve just clocked that the adjective and the verb are spelled the same – what a difference a bit of emphasis makes.) But downstairs we must go, because, now comes the conversations we must have. And to have them without pointing fingers, without getting each person to take a side. And quite frankly, details are nobody’s business right now. And will they help, make each telling easier to hear?

We’ve not been angry for months so there hasn’t been shouting to hear. There hasn’t been floods of tears, things thrown, doors slammed. We have had calm, things done together, even the odd laugh. A recent family wedding where we were the life and soul of the reception. Just back from a holiday which we carefully enjoyed. We have hidden things from ourselves, so there’s no reason for anyone to guess.

But downstairs we must go. Together, for now. To continue the process, and include the others.

1. Can We Do This Well?

There is a thought that many of us have, at different times, for different reasons.

I can do this better. 

So on the first step of this strange and unknown journey we have, together, put it out there.

We uttered the words “Dad and I are breaking up”. They are not 6 words with which you want to start a conversation. The three of us that have been will now be…. what? Three but different? Two and Two? Three times One? We are family, just not exactly a family unit. Except we are. And will be for quite a while.

So how we manage this, to be kind, to be supportive, to be nice, will be the test.

Can We Do This Well?

As these blogs unfold, in order, we shall see the path we tread. 

……………………………………………………………….

A relationship breakup, often referred to simply as a breakup, is the termination of an intimate relationship by any means other than death. The act is commonly termed “dumping [someone]” in slang when it is initiated by one partner. Wikipedia