A Christmas Past
Oh My God I did it, I didn’t believe I would but I did!
This day has been coming the past couple of months; ever since the switch went on in my head. That’s what it was like, a light switch going on.
But I had to wait, wait for the right time, wait for the best moment to tell him, ‘discuss’ it with him, ‘talk’ to him, tell him how I felt and all that other bullshit people tell ya to do to help fix your broken relationship.
I had to wait until Christmas was over though, I knew if I said anything before hand it would be ruined. I knew from experience that this might not end well, but I am normally an optimistic person and a little piece of me hoped that He would miraculously change his personality and surprise me with tales of hidden counselling sessions that were helping him cope differently with life and that he agreed with me.
Christmas was over a few days now, but because both of us worked shifts we only saw each other this week in the evenings. And every evening He was drinking, getting ‘merry’. We had the usual family get together’s with his family (my country family visit was done prior to Christmas) then He was out for his annual St Stephens night drink with his friends (yesterday was spent with him nursing a hangover at work and last night his ‘cure’).
I have been bursting to talk to him, but I didn’t want to do it while He had drink in him. I was waiting for the ‘best’ time. But is there ever a ‘best’ time to say to someone ‘we need to talk’? No, there isn’t.
I had popped home on my lunch break, as I did every work day. Had my bite to eat, played with the boys for a bit, then grabbed my cuppa and went into the sitting room. The youngest(3) I left happily playing with his Santa presents in the dining room, and I could hear the other fella (5) upstairs at something in his bedroom.
It was the first time all Christmas that He wasn’t grumpy about something, and when I joined him watching TV in the sitting room I hadn’t planned on the outpouring of feelings that followed. But it felt like a safe time to say what I wanted to say, he was sober.
The conversation that started quietly with – me ‘I’m not happy’ minutes later ended with – him ‘I’ll fucking make sure it’s over’ and as He rose from his ‘throne’ with his fists clenched I got up and ran towards the back door. He was right behind me and as I swung round to face him He pushed me up against the door with both fists hard on my chest. For a split second I had a flash of me hurtling through a shattered glass panel out onto the patio outside, but luckily it didn’t break.
But I did hear a different type of break; the final piece that held what was left of my broken heart together.
I caught a glimpse of a shocked 3 year old as He went back into the sitting room without saying another word slamming the door shut on his way. He had made his point; the only way our marriage would end was on his terms, not mine.
I picked up my toddler and hugged him to make everything all right.
And it was, I had taken the first step, I had broken the ice.
Our marriage was over.