The Choice...

Sometimes when you have been away it seems like forever and the return to reality is surreal. It takes a while to get grounded again or should I say ground down? I don’t think I will though for far too much has happened.

I’ve been worriting as they say round here, about me, about my life and about how I am not quite satisfied with it. About the lonliness and the lovelessness. And I’ve had a while to think and  to talk with the important people in my life – my family.

I was ready to leave, pack up and just go, run away if you like and do something, anything else. I wanted to stop being a wife, a mother and try to regain being me but when the crunch came, even though I had the tacit support of my parents and sister; I could not do it.

The bonds of love were too strong, even for me.

The love I have for my boys was obvious, although probably not always to them and then there was the love I have for my husband. I thought it had all gone, dried up as dust. I thought: what was the point?

But I was so, so wrong.

There was something there and it was worth fighting for. We talked. Well initially we fought. I swore I would go and I packed up and got everything in the car. I walked down to the beach to give him the key of the Caravan and without turning back for  a last look at him and the boys walked the quarter of a mile back to the car and it dawned on me, as I sat in there, ready to drive off, that this really was IT.

I stalled.

I called my sister.

I asked for her support. Not to take sides but just to be there. And in not so many words I asked what I should do. She didn’t tell me but she did spell out my options.

Leave, stay or talk it through.

I said what was the point in talking it through again, nothing would change. She was silent at the other end of the line and it dawned on me: I was facing the biggest choice in my life. A decision that only I could take. Nothing would be lost at this stage by talking it through except some pride on my behalf. And let’s be honest what’s a bit of pride in the great context of the irrevocable decision I was about to take.

A little more time.

One more try.

So I swallowed my pride, I raised my chin and sighed; “Here I go again.”

They found me waiting in the car, the boys were thrilled I was still there, my husband a tad more wary but perhaps relieved as well.

And we talked.

I was still going to leave. I needed time on my own. Time without him.

He said he’d go, if that was what I wanted.

No, I’d go. He got to see the children so little, it would not be fair if he went.

And I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to understand.

Wanted everything to stop and when I restarted it all, for everything to be right again.

We talked. And talked. About everything and nothing.

We slept.

Separately.

We got up and talked some more.

The Boy said: Which one of you is leaving?

We looked at each other, gauging each other, weighing up the enormity of the plea. And it was my decision.

None of us I said.