This morning we told the kids.
Round brown eyes turned to look at me andthen at Amanda. Wide eyes of disbelief and the
confusion sat on her features. Daddy was going to live somewhere else.
Weeks had passed since Amanda told me to move into the spare room. She simply
didn’t love me anymore. “I don’t love you anymore.Haven’t for a long time and I don’t want you near me or touching me.” So simple to say but the words start to bounce around in my head and the shock starts me shuddering.
Ten years of marriage to reach this point. “It’ll be alright”, I’d say to myself, “we’ll find the
answer.” We had counselling. It helped me see that even though I tried, I couldn’t make
Amanda happy. “I just can’t find the start to love again button John, not after the years of
being hurt, and belittled, by you and your insults.”
Over those months the sentence of separation or even divorce shimmered on the horizon
ahead of us. It was always there. No escaping it. No escaping my thoughts either. “You
don’t know what you’ve got until you’ve lost it. No! No! We’ll be alright? We’ll find the
answer, won’t we? If I love you enough, won’t you learn to love me again? After all our
efforts through the years all I want is for us to be happy. What about our kids Amanda?
They love me, can’t you?”
“Don’t you realise John, that I haven’t loved you for over a year. Can’t you get that through
your thick head. I don’t want to hurt you and there is no one else involved but don’t come
near me!”
The months have passed now. Eight months. I’m used to the spare bed. The kids think
my back is bad so I sleep alone. I tried lots of hugs with Amanda. They were warm and
gave me a little hope. Soon they irritated Amanda. I tried lots of presents. They meant
nothing to her. “You’re just trying to buy me back!”
What are we going to do? Day by day the question seems to get more difficult. The slow
pressure in my chest seems to get thicker. My heart thumps harder. I’m taking lots of
photos of the kids. More than normal. Photos of Amanda too. Photos for the future.
“God, I’m 46 Amanda, I don’t want to share a house with strangers. A strange house, in a
strange suburb, with strangers! I want to live here and look after you and my kids”. Our
kids. Our beautiful kids. I love them with all my heart. Can’t you see I love you? I’ve told
you so many times you’re the most precious thing in the world. Can’t we find the ‘start to
love again’ button. Someone else will find the button. Not me. How terribly, terribly sad.
Christmas is close now. Perhaps with all the love of Christmas....On Christmas Eve at
8.30pm Amanda went “out to see friends”. Blood pressure sky high and feelings of
nausea and apprehension swim over me. “Don’t do this to us Amanda, not at Christmas.
Not after ten years with me. If you ever loved me, don’t do this on Christmas Eve.” But she
left me alone at home with the kids and the stockings. Phone calls cancelled in my ear as I answered. Whispers and quiet calls daily to and from Amanda. So there is someone else in her heart. Of course.
We told the kids on New Year Day. We sat on Mummy’s big double bed. I watched their faces closely as we ripped their lives to shreds. My daughter asks lots of little questions. Shadows of shock and doubt slip into her eyes. Our little boy is six. He just cries softly. Do all marriages end like this? “Kids, Daddy’s not going away, he’s just going to live somewhere nearby. He’ll come and visit you lots.”
It has been identified that there are four distinct stages of a crisis.
1. Shock
2. Defensive retreat (Confusion)
3. Acknowledgement
4. Adaptation and change.
The shock stage was long and drawn out. The BIG SHOCK came when I found out that the new man with the start button is my daughter’s teacher. The defensive retreat, the anger, anguish and fear seemed to last for a decade. The pounding pressure of no sleep and the
slowly spinning pictures of Him and Her, Happy and Hugging and Kissing, are
slowly fading. Please fade fast. But I can’t control the pictures of him and her together. Jesus wept! Did I deserve this?
I’m nearly into the acknowledgement stage. Nearly. Almost. Some things I can
acknowledge already. Perhaps even Amanda will be happy. Was she ever really happy
with me? Will someone else make her happier? I know, with absolute certainty, that I will
never lose my kids. EVER. I will always be Dad. The kids will be my life. I am going to
pour on love and affection for ever.
The adaption and change will come. The first week of January is not through yet. Two
more weeks or so and I’ll be a little better, a little stronger. Healed a little. One day, not all
that far off, I’ll even be happy again.
John A Wilson, January 1991
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