Tag: responsibility

47. And a funny bet was made.

I’m currently on a flying visit to Glasgow and Manchester with the daughter to check out the universities, and the cities them selves. It’s lovely to have her back, telling tales of her travelling adventures, sharing new enthusiasms and plans.

So, sitting on the train watching the beautiful countryside wizz past, we talk, inevitably, about me and her dad.

It’s getting easier, I tell her. Less painful to see him, even kind of normal. Could you see yourself back with him? She asks. Not in a ‘I need my parents to be together’ kind of way. She’s not that sort of person and it wasn’t that sort of question. The answer is a calm but decisive NO.

We talked about plans for the future, the advantages of having siblings to share the load of stuff. The perks of being an only. ‘At least you inheritance will be yours’ I laughed. ‘Unless you dad has another child, of course.’

And a whole new line of conversation started. And a funny bet was made.

Years ago, when the daughter was four years old I had the first of four miscarriages. Each one building on the trauma, insecurities and heartbreak of the one before. By the last one I gave up wanting to try again. The pain, in its many forms, just too much to bear. So it was going to be us three (I hasten to add not ‘just’ us three, as I know now and really knew then how lucky we were to have our girl)

We then had certain practicalities to establish. Not wanting another baby means not getting pregnant. My body had been in the wars so I wasn’t willing to put myself through anything else. So a small, snippy procedure was mentioned, and as we both knew people who had had one I didn’t think it such a big deal. But it was. It became a very big deal, a case of any other future being denied to him.

If it was merely fear expressing itself with excuses that would make sense, but in the discussions at the time I knew it was a sign of something else. A commitment he wasn’t willing to make. It did, in several little ways, take its toll.

So to the bet. I joked about another child. But his lack of support over the practicalities of contraception had always been a drag on our life together. So will he step up if he meets someone? He’s still a handsome man and, while I don’t enjoy the thought of him with someone else, it’s perfectly probable. I may even be at that point myself one day. But I’m not ever going to have another baby – I can’t say the same for him.

So on the long train ride to Glasgow I wagered £50 he would in 5 years! And once I handed over the cash, it was hers to keep unless he had one within 10!

And I’m not sure why I think it might happen, but there is the doubt in my mind. Doubt that he really has started to take responsibility, act like a grown up.

Be a drastic way to be proved right. But one part of the bet was that the daughter had to tell him about it if I win! So he’ll know if I’m suddenly fifty quid the richer.

10. It helps to have a dog

There have been some mornings when we are both up and about at the same time, getting ready for a day of whatever. Some of the mornings are delicate. Both of us are under-slept and heavy from a restless night. There is a light covering of eggshells around which to negotiate. To be nice, but avoid anything deep – because the other one is no longer there to help with the fog of a morning. We tip toe around.

This is when it helps to have a dog.

I appreciate that this is not an option for all. It comes with complications – not least of all the soon to be shared ownership. It certainly comes with expense which may well be part of the up and coming discussions.

But as an ice breaker there is no finer creature to have about. Daft on a fairly permanent level she has a special energy in the morning born of the assumption that playing with her is, clearly, the most fabulous way to start the day. Toys are brought, beds are bounced on, licks are handed out freely.  And she’s right, it does help. She makes you laugh. She makes you shout when a hearty nudge from a big wet nose makes you spill your coffee. She wags you into positivity whether you wanted it or not.

And there’s the walking – regardless of mood, tension or weather. That really helps. After five minutes of being forced out of the house you know it was a good idea.

She was right again.

So borrow one if you can. Because they don’t take sides. They don’t judge the relationship. They’re better than having children around for quenching an argument with their big brown eyes and their flat ears.

And they are all a very good size for a hug,

9. Is trust enough?

We’ve been together for twenty one years. Yes, there has been ups, downs and probably all sorts of directions. But, despite the fact that we are not going to be together any more, there is still trust.

But is trust enough?

Because we need to talk about the big, financial things. And those are the areas that seem to me to be the sticky points. How do we have the conversations about what’s fair when it can’t be just split down the middle? I appreciate that no matter where you live this isn’t easy. And we’re lucky, we have a home to divide. It’s at least a problem to solve, not just a problem.

The plans we lay out now point the way to making this real. Real, and so very permanent. And that, today, feels very painful. It lays down a future that I didn’t think was coming and I’m not sure that I’m ready for, although I know I’ve no choice and I have to stand up and take it on.

It isn’t enough to have a ‘gentleman’s agreement, although I wish it were. Because he is a gentle man. But I need to feel safe, and it’s not even just about me. Child, dog, cat, Father-in-law downstairs – they’re all going to be up to me (well, not really the father-in-law, he’s quite self sufficient) and it’s going to be hard. I’m going to be broke. But broke is one thing. Insecure is another matter.

We’re going to have to get advice. Make things legal.

Christ – as if things aren’t depressing enough!

8. Today is a wobbly one.

Not all days are the same, a truism that’s a constant no matter how the world is doing. But today is a wobbly one. Feeling worried, anxious, scared – you know the sort of thing. Knot in your stomach, tears threatening, throat feeling tense.

To look on the bright side we’re still chatting, nicely, about stuff. I mean not the serious bit – moving out details, finance (oh, the dreaded finance). Just about the dog, my photographs (currently in an exhibition, good to be sidetracked by something positive that isn’t just work) would you like porridge. There’s a friendly atmosphere – if a little tentative.

So the subject of ‘restorative yoga’ comes up. Yes, I know, not your usual topic for a Thursday morning. Well, it could be, I’m not one to assume. It’s not usually top of my list, that’s all. But while I do yoga fairly frequently – or practice, as I think you’re supposed to say – I find that fairly gently yoga is lovely, but lying around hugging a bolster is not my favourite. “That’s because you don’t relax.” he says

Don’t I?  Really? Well not at the bloody moment, I think. I don’t say it out loud of course. I don’t feel that there’s a lot to relax about. But have I been like this for a long time? I’ve always used my energy to do something – often paint something (walls not art!) or garden or just be active in some way. I don’t think I’m fidgety, just that there’s a lot to do. So I often just do it. But in the months, and, possibly years that things have slowly been peeling apart between us maybe I’ve lost my ability to chill. Just be.

And that makes me feel wobbly too. Because my tension is useful sometimes. It can be a good energy. It’s made me do things I probably wouldn’t have done under the cover that it’s better to act then stand still.

Deeds not words, she says while writing.

But even this writing is an action. It’s an outlet, albeit an action of the mind and fingers alone. But I can’t knit so it will have to do. And maybe, after I’ve taken the dog out and finished painting the door I won’t feel quite so wobbly.

7. Is he having a mid life crisis?

The thing is, I’ve now told a few friends. The situation just called for it. I’m in a space, a gallery, and people are coming in to see the work. And some of those people are supportive friends, and the conversation seems to be so apposite, so the words have just come out.

There’s shock, and questions, and discussions. Then there is the comment. Not exactly the question, not even a criticism. Just ‘Is he having a mid life crisis? and it’s a bit difficult not to agree. But are they a good thing in the long run? Can it really be called a crisis? Is it just that a moment is reached when all the things you put away because there are others to take their place come out again. And you want that life that goes with them. No responsibilities, no job you hate, no things that make you unhappy.

May be it’s something I should try myself. Work out what it is that I want. Put myself at the top of my own list. But I’m not sure that it’s something I want. I like a challenge, I thrive on a problem to solve, another plate to spin. I just want to pick my plates.

So, the good thing to come out of this – although I’m pushing myself to focus on the good, it isn’t quite coming automatically yet – is may be I can make different choices for different reasons, with fewer people to consider.  I, somehow, will make it more about me. I won’t have to compromise. And more importantly, what I want won’t get put on the back burner all the time.

Because it’s not going to help if I try and take responsibility for someone else choices. I have to let go, not try an solve a problem that isn’t mine to solve. Not condemn his actions because they aren’t, immediately, what I want.

It’ll all work out in the end. Somehow.

So, I shall focus on the lining, not on the cloud.