Letter of the Law

 After writing the post titled, 'I cried,' I was going to call this 'And I laughed' because I did. I didn't care about getting a divorce. I knew that I would never put my pretty neck into that same noose again. He wanted the divorce, he paid the solicitor and he sent out the papers. I signed because it didn't matter to me one way or the other. Just when I thought it was all over bar the shouting, I got a solicitor's letter. Apparently he had just realised that I hadn't applied for custody of the children and had put off the court hearing by a month to give me time. (I am deliberately using He rather than his name. Let me know if you think this is disrespectful.)

That is when I laughed. I knew without a doubt that he did not want custody of the kids. I imagined that he was passing razorblades at the thought of having sole care of his own offspring. I could picture the panic he was going through while he waited for me to sign the papers and take responsibility. Briefly I considered not doing the paperwork and seeing what the next step might be. I don't know whether I got formal notification. I suppose I did but it obviously wasn't important enough to remember. I do remember though, that the correspondence from the solicitor listed all the wonderful ways that I was the best carer of my children. I should have kept the letter. When I received it, I wondered why we were divorcing if I was so incredibly amazing!

I stayed in Mackay for a year after that, assuming he'd want more time with the kids. Although he occasionally came around after work and played cricket, only twice did he take them with him to the beach hut where he went almost every weekend. I realise in retrospect that I didn't discuss much with him. I sold the house, moved to Brisbane without giving much thought to his access to his kids. We had arranged that they would visit him twice a year. As far as I recall, he bought bus tickets for them twice a year for maybe two years. The next year, he said he couldn't afford the tickets so I bought one way tickets to Mackay. He scraped up enough to send them back at the end of the fortnight. (Yes, I know there is a word for that, b****)  I think that was the last visit before Andrew moved to Mackay with an apprenticeship. I made the assumption that he was not interested and in reality probably misjudged and short-changed him. Andrew now lives close by and the other two get in touch for important events but I doubt that he'd recognise his grandchildren if he passed them in the street, and vice versa. That's a sad state of affairs to which I contributed through my decisions. (I have been doing a lot of soul-searching - and not coming out squeaky clean!)

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I cried

 

I was planning to have a few more feel-good posts and congratulate myself on how wonderful I am before I delved into events and relationships that were far more challenging and where I don’t emerge with a shiny halo or a hero’s badge, but today I felt compelled to change my mind. I have been watching a series on Netflix called Sweet Magnolias. It is set in the bible belt and has many words of wisdom woven into the story. However, I have just watched the episode where Maddie has just signed her divorce papers. She is told that it’s okay to be sad. Her response resonated with me: ‘I’m not crying because I signed my divorce papers. I’m crying because I had to.’ I cried with Maddie and I cried for myself. I cried for the life that I might have had.

I was immediately taken back to that day in my own life. I know just how she was feeling – and yes, I know it is just fiction – though I could probably up the ante. I was sad that my marriage hadn’t worked out but more, I was angry. I was angry about my stupidity and my neediness that took me into a marriage that I knew wasn’t for me. I knew before we walked down the aisle that he was not the person for me. We had already found so many issues that we didn’t see from the same perspective.

In fact, two days before the wedding I wanted to back out and thought it was too late. This was Good Friday and we were to be married on Easter Sunday. Most of his family lived in Western Australia and had either arrived or had booked expensive flights from Perth. We hadn’t planned either a buck’s night or a hen’s night – not unusual at the time – but got together with some of the family and the bridal group at my sister-in-law’s house. I can’t even remember why, but I stormed out of the house and sat on the fence, expecting him to come to his senses (he must have been in the wrong!) and come out to apologise. When he didn’t, I walked back to my parents’ place where I was staying. I didn’t know till later that our guests had bet he would follow me. He apparently took out his wallet with his honeymoon money and put that down as his wager that he wouldn’t. Meanwhile, I sat on my parent’s front steps, wanting to wake them and call it off. I should have known that they would have been very willing to do that. I just thought that our families had come, many from a distance, and that many of the wedding expenses had already been paid. If I had only realised then that following through would be far more expensive in every way!

Gifts from the Heart

 

 I look at my grandchildren (and if I am honest, my own children when I look back) and see that they are inundated with presents for their birthdays and Christmas. As kids, our birthdays were marked by a home-made cake and only ever one small gift, almost always either a book or clothes, and a minimum of fuss.  Christmas was full of expectation and gratitude for the small pillow-case of gifts from Santa. I don’t remember too many of them but can recall the year I got a celluloid doll, dressed in exactly the same outfit as the new one Mum had just made for me. I thought Santa was so clever. I also got a little dustpan and brush, a book and a couple of balloons. I thought all my Christmases had come at once.

As an adult, I don’t expect gifts. The arrangement with my family is that we make the children the focus of events and exchange only token presents among the adults. So, when there is a gift with a special meaning, it resonates deeply. Three stand out for me. One was what I’d consider a physical gift. I had always loved chiming clocks. My parents had one and my grandparents’ grandfather clock was a favourite childhood memory. For one Christmas my three children gave me a beautiful clock which hangs in my bedroom – with the pendulum detached because it ticks too loudly!

While I was still married, I studied under very difficult circumstances with a husband who made it as hard as possible. Somehow, he always had accounts for me to send out urgently just when I had exams and he came home for lunch when I was busy with an assignment. Eventually I got into the habit of getting up to study when he went to sleep at night – partly leading to my life-long poor sleeping habits! I didn’t attend my graduation ceremony and, when my degree certificate arrived in the mail, I tossed it unopened onto the top of the fridge. For my 50^th birthday, my kids had it framed, along with another couple of certificates I had earned along the way. Unexpected and so valued!

Most recently I received a gift that I will cherish forever – a birth certificate. My second child, a daughter called Margaret, was stillborn. As was the custom in those days, she was taken away from me as soon as she was born. I didn’t get to nurse her or even look at her. I know she was baptised because a nurse asked if I wanted that. My husband was all business. Even before she was born, he had arranged for her burial. It was probably his way of coping, but it was yet another wedge between us. I didn’t see his grief as I was consumed by my own for years. I had never sought out where she was buried and had never got a copy of her birth and death certificate. I don’t know if he did. Every time I travelled to Western Australia, I intended to follow up but I never did. For Mother’s Day this year, my daughter Krista sent away for her sister’s birth certificate in the year she would have turned 50. It is framed and hanging where she belongs in my bedroom among photos of my children and grandchildren.

Just a note

 

I was amazed when I worked in the UK to find that lots of my friends and colleagues didn’t have a car or a driver’s licence. As an Australian, I found that hard to believe. Even when I worked in the middle of London, I couldn’t imagine being without my wheels. In fact, when I went to Northern Ireland as my first overseas post, my first stop was to buy a car – before I even when house hunting. I don’t usually remember such things but I bought my little Renault from Seamus Rafferty – a name seared in my memory as it was so quintessentially Irish. That car gathered quite a few miles in both Ireland and England.

One of my colleagues in London was a young lady with tiny twin baby girls. I used to pick her up any morning that we were both going into the office. A few years later, when I had returned home, she sent me an email saying that her girls were now in Nursery School. She added a bit of news and then a couple of sentences which warmed my heart. I copied out the email and put it into my CV as a true, unsolicited reference. It said:

You are still greatly missed by some of the team. Every now and again one meets a very skilled, diplomatic, kind and considerate manager who makes working life more interesting and stimulating and creates a highly supportive environment, and you are one of those people. You are a rare breed and I am glad I had the opportunity to work with you. I won’t bore you with the ins and outs of work. There is perhaps less of a team spirit these days, less joy and the room is crowded ……..

Another example stands out for me as it encompassed the most important things in my life, family, friends and travel. In 2020 when we were all locked down with the Covid pandemic, I complained to a friend that it was going to be a horrible year. I was still going through chemotherapy with radiotherapy still to come, we couldn’t travel beyond state borders, and social events were severely restricted. A little later, she presented me with a quilt she had sewn and suggested I use the reverse side to collect autographs and messages from the people in my life that year. As I travelled (only in Queensland) that year, I asked my fellow travellers and family and friends that I visited on the way to write messages and mention where we had met. Some friends went far beyond the name and date and left messages from the heart.  It now lies across the end of my bed and I often pick it up and read bits of it. It always gives me a buzz. (Some of you, my faithful friends and family, may see your messages here - and still appreciated.)

The Warmth of Words

 

I have delivered several eulogies and numerous toasts in the past decades. Some are in another blog and labelled Toasts and Tributes (https://toastsandtributes.blogspot.com/). In the last fortnight I have twice spoken in praise at the funeral of a departed aunt and a cousin It’s not often I am on the receiving end. Fortunately, nobody has been called on to present my eulogy yet. At both my 75^th and 80^th birthday, I expected to hear wonderful things about myself. And I did, but not enough to satisfy my need for affirmation! At 75, my elder son, a cousin and a Toastmaster friend all gave a short speech. At my 80^th, my older brother and one of my nieces gave me rave reviews. I hope I can be a fly on the wall at my funeral. I expect a real whitewash. Nobody ever says anything negative at a funeral unless it is something humorous.

(Have you noticed how anyone whose death is reported in the media is always wonderful? A criminal fleeing from the law in a stolen car and killed in the process was always ‘a wonderful son,’ ‘a great dad and loyal friend.’ One day I want to hear that he was a total deadbeat who assaulted his mother, neglected his kids, and drank and gambled everything his poor wife slaved for.)

After my 80^th birthday, I had a case of the miseries. I had looked forward to my birthday and celebrating with family and friends – but I didn’t actually want to be 80. That was old. I know that I am considered the person in the family who talks but I still thought that more of my family would have something to share, though everyone says they hate public speaking and the younger ones are almost a different generation from me. I know what it is like to be almost paralysed with nerves at having to get up and speak in public. I was abysmally shy as a kid and a young adult. Eventually I decided that I could sit in the corner and hope no one noticed me or get out, do something about it and take control of my nerves. Toastmasters helped me do that. After the first couple of nerve-wracking speeches, I discovered the warmth of the support of fellow members who were all travelling the same journey.  We assume that our families and friends will be positive and uplifting. To get that same encouragement from club members and colleagues seems to be more inspiring.

Please be involved. Share some feedback you have received that boosted your confidence – or shattered your serenity. I'd like this to be an interactive blog. Even a comment would be appreciated.

Eighty and Emerging

 

It is hard to believe that I am 80 and still not really sure who I am. Recently a wise woman gathered my stories of failure and difficulties in her hands, arranged them into a different pattern, and challenged me to see them from the perspective of distance and the wisdom of hindsight. For years I have looked at my wider family with its Noah’s Ark configuration and assumed that they all saw my divorce as an abysmal failure. Only now, 45 years later, did I raise the issue and was surprised when their response was one of praise for my strength at removing myself and three young children from what they recognised as a toxic relationship. I was gratified when I realise that their perception of me is more positive than I had imagined.  Recently I was feeling sorry for myself when I remembered being the only one in a big family who had no partner to share decision making and to give me time out. When I thought it through and talked it through, two things emerged. The first was that most of my siblings also had their hands full with young children and secondly, all saw me as totally in control and coping well. How wrong they were!  I was just too aware of myself as a failure so I had to at least seem independent, even when I was desperate for some respite.

I have only ever had one birthday party. As a child, I think that was very common. I only remember attending one friend’s party as we didn’t grow up in an affluent community. My 21^st was attended by my parents and a couple of my siblings so I couldn't class that as a party. As far as I can recall, I didn't want to mark other birthdays until I got to 75 – and then I did it with style. My daughter organised everything. My guests were immediate family, cousins, Toastmaster friends and some long-term friends from Mackay. Then, almost overnight, I was 80.

Again, my dear daughter arranged a get-together with an invitation extended just to my brothers and sisters and grandchildren and anyone else from the next generation. I think the term for nieces and nephews is niblings. Apparently, that is a non-discriminatory, gender-inclusive term used before the 1960s and recently revived. I hadn’t planned for a large group as I have found that the niblings are in their forties and fifties with kids and commitments, so I was thrilled when so many made the effort to dress up and come along. I had specifically told my family in Mackay not to make the expensive trip to Brisbane for a couple of hours. I planned to visit them soon. I was delighted when my elder son popped up as I arrived, so all three of my kids were there.

Please be involved. Share below some thoughts about how you celebrated the important events of your life.