On My Mind

On Saturday the 31st August 2013, my mum died.

On Saturday the 13th July 2019, my dad re-married.

I remember when he told me last July that he was going to propose to his partner, A. He texted me, asking if I was free to go for a coffee as he had something he wanted to talk to me about. He was so cryptic about it, and wouldn’t give anything away over text.

I was in a very good place at the time, and when he told me his plans I was happy for him, truly. I wanted to know how he was thinking of proposing, and how soon after they’d want to get married (selfishly as my own wedding was 10 months away). I wanted him to be happy. I still want him to be happy. I always want him to be happy.

My dad started seeing his new partner very soon after my mum passed away. Within months. But it was never an issue for my sister and I, because A had been a family friend since the day she’d moved in across the road around 7 years before. A had 4 children of her own, one of them my age, K. We ended up in the same school, and K, my sister and I became great friends. Best friends. Family. We considered ourselves all a family before mum got sick. Mum and A got on like a house on fire, especially over a glass of Tia Maria. We were family. That’s the only reason my sister and I were so okay with dad entering a new relationship so soon, because we loved and trusted A and her family. It felt like such a natural step to take for him, and we were all happy for a while.

Then life happened a couple of years down the line. We decided it was time for my sister and I to move out of the family home. K and her brother were also ready to move out, and the plan was for A and her two youngest to move in with my dad. So that’s exactly what happened. My sister, K, K’s brother, and I all rented a place together, and A moved in with my dad. For the first few months everything was great. We loved our freedom and we all hung out together in the house, and went round to dads for dinner every now and then. But they do say you should never live with your friends.

In February on 2015, the first “new family” argument took place. A situation occurred, tales were twisted, sides were picked, words were said (or screamed), and bonds were broken. 10 years of friendship, gone just like that. Reconciliation was attempted, and a fragile veil of the friendship that was held before remained, but it couldn’t stand the weight of the resentment, and eventually that was it. Relationships between my sister and I with A grew very strained, conversations very forced. We felt betrayed and abandoned. We felt that we had been made out to be the bad guys, and our involvement within the family slowly declined because we didn’t feel welcome.

It ended up being like a divorce in reverse. Dad and A didn’t want to have separate Christmas dinners. They wanted everyone to get along and be together. They felt drained by it too. I’m sure we all did. But years passed, and they seemed to get the message that their children aren’t going to be friends again. It is never going to be like the way it was before. But we all agreed on civil. We could be civil, if we had to see each other. The first time I saw them again since 2015 was at dad and A’s wedding. There was brief conversation with K, but nothing much more than that. A couple of laughs here and there. It sucked to see just how easy it still was to be around her despite everything.

The wedding ceremony was over in a flash, and it was speech and first dance time before I knew it. It was in these moments that I began to really feel the emotions of the day. I felt so happy for my dad, but to tell the truth I realised I was heartbroken. To hear them described as “perfect for each other” gave me a flash of rage for my mother, and disappointment in myself for not thinking to prepare myself for this moment. I’ve never believed that there is only one soul-mate for each person, and truth is, they are perfect for each other, but my heart broke anyway.

My heart didn’t break only for my mum. It broke for myself. I had realised just how much I had truly lost. Not only had I lost mum at only 20 years old, I had then gone on to lose more family through the argument. I lost one of my best friends, K. At the time I was thinking “good riddance to them, I don’t need people that don’t have my back,” but I see now that I was defending myself from feeling the effects of what had happened. I grieved for mum. But I didn’t allow myself to grieve for the loss of love, trust and friendship that I’d once had with A and her family, especially K. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I’d been hurt. My sister and I grew closer, both feeling as though we only had each other now. We’d lost our mum already, we needed to be strong together and protect ourselves from more hurt. Fuck anything that wasn’t in our best interests no matter how it affected anyone else, that kind of thing. It was our defence mechanism. So standing there, watching the first dance, and realising that I’d already lost so much, I clung to my own husband for dear life. We danced and I buried my face in his shoulder to hide my pain from the other guests; this is a happy day after all.

Forgiveness has been on my mind a lot since then. I’ve never forgiven anyone for their part in the argument, and we all had a part. I just buried it away under feelings of resentment and bitterness for 4 years. My relationship with A did start to get better towards the end of last year. My husband and I took dad and A out for dinner just before Christmas as their present. We ate, drank, and got very merry, and we had a really great time. Since then, I found myself letting down those defensive barriers around A. Conversation became less forced and more natural, and things between us are good. I’m not sure if they’ll ever be quite what they once were, but there’s still time, and I’ll take good over what it’s been like before.

I guess the catalyst for this post is realising that I don’t want to be resentful anymore. I don’t want to bury away how I’ve felt. I want to acknowledge it, and feel the grief I’ve been needing to feel. Who knows, maybe then I’ll be able to forgive and move on. Maybe next time I’m invited to a dinner where they’ll all be there, I’ll be able to say yes. Maybe.