Countdown

Nothing says you are on a countdown like the Monday morning job of updating the wall planner. So with another week down and four remaining I can’t help but to ponder over the upcoming operation and its many possible outcomes.

I do worry in the context of this blog that when I write about wanting everything to be at an end I am effectively wishing death on my husband, the father of my children and man to whom I promised my eternal love.

Ok, this is partly right I guess but to explain, much as I can:

Firstly as I have stressed many times, this man is not my husband, nor is he the man with whom I created my beautiful children, nor is he the man I took before God to affirm our love. I will not go back over old ground because I want to get new stuff out, so just read older posts for the explanations.

Secondly, nothing is working right now. No-one is functioning in a healthy manner; I feel barely able to keep it together most days, whilst the kids are all completely screwed up, the house is a mess, garden uncontrollable and the financial burden of not being able to get out for meetings or to even go do a ‘proper’ job really taking its toll.


So much as I would never wish another dead (and you have to take me at my word in spite of the evidence… although I will say that even having been dealt some severe atrocities at the hand of another as a child I never once wished them dead, even weeping at their funeral – and even as he is right now, the hub is a million times the man the other was!) were he not to pull through surgery it really wouldn’t be the worst thing.

I can think of many things worse, least of all that things remain unchanged.

I really need to live; To love and be loved; To feel wanted rather than needed; To be held and comforted.

Mostly I need rest. And sleep. And a fresh start.


And my kids need to close their eyes and remember a better person than simply a blurred face peering from beneath a duvet, smelling vaguely of sweat and death, offering no fatherly wisdom, no moments of joy, no reassurance or support.

The older girls need to remember the dad who took them swimming, who drove us wherever we wanted to go, who flew kites, walked for miles often carrying them (even at 6 and 8 as they were when he left us) when they tired. Baby needs to remember the dad who built a trailer for his mobility scooter so he could drive her around when she was tiny, who collected her from school whilst I worked taking her to the park on the way home or bringing her to visit me at work, the dad who laughed, tickled and coloured with her.

It is too late now to get any of those things back. We need the chance to move on; all five of us.

So if there is a God, let us hope that he sees this and brings this chapter to a peaceful close; no cliff-hanger or dramatic closing sequence please, none of us have the strength for that.