I’m revisiting significant memories from my past. My therapist wants me to think about the messages I’ve been subconsciously given about myself through the things I’ve experienced. I’m hoping to gain some understanding of how I ever reached the point where I became invisible. This is part of my backstory.
I haven’t spent many nights away from my children (although they’ve had plenty of nights away from me at sleepovers, school camps, etc). Excluding a few days in hospital after the birth of each child and a few small overnight trips with only one, I’ve pretty much always been at home for them.
The reality is that managing the logistics for being away from them was always so draining it was less exhausting to stay home. It wasn’t about separation anxiety (mine or theirs). It was because unable to rely on their father noticing or responding to any needs that didn’t coincide with his own. A case in point:
When my children were 7, 10 and 12, I organised a night away for myself. I travelled a few hours from home with two friends to get our old lady groove on at a Hall & Oates concert. I checked with my then husband (The Ex) before buying tickets (months in advance) and he said it would be fine.
As the date grew closer, I reminded The Ex that I’d be away overnight. He hadn’t made note of the date and seemed surprised. He quietly made it clear that it would be inconvenient but he’d be willing to help, provided I had everything organised in advance before I left. He’d have to care for the children and supervise care of our pet guinea pigs for just over 24 hours – I’d take the kids to school and then get home in time to collect them the following afternoon.
In the final week before the concert, The Ex informed me that he hadn’t realised it was this week and his work commitments would make it too hard for him to manage things with the children. He couldn’t finish work early to collect them from school. I organised for my mother to pick up the children, spend the afternoon with them and prepare dinner. The Ex was in charge of bedtime and getting the kids to school the following morning. I’d left lists on the fridge regarding pet care, school morning prep, and various other significant details like bedtimes, school hours, GP phone number, etc. The kids were also assigned responsibilities.
I left home enthusiastic about 36 hours where I was responsible for no-one but myself. In theory.
The trip was great – a French film, dinner in Chinatown, a great concert and interesting conversation. And then…
As I woke the following morning I received two text messages almost simultaneously. One from my older son letting me know that my younger son’s favourite guinea pig (Mojo) had died during the night, then one from The Ex stating ‘It appears we’ve had a death in the family’ before following up with a brief explanation. I rang the house. My older son answered.
He explained that Mojo had been found dead in the guinea pig cage that morning with the other guinea pig quite distressed, attempting to feed her lettuce to revive her. I asked if his younger brother, our ‘Guinea Pig Whisperer’, knew yet. He said no, he was still eating breakfast but was talking about how he would feed the guinea pigs before he finished getting ready for school. I asked to speak with The Ex.
I asked how he planned to deal with the situation. He explained he was busy making lunches and couldn’t do anything about it straight away. I said that it was important that our son be told before he discovered the body for himself. The Ex said he’d get to it, but he really needed to concentrate on getting the lunches made and other things organised for school and work. I asked for the phone to be given back to the 12yo.
Following my instructions, my son sat on the lounge holding his younger brother while over the phone, hours away from being able to hold him myself, I explained that his beloved Mojo had died. With his older brother’s arms around him and my voice in his ear, he cried. My heart broke.
I comforted him as best I could, and then spoke with my older son again and with my daughter. I guess I spoke with The Ex again. Or maybe not. I hung up and felt the full impact of knowing my children were dealing with one of the significant emotional milestones of childhood on their own.
On the bus on the way to school a little while later, my older son called me with an update and to ask for the phone number for his younger siblings’ school. He took the initiative of calling the office and asking for their classroom teachers to be told they’d had an upsetting morning and might need some extra care during the day. I was so proud of his thoughtfulness and maturity.
At school pick up that afternoon, the younger children started crying as they climbed into the car. I leaned across to hug my daughter, who said it was the first comfort she’d received; that she’d had no hug or sympathy for her grief at home. I’d been so focused on encouraging my older son to comfort his younger brother that I’d forgotten to suggest he hug his sister as well. I felt awful, compounding the guilt caused by my absence at such an upsetting moment for them.
This is not an isolated example. This is how I lived my life – as a married single parent, responsible for everything and everyone, always. I had full responsibility for the emotional wellbeing of three children and almost 100% of the physical, logistical and decision-making responsibilities as well. The only aspects of the children’s lives that The Ex noticed were the ones that coincided with his own needs. I created the image of the family he wanted others to believe we had. He believed it was real. I did such a good job that even I believed it for the longest time, until I was so damn tired I couldn’t do it any more.
My 7yo son lost his beloved pet.
My 10yo daughter was upset and unnoticed.
My 12yo son was sad, but held his brother while he heard the news and did what he could to care for his siblings.
I broke my son’s heart by telling him his pet had died, offered words of comfort to the children, and organised the preliminary logistics of dealing with the death of a pet while 180km away. I felt guilty and worried and heartbroken for my children and their loss.
Their father made their lunches.