It was November 2018 when life as I knew ended. The last one year saw me become the living dead. I approached The Husband one last time and said, if he wants to talk, with or without a counseller, if he wants to make a start at some resolution to our situation, if he was willing to come clean and deal with whatever it was this is. If he loved Tara and much as I did, now was the time to sort things out.
He put on his headphones and walked away. That was last year. I waited for either or both of them to come to me that whole, never-ending year
I have cried every night of the last one year. I have infected sinuses to show for it. When neither The Husband nor Tara came to me, I made up my mind. I will survive this. I will give myself one year to grieve over what I lost, I will pick myself up, learn something new and unlikely as it felt, I will be happy again-with or without anyone. Loving Tara is a biological fact. I will not expect it back, but I will be there for her till she stands on her own feet and leaves home. After that I will travel my own road. Enough.
I made it clear to The Husband that if this is how he wanted it, so be it. From now on, I will take care of Tara’s every need, and do all the work I did for the house but that was about it. I would do nothing else. No more holidays, no more going out and after one particularly humiliating day when he threw out food before I had eaten, I made a vow not to eat or use anything he bought again. Made no difference to them, they were okay with it. If he went out he would have to take Tara. Im not available for all these things I had previously acommodated.
November 2019 arrived, and it did so in a hugely dramatic fashion. Tara and The Husband were carrying on with their respective lives, while I waited for November 2019 as a date of closure and new beginnings. November 8th Tara was rushed to A&E, and what followed is a nightmare of epic proportions..the tail end of which is still ongoing, though mercifully the worst is behind us.
Every resolution of moving on, carrying on, new beginnings evaporated in one second while I was Tara’s warrior Mummy all over again. Nothing mattered as she shivered and convulsed in pain, shunning her father and clinging to me while I half-carried, half-dragged her into the hospital, trying to ignore the agonising pain in my shoulders being weighed down by Tara. Nothing was relevant as I held her hand in the Acute Assessment Unit. I looked in her eyes and said, don’t worry..Mummy’s got you. It will be fine. A few days later when I brought her home and tucked her in bed, I broke down in tears at the foot of my bed. I reached out to The Husband, I looked deep into his eyes and said, I can’t bear this anymore. You’ve got to step up. You’ve got to do something. He just stood there, looked at me and walked away.
I am a proud person. I had backed off just as Tara and The Husband had wanted all of last year. November 2019 was supposed to be a milestone in my recovery. I had never backed down to anyone in the face of injustice or when it came to my dignity. In a second I surrendered it all for Tara - pride, self respect, ego-everything. I looked after her 24 hours a day for the last month or so. I hugged and cuddled her every night. Like I didn’t have time. Like I wouldn’t have tomorrow. It didnt matter whether she approached me, apologised or not, I was her Warrior Mummy. My job is to love and protect her no matter what. The Husband uses Tara like a shield that he knows I will never attack. I got that.
In the last one year after separating me from my Tara, I expected that he would love her and look after her just like I did…and hoped he could be better at it than I. I was wrong. He spiralled into an vortex of selfishness and I watched utterly devastated as Tara was neglected. They both chose to live like that, rather than approach me to work out a way forward. I must have been a nasty piece of work, but I still couldn’t see how…or why.
Fast forward to today. After sorting Tara out, finishing dinner, I sat down to watch the news with a cup of coffee. The Husband knocks on the door. The first time in the last year. He says-The new Star Wars movie is out and I really want to see it. Can I go? I blinked a few times and recovered quickly enough to say he didn't need my permission, he and Tara could go wherever they wanted. He mumbled that Tara wouldn't want to see this movie. I was stunned. After one year what made him approach me was not a desire to resolve this seriously dysfunctional life, but a movie he wanted to see so badly, and he wanted me to look after her.
Did I just imagine this? I got up and quietly walked out of the room and started typing this. I will come back tomorrow and check if it was real or one of those absurd dreams.
He put on his headphones and walked away. That was last year. I waited for either or both of them to come to me that whole, never-ending year
I have cried every night of the last one year. I have infected sinuses to show for it. When neither The Husband nor Tara came to me, I made up my mind. I will survive this. I will give myself one year to grieve over what I lost, I will pick myself up, learn something new and unlikely as it felt, I will be happy again-with or without anyone. Loving Tara is a biological fact. I will not expect it back, but I will be there for her till she stands on her own feet and leaves home. After that I will travel my own road. Enough.
I made it clear to The Husband that if this is how he wanted it, so be it. From now on, I will take care of Tara’s every need, and do all the work I did for the house but that was about it. I would do nothing else. No more holidays, no more going out and after one particularly humiliating day when he threw out food before I had eaten, I made a vow not to eat or use anything he bought again. Made no difference to them, they were okay with it. If he went out he would have to take Tara. Im not available for all these things I had previously acommodated.
November 2019 arrived, and it did so in a hugely dramatic fashion. Tara and The Husband were carrying on with their respective lives, while I waited for November 2019 as a date of closure and new beginnings. November 8th Tara was rushed to A&E, and what followed is a nightmare of epic proportions..the tail end of which is still ongoing, though mercifully the worst is behind us.
Every resolution of moving on, carrying on, new beginnings evaporated in one second while I was Tara’s warrior Mummy all over again. Nothing mattered as she shivered and convulsed in pain, shunning her father and clinging to me while I half-carried, half-dragged her into the hospital, trying to ignore the agonising pain in my shoulders being weighed down by Tara. Nothing was relevant as I held her hand in the Acute Assessment Unit. I looked in her eyes and said, don’t worry..Mummy’s got you. It will be fine. A few days later when I brought her home and tucked her in bed, I broke down in tears at the foot of my bed. I reached out to The Husband, I looked deep into his eyes and said, I can’t bear this anymore. You’ve got to step up. You’ve got to do something. He just stood there, looked at me and walked away.
I am a proud person. I had backed off just as Tara and The Husband had wanted all of last year. November 2019 was supposed to be a milestone in my recovery. I had never backed down to anyone in the face of injustice or when it came to my dignity. In a second I surrendered it all for Tara - pride, self respect, ego-everything. I looked after her 24 hours a day for the last month or so. I hugged and cuddled her every night. Like I didn’t have time. Like I wouldn’t have tomorrow. It didnt matter whether she approached me, apologised or not, I was her Warrior Mummy. My job is to love and protect her no matter what. The Husband uses Tara like a shield that he knows I will never attack. I got that.
In the last one year after separating me from my Tara, I expected that he would love her and look after her just like I did…and hoped he could be better at it than I. I was wrong. He spiralled into an vortex of selfishness and I watched utterly devastated as Tara was neglected. They both chose to live like that, rather than approach me to work out a way forward. I must have been a nasty piece of work, but I still couldn’t see how…or why.
Fast forward to today. After sorting Tara out, finishing dinner, I sat down to watch the news with a cup of coffee. The Husband knocks on the door. The first time in the last year. He says-The new Star Wars movie is out and I really want to see it. Can I go? I blinked a few times and recovered quickly enough to say he didn't need my permission, he and Tara could go wherever they wanted. He mumbled that Tara wouldn't want to see this movie. I was stunned. After one year what made him approach me was not a desire to resolve this seriously dysfunctional life, but a movie he wanted to see so badly, and he wanted me to look after her.
Did I just imagine this? I got up and quietly walked out of the room and started typing this. I will come back tomorrow and check if it was real or one of those absurd dreams.
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