divorce

Gifts from “Daddy”

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Christmas gifts

Another Christmas Day, come and gone.

A full year of moments, dates, special occasions passed as a single mother. It’s been 15 months now. I’ve gone through the full cycle, and I feel like I’ve finally hit my stride. Of course there are still some fleeting thoughts of what if’s, why me, how did this happen but they are few and far between. For the most part I’m either too busy with the necessitates of life or creating memories with my boys. Memories like yesterday. My first Christmas dinner as the hostess with the mostest again.

11 of my family descended upon me to devour a feast prepared by my own fair hands. These are the moments that matter. That said, the festive day did have a dark cloud of his size and shape looming over it. I tried my best to blow it away and to a large degree I did, but this morning it’s back, darker and gloomier than before.

The day before Christmas Eve my mum gave me a box, the front decorated with his child like scrawl, addressed to my boys. Some might say this is progress. He’s sending gifts (he didn’t even bother with a text last year) but I see it differently. I see her. His new cover story.

Albert received a big toy; dancing animals, flashing lights and songs sung in German. Oliver a book. The diary of a wimpy kid. And that right there is the point. He would have noticed the toy sung in German, her being German wouldn’t. He would have known that yes, Oliver liked (focus on past tense) the wimpy kid series… When he was 9!!! She again would not.

It makes me so angry. Sick in fact. It also makes me very curious as to what exactly he has told her about why he isn’t seeing the boys. My guess is I’m the bad guy, I’m unreasonable, I cut contact, I won’t let him see them…either way she is oblivious to the truth. In addition how can I keep gifts in my home that have been touched by her filthy home wrecking hands?

So what to do?

I could give them to his mum when I see her after Christmas (yes we’ve been in touch, but that’s a story for another post), I could send them back to him with a spiteful bitter note telling him if he wants to show he cares he should get off his hustler ass and buy them himself or not bother at all. Or I could send them to her, with a gift in return… A gift of the truth. Not my truth HER truth.

You see she thinks she’s the cat that got the cream; the handsome Man, the successful provider, the hero who showers her with praise, gifts and compliments all the while playing away like the filthy sewer rat he is. And she, the poor cow, has no clue. She sits smugly picking out gifts for my kids like she’s fucking Mother Teresa. Her pathetic attempts to help him smooth the way over what ever lie he’s fed her. If it wasn’t so pitiful it would be hysterical.

He is here in the UK. I don’t know, nor care if she’s here. But I know he is. He flashed up on my tinder profile on the 23rd only 29km away. Even at Christmas he can’t just enjoy friends and family, he just has to find a local squeeze. Even funnier he is using old photos, pictures taken whilst with me. On one he actually cut me out of the pictures… Cheeky so and so. It’s truly very sad.

Back to the question in hand… What should I do?

I really have no idea what the best option is, but I do know we will not be keeping these gifts sitting here with them in our home turns my stomach. So I simply cannot sit and watch my beautiful boys with these items when all I see is her…does that make me a terrible person? Putting my own bitterness ahead of my children’s enjoyment of a couple of stupid toys?!

What would you do, I’d love to hear?!

 

It still hurts

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On this exact day 12 months ago I visited my estranged husband in his new flat. At this point he had been gone just over two months and we hadn’t spoken a word in over a month.

He just went AWOL in typical narc style he just shut me out, totally and completely. Like I never existed, we – he and I, our children and I never existed.

He was shocked to see me there, understandably so, as he never expected that I would find out where he live. Find out I did. And so there we were. Dead of night, snow on the ground and over an hours drive from where I lived, we lived. Standing face to face.

On the drive over I was terrified what I would find there, how I would react actually seeing him. What he may say. Would she be there? But when the moment came it was clear he was more petrified than I.

Calmly I told him I only wanted a few moments of his time, that I had a few things to say and then I’d go.    He stepped aside and let me in. Observant as always I couldn’t help but notice his pitiful existence, our old garden furniture as his dining room table (actually there wasn’t a dining room just a kitchen and living room, no bigger than out old family bathroom). No niceties, no photos. Just his books and DVDs adorning the nasty ikea shelving.

Big shot Director hey?!

Sitting in the corner I spy a pair of Dr Martin boots. The rebel in him, of course he knew I hated them; we used to joke about him “not being allowed” them, so it’s not a shock to me that the second he is “free” he goes right out and buys a pair… #midlifecrisis!

Anyway I make my way in and start my well rehearsed speech. Me perched on the window sill, him on the edge of the old sofa bed from Oliver’s bedroom, his  eyes firmly set on the floor. I tell him that I forgive him. That he is a good man. I don’t care who he is with or what he is doing but I can’t allow him to make the mistakes he is making without at least trying to make him see sense. That the only people who really matter in all this mess are the boys. Our boys. All we need to do is to pull together; communicate and we can make it work without hostility or conflict. We didn’t have to be “one of those couples”

Albert is in the car seat in the floor. He hasn’t even looked at him. I remove him gently from his harness and place him smiles beaming on his knee. I tell him that he loves to sing “if your happy and you know it”. To my surprise he starts singing it, clapping Albert’s hands with the rhythm. Albert of course giggles and charms in his special little way. My heart melts.

For a moment, he is smiling, engaging, I see the old him. The him I fell in love with, not this shadow of a man who is now no more than a stranger to me. But it’s over as quickly as it began, as he takes to his feet and hands Albert back to me. And he’s gone.. Retreated back in to his new cold hard emotionless shell. Never to be seen again!

And so we are done.  I leave but not before I see him hide his tears. The mother in me wants to make it better, I’m compelled to. I place Albert down and I hold him. At first it’s awkward. He just stands there, then slowly he let’s go and holds me back as he cries. I tell him everything will be ok, to let it go.

Ops..I hit a nerve. He pushes me away and paces up and down the room, animatedly telling me I don’t understand; he’s done so many terrible things, he had so much to deal with. I offer to help. I’m refused.

I leave to take the long, cold and frankly dangerous drive home but I feel calm. Hopeful. There’s a part of me that feels like I’ve reached him. Now I’ll give him space and when he is ready we can then move forward.

A couple of weeks later. My optimism is shattered. Divorce papers. Filed on Nov 2nd. He had already filed when I saw him and yet he never even mentioned it, and his reasoning…such lies. I mean not slight exaggerations just out and out lies.
Here’s a snippet! ” he was trapped in our marriage due to me being totally and utterly dependant on him for everything” “I treated him like a Slave” “I never took any responsibility for the home or the raising of my son from a previous relationship!”

No mention of his affairs, his illegitimate child – 6 weeks older than Albert, or the fact that I was the higher earner and supported him out of work on three occasions, that he moved in with me in to my home, I did all the running around with Oliver, we had a cleaner in the home and I did all the cooking and shopping, paying bills etc

So I ask, define slave please? define dependant! No let’s go with an easy one-define trapped!

Little did I know at that point exactly how much of a liar he really was, a real fantasist. But it wouldn’t take long for that story to be told..and sadly it’s not done yet!

Day after day more information comes to me. Most of which I ignore. But I can’t help but wonder where did he go wrong. Where did we go wrong? What could I have done to help.. I mean I know this isn’t my fault but maybe if I had seen the signs earlier it might not have got this far.

Then today, 12 months on I receive yet another surprise package of delightfulness. Videos (of the xxx nature), messages between him and maybe another 6-7 women, lots of photos of more women, new ones, some have children. More innocent lives in the process of being ruined.

My stomach turns. My hands shake and I light a cigarette.

It still hurts!

For Fuck’s sake! It still hurts!

I hate that it gets to me and I’m choking on my own words even saying it, but it’s true. I don’t love him that I know, and I’ll never ever have him in my life again but it hurts to see this.

The sweet photos quotes he used to send me now go elsewhere – in multiples! He plays with someone else’s child yet ignores ours… Where’s the logic in that?  He clearly likes being a dad or maybe it’s just easier to get a single mum for a fat, overly hairy yet balding middle-aged man wearing Dr Martins, the kids just part of the deal.

That aside and back to me; Degraded, stupid, embarrassed and sad. That’s what this does to me, still 12 months on. Will it ever stop?!

Friends are the best!

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I talk a lot about the women who helped me through my dark, desperate hours. Women, ladies – friends who have often call me inspirational without realising the irony in that small statement.

Irony?

Yes indeed, you see, those women; no friends, were my strength, my inspiration!! Despite the miles between us, to this day they pop up from time to time with words of comfort, joy and silliness all of which mean so much to me that words simply fail me!

Case in point…

This morning I woke, logged on to Facebook and found a message from one of those ladies that literally bought me to tears… Happy tears!
A darling lady, an ex colleague and an amazing friend from Germany- someone who just appeared by my side and has not left it- albeit in spirit now we have a sea between us, posted a song to my timeline with the comment;   “this is your anthem”!

It’s a beautiful song about strength and power. Continuing to fight on despite the size of the battle. It’s just lovely and I have to say I did get a kick of empowerment to continue on – not just for myself but for all the other women out there still grafting to survive yet another day.

So today my darling friend, this post is for you. Little do you know that YOU are my inspiration! You are a tower of sheer steel wrapped in a perfect package of giggles, sarcasm and gossip (all my best features reflected in you!) a truly selfless person who has done more for me than I could ever repay. You took time away from your children, your work? your life just to hold me up. It didn’t go unnoticed!

So to you beautiful lady – thank you… You know who you are!

And.. To pass the baton…To every other woman out there needing a spot of inspiration for your weekend… Listen, enjoy, embrace x

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=e8qDOGLCSFo&feature=youtu.be

 

 

Missed call

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February 25th 2015 was the last time I spoke to my narc ex. I’d like to say the conversation was a good one but that would be a lie. Having said that, given the context it went as well as could be expected. It was calm, no shouting or name calling, no anger, which in all honesty is what I was prepared for. You see this was the day I sat with him holding in my hands his deepest darkest secrets. Exposing all he has worked so hard to hide for an entire life time.  I stood with him pitifully crying right in front of me as I told him of my discoveries; the tens of affairs, the prostitutes, the children, the grandmothers, the married women, the escorting, the gambling… All of which I had factual information on-names, dates, emails, photos you name it I had it all. Evidence so strong even he couldn’t deny it. He didn’t even try.  I had uncovered the real person in him.  Of course I had every right to be angry. To be upset. After all our marriage was a joke. Nothing more than sheer fantasy, a cover story for his depravity. Yet as I listened to his “I’m sorries” and “I’m going to make it right’s” all I could feel was compassion. I actually felt sorry for him. I mean who lives like that?  He is clearly Ill. He needs help. I wanted to help him. Maybe it was the maternal instinct in me but I wanted to hold him in my arms, rock him gently to a peaceful sleep, the kind of sleep that had escaped him for years under the weight of his dual life. He seemed almost relived that it was out. He was shocked, shocked that he had underestimated me and my ability to see the truth, of that I’m sure. Mortified that he had been de-masked, but relived none the less.

We parted ways. He left with my words of promise that I would never reveal the real him to a single soul. That I would help him through this. After all he was my best friend for 11 years and that’s what friends do. Right?

A few text messages passed between us over the following week. All nice, supportive messages, me telling him not be overwhelmed, for him to forgive himself, for him to remember that he is a good man. Just a man who made mistakes! Nothing out of the ordinary and certainly nothing that would suggest the plot he had hatched to silence me. that was heading my way. I had no idea the lengths he would go to in order to keep his front in tact. I had in fact underestimated him… Massively.

Then the messages stopped. Just like that. Then came the police.

Blackmail?

5 months of terror followed. Stress so sever that I lost my hair…along with almost half my body weight and my entire bank balance (and some) to lawyers! All to defend myself against his lies.

But not one more word from him.

Until now.

A missed call. It came almost two weeks ago now. And it’s played on my mind every day since. What could he possibly want now, after all this time, after all he had done?

Nothing im guessing. Nothing but to mess with my head. His narcissism will be craving the attention, he’s looking to feed the beast within.

I ignored the call. I had no intentions of responding in any way shape or form. But then the dreams started. Well nightmares actually. Night after night the same scenario played out during the dark wee hours…I’m in a flat, I don’t recognise it but I know it’s his. I discover recording devices in every room I enter. I’ve been set up. I start to run for the door, remembering to wipe my finger prints as I go. Then there he is. He is running from me. Scrambling in his dressing gown up the grassy verge outside the kitchen window. His face flushed with panic. Then I’m alone. Outside. It’s dark. I have no idea where I am and the Barron landscape is cruel not allowing me any signs of familiarity. I wake. Dazed upset confused.

For the past two weeks I’ve tried to figure this out. Until yesterday when I remembered something my therapist said to me when all this started. He told me that before I react to any situation – or make any decisions to step back and think of my future self. To see her stood in front of a mirror thinking of this moment. Will that lady be regretful or happy about the choice she made? He always told me that I have a surprisingly strong moral compass, and that despite the bs that has been thrown my way I have stayed true to my values and beliefs.

As I sit and think about that, let it resonate within, I ponder my choices and one keeps coming back as my real only choice. I have to respond. Not for him but for me, for the future me. Even if it is a game and all he wants is to see if he can get a reaction I don’t care. His motives are of no importance to me, my promises and values are. I always said that I would be there if he wanted to contact me, and I told myself that I would do whatever it took to bring this nonsense to an end. Promises men nothing to him but they do to me, so in the spirit of holding my end of the bargain I replied. Simply saying ” I’m assuming this was a mistake? But wanted to extend you the courtesy of double checking”

No emotion. No fluff.

He read it immediately but still hasn’t replied. I didn’t expect him to, deep down I know he wanted to see if I would reply, and I did. I have fed his ego. But that’s fine, I have silenced my mind. And slept well. that’s what matters. My future self would be proud..

World of wonder

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Golden circle rainbow,
Golden circle rainbow,

I wonder a lot! About everything.

I wonder how I got here, I wonder about a million “what if’s”. I wonder if I’m doing a good enough job of these two precious lives in my hands, but most of all I wonder about the future, what it holds for me and my boys.

Then I decided to stop. Just like that. Just stop worrying, looking back, fretting about what may or may not be. To stop procrastinating, to remove the mystery of the unknown and grab life by the balls and live my life the way I want to live it. This in part was driven by the need for change (which is bizarre given the amount of change I’ve gone through lately) but also in part from reading a quote which really resonated with me;

” if you cannot find the story you want to read, write it yourself”

As someone who has been defined for the past two years by the tragedy of my story this really hit home and provoked my curious wonder to take a new perspective. What if I write my own narrative? What if I’m my own hero? What if I don’t need a villain to make my story interesting?

Hmmm.

There are so many amazing things in this life that we all dream of doing, seeing, feeling, experiencing, yet we plod through life never getting around to it. Why?
Maybe it’s because most of us have never really realised how quickly everything we have, everything we are, everything we believe in can be taken away.
I have.

Through my turbulence lessons have been learnt, and now I realise that living life for today is the only way I want to live, moreover it’s a lesson I want my boys to learn.

I cracked open my Bucket list page on Pinterest, poked a metaphorical pin in the middle, and voila Northern Lights here I come.

Not only is this something that I had dreamed of doing for as long as I can remember but I also longed for some quality time with Oliver.

Credit card in hand, him and I set off for Reykjavik leaving baba with my family for a few days. The Blue Lagoon, the Golden Circle, the Geysir’s and the Northern Lights all firmly in our sights.
What sights they were! We saw rainbows of massive and frequent proportions, Magnificent Waterfalls roaring with splendour, Barron landscapes scarred by molten lava now hardened into its own kind of beauty, Dancing multi coloured lights in the vast dark sky’s of the North Atlantic sea, Boiling, aggressive jets of water sent soaring 30 feet in to the freezing Icelandic sky by the force of mother nature herself…the list goes on.

Simply wonderful!

In amongst all this I saw something much more important. A healing child. A boy becoming a man. One of the two loves of my life growing and learning, letting go. I saw him relate to me like he has never done before, we are friends. We have respect for one another. We talked, we laughed, we explored.

Now back home, baba in my arms I don’t wonder if we will be ok. I don’t wonder if I’m doing a good job in raising decent human beings with self confidence and a moral compass to be admired, I don’t wonder about what went wrong. But, I wonder what will top Iceland. New York? Tokyo?

Only time will tell , but I can say bucket list item number two is in planning…I can’t believe we haven’t done this before.

Stranger Danger

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image

As children we are warned of the boogie man, the stranger offering sweets on the streets, the man alone in the park. We are taught to protect ourselves from the dangers of the unknown. The dark side of society, portrayed as the big bad wolf hiding, lurking in the shadows. We are armed with knowledge and we tighten our defences.

Then we grow up. We dream of love. We imagine our own fantasy fairy tale. The picture perfect partner to share our lives with. Someone to cherish, challenge, support and respect. We long for butterflies in the tummy; a passion that leaves our mouths dry and palms sweaty. We live for that racing heart and trembling legs euphoria of real unfiltered love. Of course we kiss a few frogs along the way, and we all suffer from soul sucking heart-break somewhere down the road. And it changes us. We learn, we grown, we go back to protection mode as taught to us in our youth. But then, there he is…your person. The other side of you. Your complete; in perfect harmony together. We open ourselves up. We give ourselves freely. You trust him with your heart, your soul, your secrets, your dreams, your deepest desires…your fears. You are at your most vulnerable. But that’s ok, those lessons mamma taught you don’t apply here.

Right?

After all you know him. You know everything about him. Don’t you?

So what happens when these two opposing worlds collide?

When evil resides behind the mask of Prince Charming… your perfect partner is the stranger. The con man, the opportunist, the master manipulator, liar, thief, adulterer, pervert… Narcissist! An unrecognisable person whom the very thought of chills you to the bone, leaving your once rampant hot blood running cold. What do you do?

It’s tempting to build a wall of protection that could rival Berlin around your very being, to crumple like your once sweaty sex sheets on the floor, to gather your army of bitterness and fire killer words without aim, or simply to retreat. Hide away licking your wounds of shame, despair and sorrow.

Then what? You live alone, to afraid to move on, to be vulnerable again, scared to be happy because you know – you just know it’s gonna happen again!!! Nope not me, I remember the lessons that mama taught me. This time I may go a little slower, I place my feet with a touch more caution, but I get up. Over, and over again. After all you can’t keep a good woman down.

Despite the new knowledge of his continued and deepening disgraceful behaviour now in my possession I feel strangely calm. I’m no longer shocked. I feel no shame. No hurt. No fear. No hatred. No self-pity. I’ve cleansed myself, literally and figuratively. I’m Shiny and new. Not the same person in any way shape or form, but I love that. The fear of the unknown, the anticipation of the life that is waiting for me forces my heart to beat faster and stronger than it ever did before. Any pain or hurt I may feel in the future will be embraced as it simply tells me I’m still alive, I’m taking risks and I’m living really living!

Now I’m forearmed and protected after all I now know the stranger once in my bed.

A year of firsts

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I sit here this morning, this bright yet chilly September morning, reflecting. I’m melancholy, I’m confused. Honestly I’m a disaster zone, a mass of war-torn wreckage scattered with the landmines that are my pent-up emotions; poised to explode at any given moment often with no trigger other than a flash of memory. A momentary lapse of concentration allows my mind to veer, accessing the part of my brain that I have done so much to lock away. Pulling forward the lovely comforting warm memories of what life was like precisely one year ago.

Sept 24th 2014 I was smitten head over heels in love. Drugged with happiness holding my new baba Albert close to my overwhelmed, ready to burst heart, surrounded by my little family; Oliver the doting big brother and him… My “husband”
Things were at last perfect. I couldn’t have been happier.
I watched as my big strong yet often silent husband tended to our fragile, shiny baby boy.
So gentle, so loving. And all the pain from the past year was gone. This was our time. This was going to be the making of us. We were so happy at last.

We had already had a tough year. No a shitty fucked up year. A year in which “he” turned my world upside down. His selfishness, his fear of truth, his lack of morals or respect drove me to the brink of insanity over and over again. Little did I know that things were about to get much, much worse.

A year of discovery, of firsts eagerly awaited my arrival. The first affair I discovered, the first illegitimate child to another woman, the second the third. The gambling, the lost jobs, the many married women, the prostitutes, the divorce papers, the loss of my job, the criminal charges he claimed against me, the lies he told… All to keep his secrets safe.

Now one year on I’m still holding my babe in my shaking arms whilst I read the complexed documentation
that landed on my doorstep this morning from my lawyer. My divorce lawyer.
The documentation which picks over the bones of what I believed to be our once happy marriage. 11 years with a man whom I loved unconditionally. The man I put on a pedestal, only to watch him fall. Try as I did to catch him he was, and still is determined to hit the self destruct button whilst all I can do I stand by and watch.
And there, right there lies the source of my confusion.

This is the fate he chose for himself. This is the result of his choices not mistakes, conscious decisions. He took all I had, everything I built for us and threw it away with such vengeance, such disregard for the consequences, not just for him and I but for those around us but especially our children.

For that I hate him. Yet conversely I see his fate, I see the darkness that is heading his way, the shadow that he will forever live under is slowly wrapping itself around him and he is oblivious. His sad existence consumes me. I pity him. He does not deserve my pity but nonetheless I do.
I have spent months-12 to be clear trying to understand my part in all this and now I do. I see it clearly. He was, no is, intimidated by me. My success, my friendships, my ability to love, to show empathy. To live a clean regret free life and he hates me for it.

Now I’m happy with my boys. I’m celebrating all I have, and every single day I feel blessed to have these two amazing characters by my side. I no longer love “him” and I no longer think about “him” and I know for sure that I never want him in my life ever again. So as we teeter on the edge of the one year mark I can’t help but to reflect on this past year of firsts. But now I look back and I see this year of firsts differently. I see a year of watching Oliver turn into a beautiful young gentleman, of Albert, babbling, smiling, crawling, walking, eating solids. I see all those amazing moments that we created together and most importantly I see a new year of firsts on our horizon. One in which he won’t feature.
So in this new year of first I will stand strong, I will smile at your craziness, I will pity your sad existence and I embrace all you have to throw at me good bad and indifferent. I will continue to celebrate the joys of my life and I will love my boys enough for both of us!

Hurting Heart

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06.59am, Sunday morning. A simple Sunday morning just like every other. The sun is just peeking through the crack of my cheap velour Ikea curtains. Through the damp haze which blurs the usually sharp outline I can tell there is a chill in the air. The kind of chill that signals the start of September, a change is a foot.

Yet today I don’t welcome the morning. I feel heavy. So, so heavy. I glance across at my Albie. My beautiful precious baby boy. He’s still. Not his usual babbling self, climbing and grabbing at me in an effort to wake me from my blissful slumber. He feels the weight. The pressure of the day that is to come. He lies still, watching me. His ever evolving eyes bearing deep inside me. Eyes that have so much soul, so deep for a baby not yet 12 months old, too deep for one so young.

Our eyes connect and I feel his sadness, my sadness reflected. My glance is distracted by a black mark on the silk pillow. The evidence of what transpired last night. The mark of my turmoil. The stains of my tears leaving a physical mark for all to see, unlike the ones hidden; buried deep inside me, locked away for eternity. Those tears, all those heavy heartfelt tears, the tears I cried for him and his betrayal. The tears I cried for a love lost, a life forgotten and memories never made. Now stained, no – tattooed deep on to my core. But these tear stains are not for him. I won’t cry any more tears for him. I can’t.

Those stains were made crying for another heart, a hurting heart, an angry heart. The broken heart of my innocent Oliver. Too old to be sheltered too young to understand, nevertheless he feels the pain, the grief, he mourns a life that will never be. All those emotions too complicated to express a vocab not yet mature enough to articulate the complexities of thoughts rolling around his mind. As if puberty wasn’t enough to handle he now has a whole new life to navigate. A life he didn’t ask for, a life he doesn’t want, but yet this is the life he has.

So it’s not surprising, I guess, that today I wake to the aftermath of his wroth. An anger derived from hurt, a burden carried for so long that it finally exploded like a disturbed volcano. Molten larva sprayed all over me, yet I’m frozen to the spot. All I can do is watch as my freckled-face boy breaks his heart. His tears gushing like burst dams down his face. Teeth clenched and fists balled as his shouts and screams that this is all my fault. I’m ruining his life. I’ve ruined his life!! After all I married that man, so by default I did this, I caused it. I’m the root of his turmoil.

In the heat of the moment, the rawness of emotion over comes me and so we stand, fighting fire with fire. Words are spoken, words that will never be forgotten, words that can never be undone. Another line in the tattoo permanently left deep on the soul. This time his soul. An innocent soul. The real victim in all this.

He goads me to hit him as I stand holding Albie, his physical touch shocks me. Shoving me and pushing me, a sight I thought I would never see. That’s not him. That’s not my sweet gentle boy. I’m scared, angry and ashamed. Ashamed that I failed him. I failed him on every level. I failed to teach him how to express himself without violence, I failed to teach him right from wrong, I failed to make him feel safe. Surely  that’s every basic human’s right.; to feel safe? To know you’re loved? Yet standing here right now reflecting on what has been, I know he doesn’t. He feels let down, disappointed in me. The one person in the world a boy should be able to rely on is his mother. I failed to protect him from the harsh reality of life, from the cruelness this world has to offer.

Eventually we go to our corners, him crying in his solitude, me in mine. I can’t stand it. The echo of his sobs consume the house. A house not yet a home. Sure it has our “stuff” in it. But there’s no joy – no laughter -no memories to recall in times of need. Only sadness and fear fills this house.

Despite my anger, my tears, I go to him. To my baby boy. I hold him. I make him feel my love. He doesn’t want it. I feel his resistance, his defences are up. He bristles as I touch him. But I am stronger in my embrace. Eventually he weakens and he holds me back. It’s a small gesture. It’s my apology it’s my silent way of saying, “I’ll do better tomorrow”. ” I’ll try again to steal away your pain”. Then to sleep.

Now here, in the mist of daybreak I’ll collect myself. Try to gather some strength, some words of comfort, someway to heal the wounds of a mindless senseless war in which my child is the victim and I pray for peace. Not quiet peace but peace of mind for my baby boy. My boo.

Until then I will carry your hurting heart. x