Tag: gay husbands

Grey Divorce

The General and I were having our usual Sunday morning coffee discussion group today (only 2 people permitted, dressing gowns required) and listening to a superb documentary about “grey divorce” which caused us to sit exchanging (sometimes worried glances) as women discussed either having to leave their partners of many decades or being left themselves, each terrifying for  different reasons.  Of course, for the person who leaves, that ‘terror’ is often closer to excitement: the beginning of something new and a totally fresh start sponged clean of predictability, routine and the other assorted shackles of family life.

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Christmas Past and Present

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I was really rattled this Christmas when I suddenly realized that I could scale back the baking considerably. I was also more suspicious than relieved. The need for a pyramid of mincemeat tarts, hamper-sized bags of potato chips and a massive raft of San Pellegrino usually associated with the weeks leading up to the holidays would just not be required this year; worse still, even though I have had neither of my boys living at home for more than a year now, I have somehow been unconsciously assuming that the situation was temporary and that soon everything would revert to its Normal State.

Whatever that is.

Christmas is a bit tricky too because there’s no one at home and then everyone returns home for a day or two, here and there,  maybe dropping in for a dinner just long enough to reignite all the same maternal brain-patterns as before: sock donuts may be left tucked into the couch, fancy Christmas hand towels are hung up with the pattern on the inside or not hung up at all and why doesn’t someone text if they won’t be back till 3:30am when they are staying over …

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Brief History of Toxic Nostalgia

 

 

 

I often recall a line from a truly great poem called ‘Liar’ by Lynne Crosbie in which she notes that ‘expectation is synonymous with the worst arrogance.’

This is something I often think of when I recall my innocent, totally secure, married self.

I assumed that my long term, contented happiness was static – I expected it. I’m still ashamed, embarrassed; but don’t all people who are in love feel that way and especially when that love has expanded and grown even stronger over the years? I do see now that it really was a kind of arrogance and unfortunately I can never think this way again or feel so safe.

And safe is the perfect word.

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The Day I Ran Over George Michael

 

It’s been 15 years since my husband left us – suddenly and completely – and I still sometimes struggle with aligning my personality to what happened.

None of the popular options available (angry.bitter.regretful.devastated.forgiving) seem palatable and even after so many years, complete indifference also still seems elusive.

I’ve observed some women “moving on” perhaps more traditionally, by re-inventing themselves with a new tattoo or job or hair colour; swopping man-bashing stories whilst enjoying tequila shooters with other Divorced Friends and peppering the conversation with recently learned terms such as “crazy-making behaviour,” “borderline” and “narcissist.” As one of my brothers wryly observed it’s funny how years ago people were just asses.

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