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.
