Six months today. - 10/03/05 11:28 AM
Six months ago today, WH left and moved in with the OW.
I remember the day very clearly, up to the point when he left. I hadn’t slept that night at all (D day was the previous evening, and WH broke the happy news to me at precisely the same time that Pope John Paul II died).
I crawled out of bed, and woke WH (he was sleeping on the sofa). I told him we had to work out what to tell the children.
I made two cups of tea. I remember exactly what mugs I used, old white ones with pictures of the yellow sun on them. My tea was too strong, but I guess I needed it. I said to WH that if there was nothing I could say to change his mind about leaving, then I thought it would be best that he left straight away, as the kids were in the middle of their Easter break and would have a week to adjust before going back to school. He agreed.
We decided that I would take DD5 to the park and tell her, and WH would talk to DD12. It was a sunny but windy morning in the park.. We couldn’t go to the part of the park where the swings and slides were, because it was full of broken glass bottles (bloody teenagers!) – so we walked around instead. I told DD5 that her Daddy wouldn’t be living with us any more, that he would be living somewhere else. Tears welled up in her eyes and she asked me why. I didn’t know what to tell her, so I told her the truth as I knew it at the time. I said that Daddy still loved her and DD12 very much, but that he didn’t love me any more and so he couldn’t live with me any more. I told her that Daddy and I would always love her and DD12, and that Daddy would still see her lots and lots. She seemed OK with that, at the time.
We went back home. I didn’t know where WH was, but found DD12 crying in her room. I put my arms around her and told her I was so sorry this had happened. She cried on my shoulder, said ‘It’s not your fault’. But I felt like it was. Then over her head I saw WH – he was in the walk-in cupboard in DD12’s room, getting a suitcase. He smiled at me, and said ‘alright?’. I couldn’t believe it. It was as if he was just going away for a couple of days. Not as if he’d just shattered all our lives. I wanted to smash his smiling face in. But I didn’t.
DD12 and I went downstairs, and put the TV on. DD5 was playing in her room. DD12 and I sat on the sofa, not speaking but I had my arm around her. WH packed his suitcase in our bedroom. I felt the first tears begin to come as I heard him opening and closing drawers in our room, and left DD12 to sit in the dining room on my own. WH came through in a few minutes. I said ‘How can you do this to us?’ He said ‘I’m sorry’.
He continued packing. I couldn’t go back into the lounge, back to DD12 – I couldn’t bear the pain in that room. I’m so ashamed that I left her alone for those long minutes. I called through the bedroom door to WH ‘You have to tell your mother, you have to call her before you go.’ He said he would.
He called her. I kept the kids away when he was on the phone. I still don’t know what he said to her – I can’t imagine. Then he went to close his suitcase, and pack up the car. I began to wash up the breakfast dishes.
He was ready to go. He came through to see me. He said ‘goodbye’, and his voice was full of tears. I didn’t answer him; I just stared at the sink. Then he went through to say goodbye to the girls who were both watching TV. I heard him go down the stairs and shut the front door behind him. As he shut the door, I heard the girls begin crying. I ran through from the kitchen to the lounge; they were clinging to each other on the sofa, and howling like I’ve never seen before. I put my arms around both of them, and cried too. I still had my washing-up gloves on.
I can’t remember anything else about that day. I don’t even know if I made any food, or how the kids got to bed that night. It’s like the day was cut off as I held my children, and stroked their hair with my wet, yellow hands.
***
Six months later, I have come far. I thought I would die when WH left, and in fact wished for this. My health took a major dive (I have Crohns Disease) and I stopped eating. My parents came to help me out, and were shocked and terrified by what they found. They forced me to go to the doctor, although I didn't want to. They told me again and again that if I didn't start caring for myself that I would end up in hospital and would lose custody of the children to WH. Eventually their nagging and persistence paid off.
I began to eat again. Small amounts at first, but enough to stave off ketosis. I began taking my meds properly. I stopped bleeding and I stopped losing so much weight. One day, about a month and a half after D-day, I found myself smiling at my children. A little while after that, I found I could smile at other things, too.
After I began taking Ads, things began to get better for me quite quickly. I began to find interest in things outside of just caring for my kids. I began reading books and listening to music. I was able to see beauty in the world, and, more importantly, see pain and horror and genuinely appreciate that there were people out there who had it far worse than me. I counted my blessings. I realised I had many.
My children and I clung to each other for support, and eventually we rallied. Instead of being a unit of four with a piece missing, we became a self-sufficient unit of three.
We went away for a week to Spain. At some point during that week, I stopped missing WH. Even when we came home again, I didn't miss him. I had forgotten what it was like to have him sleeping beside me. I'd forgotten the smell of him, his presence in the house was gone. I stopped waiting for him to come home.
Now I've stopped wanting him to come home, too. I've stopped imagining the day when he tries to return, begging me to take him back! I don't think it will ever happen, and I don't think I could have him back now. He left me to die, basically. He knew how serious my illness was, he knew I had previous history of self-harm and suicide attempts. He left me anyway, and left his kids too, knowing all that. It's not even a question of forgiving him any more – it's irrelevant. I don't wish him pain or harm, I'm just happy he leaves me alone.
I'm still waiting for him to file. At the moment, I'm hoping that he'll do the deed himself, but he seems terrified to proceed because he can't afford a solicitor. If he delays for another few months, I will file for divorce myself. I don't want to remain in limbo for very much longer.
So this is it, so far. I was just about as destroyed as one can be when left by their spouse. I have survived! I am happy – not ecstatically so, but working towards it. I am not as healthy as I'd like to be, but I'm better than I was. My kids and I have a much closer relationship than we ever did before.
I didn't believe it would get better. It did.
Life is coming good for me, and I have made peace with the world, and myself.
Alph.
I remember the day very clearly, up to the point when he left. I hadn’t slept that night at all (D day was the previous evening, and WH broke the happy news to me at precisely the same time that Pope John Paul II died).
I crawled out of bed, and woke WH (he was sleeping on the sofa). I told him we had to work out what to tell the children.
I made two cups of tea. I remember exactly what mugs I used, old white ones with pictures of the yellow sun on them. My tea was too strong, but I guess I needed it. I said to WH that if there was nothing I could say to change his mind about leaving, then I thought it would be best that he left straight away, as the kids were in the middle of their Easter break and would have a week to adjust before going back to school. He agreed.
We decided that I would take DD5 to the park and tell her, and WH would talk to DD12. It was a sunny but windy morning in the park.. We couldn’t go to the part of the park where the swings and slides were, because it was full of broken glass bottles (bloody teenagers!) – so we walked around instead. I told DD5 that her Daddy wouldn’t be living with us any more, that he would be living somewhere else. Tears welled up in her eyes and she asked me why. I didn’t know what to tell her, so I told her the truth as I knew it at the time. I said that Daddy still loved her and DD12 very much, but that he didn’t love me any more and so he couldn’t live with me any more. I told her that Daddy and I would always love her and DD12, and that Daddy would still see her lots and lots. She seemed OK with that, at the time.
We went back home. I didn’t know where WH was, but found DD12 crying in her room. I put my arms around her and told her I was so sorry this had happened. She cried on my shoulder, said ‘It’s not your fault’. But I felt like it was. Then over her head I saw WH – he was in the walk-in cupboard in DD12’s room, getting a suitcase. He smiled at me, and said ‘alright?’. I couldn’t believe it. It was as if he was just going away for a couple of days. Not as if he’d just shattered all our lives. I wanted to smash his smiling face in. But I didn’t.
DD12 and I went downstairs, and put the TV on. DD5 was playing in her room. DD12 and I sat on the sofa, not speaking but I had my arm around her. WH packed his suitcase in our bedroom. I felt the first tears begin to come as I heard him opening and closing drawers in our room, and left DD12 to sit in the dining room on my own. WH came through in a few minutes. I said ‘How can you do this to us?’ He said ‘I’m sorry’.
He continued packing. I couldn’t go back into the lounge, back to DD12 – I couldn’t bear the pain in that room. I’m so ashamed that I left her alone for those long minutes. I called through the bedroom door to WH ‘You have to tell your mother, you have to call her before you go.’ He said he would.
He called her. I kept the kids away when he was on the phone. I still don’t know what he said to her – I can’t imagine. Then he went to close his suitcase, and pack up the car. I began to wash up the breakfast dishes.
He was ready to go. He came through to see me. He said ‘goodbye’, and his voice was full of tears. I didn’t answer him; I just stared at the sink. Then he went through to say goodbye to the girls who were both watching TV. I heard him go down the stairs and shut the front door behind him. As he shut the door, I heard the girls begin crying. I ran through from the kitchen to the lounge; they were clinging to each other on the sofa, and howling like I’ve never seen before. I put my arms around both of them, and cried too. I still had my washing-up gloves on.
I can’t remember anything else about that day. I don’t even know if I made any food, or how the kids got to bed that night. It’s like the day was cut off as I held my children, and stroked their hair with my wet, yellow hands.
***
Six months later, I have come far. I thought I would die when WH left, and in fact wished for this. My health took a major dive (I have Crohns Disease) and I stopped eating. My parents came to help me out, and were shocked and terrified by what they found. They forced me to go to the doctor, although I didn't want to. They told me again and again that if I didn't start caring for myself that I would end up in hospital and would lose custody of the children to WH. Eventually their nagging and persistence paid off.
I began to eat again. Small amounts at first, but enough to stave off ketosis. I began taking my meds properly. I stopped bleeding and I stopped losing so much weight. One day, about a month and a half after D-day, I found myself smiling at my children. A little while after that, I found I could smile at other things, too.
After I began taking Ads, things began to get better for me quite quickly. I began to find interest in things outside of just caring for my kids. I began reading books and listening to music. I was able to see beauty in the world, and, more importantly, see pain and horror and genuinely appreciate that there were people out there who had it far worse than me. I counted my blessings. I realised I had many.
My children and I clung to each other for support, and eventually we rallied. Instead of being a unit of four with a piece missing, we became a self-sufficient unit of three.
We went away for a week to Spain. At some point during that week, I stopped missing WH. Even when we came home again, I didn't miss him. I had forgotten what it was like to have him sleeping beside me. I'd forgotten the smell of him, his presence in the house was gone. I stopped waiting for him to come home.
Now I've stopped wanting him to come home, too. I've stopped imagining the day when he tries to return, begging me to take him back! I don't think it will ever happen, and I don't think I could have him back now. He left me to die, basically. He knew how serious my illness was, he knew I had previous history of self-harm and suicide attempts. He left me anyway, and left his kids too, knowing all that. It's not even a question of forgiving him any more – it's irrelevant. I don't wish him pain or harm, I'm just happy he leaves me alone.
I'm still waiting for him to file. At the moment, I'm hoping that he'll do the deed himself, but he seems terrified to proceed because he can't afford a solicitor. If he delays for another few months, I will file for divorce myself. I don't want to remain in limbo for very much longer.
So this is it, so far. I was just about as destroyed as one can be when left by their spouse. I have survived! I am happy – not ecstatically so, but working towards it. I am not as healthy as I'd like to be, but I'm better than I was. My kids and I have a much closer relationship than we ever did before.
I didn't believe it would get better. It did.
Life is coming good for me, and I have made peace with the world, and myself.
Alph.