The other night, Michael and I had a bit of an argument – one of those arguments that every couple should have once in a while – and in trying to resolve it, I asked him what he wanted.
“I’d like to have a kid,” he said.
I was pretty astonished to hear that come from him. I know he loves children, particularly his nephew, but I didn’t know he’d be ready for this step so soon.
Since I was about 18, I’ve thought about the possibilities of having a child. The idea of man, woman & child under the one roof seems like one of those romantic ideals. But is it really? I mean, what’s romantic about going to bed at 9pm because your child has been awake screaming and pooping his/her nappy from 2am the previous morning, only for it to happen all over again tonight? There’s nothing romantic about getting your boobs out to feed a baby, regardless of the time or place. I think the idea of being pregnant appealed to me – people cooing and ‘aww’ing over your bulging belly, asking when you’re due, etc. But having a child? I don’t know. The thought of pushing a football-sized being out my va-hoo-hoo makes me cringe.
My other main concern is money. It shouldn’t be the be-all and end-all decision-maker when it comes to having a child, but I would like to be able to give my child the best possible start to life, and to be able to continue that for them, for the next 18+ years.
So I have suggested to Michael that, while I’m not against the idea, I think we should wait. We need to open a savings account (which we have now applied for), save away some money every pay week, and after, say, 6 or 12 months, we’ll reconsider and see how life is treating us then. We will also need hospital cover, which we don’t have yet and once we apply for it, we’ll need to have it for 12 months before being able to utilise it.
I do look forward to the day we start a family – I see women on the street pushing prams or carrying their babies around, and I do think that I’d like to be one of those people – I just think we need to plan ahead.
On Monday night, I lost a family member. Not in a car crash. Not from old age. Not from physical illness.
My family member hung himself.
I was at work when I found out. Tuesday morning, a morning like any other. I was feeling pretty good about myself and the day ahead – I wasn’t tired, I was very awake, alert. Then, I get a phone call from Michael.
“What’s L & M’s surname?” he asked.
“P…”, I said. “Why?”
“I think… I think L might have hung himself last night.”
“WHAT?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” At this point, I fell to my knees because I thought I was about to fall over.
“Let me confirm, and I’ll give you a call back.”
I waited five minutes, hoping it wasn’t true. Michael then called back.
“Sorry babes – it was L. He hung himself in the garage at home. [Eldest son] found him”
I was speechless. L is… was … my dad’s cousin’s husband. Sounds distant, but my family is all so close. My world started crumbling down. You might expect a car accident or something like that before you heard about a suicide in your own family, and L seemed like one of the last people I’d ever expect to do such a thing.
Turns out, L was depressed. He’d separated from M at least a week before – which I had no knowledge of – and was very down-and-out. He had asked his eldest son, aged 13 (eldest of three) if he loved him, why he loved him, and when his son replied, “Because you’re my dad”, L said, “That’s not a good enough reason”.
As this news entered my brain, I waited to wake up. Why would anyone, particularly someone with such a loving family, do this to themselves?
I went to the tearoom at work, and cried. I called Mum, and asked if it was true. She said it was, and she was with M at her parents’ house. I don’t know how many times I said, “Fucking hell” “Fuck!”. I hung up after talking to her for a bit, and sat looking out the window, watching people walking by, going about their regular daily business.
“HOW THE FUCK COULD THEY?!” I thought. Here I am, and there’s my family, in pain from the loss of a loved one, and these people are just walking past, seemingly without a care in the world.
How could I be in so much pain, and no-one else from the outside world realise it. Surely they would feel this too?
Sadly, they don’t. They may or may have, one day past or present, but right at this point in time, the ones walking past me don’t feel it.
I waited all night and the next morning to wake up from this bad dream. It doesn’t seem real. I couldn’t sleep properly last night, because his face and his lifeless body (or my mind’s image of what that might looked like) kept popping into my head, and it hurt. And I’m not even one who was super-close to him – his kids and wife, well, I just can’t imagine what they’re going through. So much pain, and guilt, and heartache.
The funeral is most likely going to be Friday. I think then, and only then, it will sink in that he’s actually gone. The smiley guy, the one who was so full of life and ideas, the one who DJed at my 21st birthday party, and danced with everyone. The one who was so in love with his wife, with his kids.
Rest now, L. I hope you find your peace in the Summerland. This is just the beginning of the next phase.
