Tag: leaving

44. A little time to start the healing.

A friend, well actually a friend who is also the wife of his barber, came round last night to give me some bones for the dog. I haven’t seen her for quite a while because we used to meet each other on the occasional times that I went to his Friday morning yoga. I’m not doing that class at the moment, haven’t been since America, and I have no idea if I will again.

Kay handed over a big bag of bones and a very excited dog soon had a treat while she and I stood to chat. She’d heard, He’d actually told someone! She was so sad, had cried at the news. “Do you not think you could have him back and make it work?’ she said, with sorrow and concern in her voice.

‘It wasn’t me’ I said.

She looked shocked. I could take it as flattery I suppose. We talked. The ‘do you think he’s having a mid-life crisis’ comment was used.

But now we’re getting a little space between us, a little time to start the healing, I’m starting to make a bit of sense of things. Not of why he wanted to leave, I don’t think even he is sure of that. But of why it will be ok.

I’m not panicking about money, so the pressure is off there. I have spent two months without the daughter about and have found that I haven’t really missed her as much as I thought. I’ve eaten well, walked the dog every morning without any trouble at all. Been busy, seen lots of friends, generally got on with things. I’ve taken it all in my stride – mostly.

So, I wonder slightly, whether I waited until I was ready to make the change.

We’d had wobbles over the years, who doesn’t. But they were always the same thing. They’d start with a mood, an atmosphere. I’d ask the ‘are you alright?’ type things. Eventually we’d have an emotional talk with a ‘I’m not sure I wan’t to be in this relationship’ thrown in the mix. It was a killer. I remember the first time it happened and it cut me to the core. But then it would all go away. We’d be happy again. Work together, get along. Until a couple of years later.

Each time a kick in the head.  Actually the stomach would be more accurate. That’s what it felt like. But when we sat down the last time, my stomach churning but not so much, I knew that all those wobbles that had amounted to this moment, when I made the decision. Not to keep putting it all back together, patching it up and trying to make it work. But to let go.

So maybe it really was me.

 

28. I could pack for holiday using the bags under my eyes.

There a few things that, if at all possible, are really helpful to remember when you are feeling broken and hollow.

One is that All Things Change. Much like ‘This too shall pass’ and ‘tomorrow is another day’ it’s a helpful, if a little smug, reminder that what ever you feel today will be different in the morning. There is the possibility, of course, that you’ll feel worse, but you won’t feel worse forever. Limited comfort when you find yourself sobbing on the floor of your best friends bathroom at four in the morning, but doesn’t make it any less true.

Another helpful tip is ‘stay away from mirrors’. Quite frankly I hardly recognise myself. I could pack for holiday using the bags under my eyes, and I look like I’ve put my makeup on upside down. Lack of sleep is taking its toll on my face. Great! Just what I need. But, based on the facts of the last paragraph, it’ll hopefully go from suitcases to handbags to purses and back to me. Just hope it doesn’t take too long.

But my last pearl of wisdom is ‘be thankful for those that love you’. Yesterday I came to Derbyshire with the dog to be away when he returns from his walk to pack up and leave. I’m in the home of my dearest, best and oldest friend. I feel safe and comforted. Her husband makes me laugh and cry in equal measures with hugs and jokes and honesty. Even the dog has her best doggy friend to play with. I think I can breath a bit here. I’ve been holding things together for quite some time, rather well I think. But now I’m somewhere I can let go. Not all in one go, For fear if being too much of a mess on the floor, but it’s a start.

And for all my wonderful, loving and kind friends I am so very grateful. A small message here, an suggestion of a dog-walk there are kindnesses that remind me I am loved. By people who know me and choose to do so as a result of that. Which when you’re feeling a bit abandoned is the handle to help you stand up again.

27. And there he was, gone.

And there he was, gone – as my Grandfather used to say.

Today, he left to go on his walk bright and early – well, not bright as it was still dark. But most definitely early. Before I was up. Before I’d even known he’d gone before I had. It feels most strange. And not in a good way. But there you are.

I shouldn’t be surprised really. No matter what the order of first out the door I would be upset. I imagine he is too. So this way he gets to not have to deal with it. He has, after all, got his own shit going on. Would I have left extra early? Probably. It’s not like either of us have been sleeping well so you might as well be off as lie about waiting to start you life over.

So now it’s my turn to do that. Open other doors now that some of them have closed. Look to the future and what lies ahead.

But first I have to get through this morning. Because, quite frankly, it’s a hard one.

A dog walk in the company of a good friend is a wonderful thing. Walking, generally, is a good thing. You never come back from a walk regretting that you went, no matter how wet and windy the day. So that helped.

A coffee with his dad, who through all this has been a source of sadness and support. ( I think of all the hearts that have been broken that his is the hardest to bare. ) We get on well and revert to conversations on practical issues of jobs that need doing. Not such a bad thing to do.

And then on to some packing. I’ve filled 4 big bags with a fair share of pots, pans, china, cutlery. I’ve divided up the wooden spoons, potato peelers, ladles and bottle openers. All the double bedding from the spare room and his much loved slow cooker. The daughter sorted tupperware and cookbooks while I piled his chess set and boxing books. Years of accumulation all shifted in a busy hour.

So I’ve done a bit to help. And that will do. The rest is his to manage and box.

And the rest of the rest is mine to rebuild.

6. So why was that ok for me and not for him?

Its a strange thought that all this ‘normal’ is going to be over. The ‘stuff’ of a relationship. The together, the compromises, the disagreements. Different tastes that somehow muddle along together, choices agreed over. Have we just spent the past twenty years not getting what we wanted and putting up with the results?

So why was that ok for me and not for him?

This wasn’t my choice, but I just gave up the fight to keep it being ok.The consequences of the decision are now starting to hove into view. I don’t imagine that it’s an easy set of sums for anyone. One does not divide neatly into two. And it’s not two as our daughter is very much still at home – and why not. There’s also the cat and the dog. So we have the what to do, how to do, what comes – or, very probably  goes first. This is where I test my resolve. Because, this really isn’t what I want to do. I’m home. I’ve made it home. I’ve painted and sanded and bought things and hung things. The walls are full of pictures I’ve taken (more of that another day) and the garden is full of things I’ve grown. I re-read that and it looks like it’s all been me, but actually, it mostly has. It’s what I do, and here, where we’ve lived for eleven years, it’s what I’ve done.

Therefore my next challenge is how to break this home well, because right now I can’t see how that can be done. I don’t, more specifically, want to do it. Being difficult isn’t going to help, but we are going to be talking money and value and worth. And that’s a whole world of complication and unpleasant that is hard to be nice about. Does the fact I spent my time painting balance out the money he put into a pension that, now, only he will benefit from? Does the time out of work for having out daughter, and rebuilding a new career to fit in with her give me a baby bonus? Or do we now find out how sexist the system really is. Because I am living in my pension. It was always going to be that way.

All these tentacles of a relationship are entwined around everything. This is going to be a delicate operation to pull them apart.

5. An Evening Alone

We have a chalk board, well, in fact a whole wall, on which we leave notes. Things we’ve run out of, reminders, I’ve fed the dog signs. There’s been one on for a week or two saying BFI 8pm. When I came in from work today, about 4pm, there was an arrow pointing at this message.

So it appears that it was me and the dog tonight.

And I’m tired. Really – lay down on the sofa, under a blanket, speak to no one – tired. Sleep at night is currently a rather intermittent affair. Podcasts and audiobooks are being consumed at quite a rate. So lie on the sofa is exactly what I did. A good doze, a catch up on a backlog of things recorded (see How to watch telly )

It’s a strange feeling because I should be doing things, There’s a whole table full of pictures and mounts that need to be sorted. Stuff I have to read. And always house doings. But I feel the need to hibernate. I wish I could. Miss out winter and the festive nonsense and wake up when it’s all over. Now there’s a thought.

Because the weight of what is to come feels like a mighty snow drift. And I don’t want to just be left arrows pointing to things.

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.