BEL MOONEY: Why can’t my son see how much he’s hurting everyone?

Dear Bel, 

At the beginning of March my son phoned to say he and his wife were getting a divorce. 

They have always been loving, that’s why it’s a shock. Our daughter-in-law (let’s call her D) and I spoke on the phone, both crying and bewildered.

It seems there’s a woman at his work who lost her husband a couple of months ago and they’ve had feelings for each other for a few years.

My son said they haven’t done anything yet! She’s aware she’s helped break up a marriage and doesn’t care. What woman does this two months after her husband dies?

D has tried to suggest couples counselling, but he said no. She thinks he’s going through a mid-life crisis and we agree. He thought he could stay at home sleeping separately, but is now renting a flat.

Eight years ago he tried to run his own business but got into debt. He’s been paying this off, and finishes in a couple of months’ time, which would have meant a lot to them as a family.

Our son is demonstrative but has a cruel streak. He taught his children to call me ‘Old Woman’ — a ‘joke’ I don’t find funny, but disrespectful. He was mean not wanting us to spend Christmas with them.

And he just left it to D to explain to their children why he’s gone. They were very upset. At Easter we spent some time with D and the children which was lovely. She told us she’d never stop us seeing our grandchildren.

My husband apologised to her over our son’s behaviour and she said, ‘It’s not your fault.’

What makes everything worse is the fact that my husband has prostate cancer, diagnosed October 2017. Last year it spread . . . but after more treatment I still have him.

Estrangement from our son is so upsetting. D told him he should visit his Dad while he can and if he doesn’t he will regret it. How do I get through to him?

MURIEL

My sympathy is with you for reasons more complex and private than I can write here.

Your full letter reveals you’ve already experienced your daughter’s divorce and she’s now living at home with her son waiting to afford a flat.

So you’ve been churned in an emotional mill once, and are now experiencing it again. Your son’s debt problems must have caused tremendous anxiety. Yes, we mothers endure so many dark nights of the soul over the adult children we just want to be happy.

But as I’ve said so often on this page, we cannot run their lives for them, feel responsible for their faults, or pick up the pieces when they fall. We can do our best — but that’s all. 

Your husband apologised to your poor daughter-in-law because he felt responsible for the destruction your son is causing — and I know what that feels like.

But we must be rational and realise the sins of the children cannot be taken on their parents’ shoulders — even if you feel the heaviness.

It was absolutely unacceptable for your son to teach his children a disrespectful nickname for you.

He probably didn’t want you at Christmas because his mind was too full of the other woman to make an effort for you.

He didn’t even have the courage and kindness to explain to his own children why he is abandoning them and hurting their mother. It is clear you feel all these criticisms, too.

But of course he should pay attention to his sick father. It’s sad and shocking that he keeps his distance — presumably because he knows you both judge his actions and feel shame. He cannot face the two people who gave him life, no more than he was able to face his own children. How can such people bear to look at themselves in the mirror?

Right now taking care of your ill husband has to have priority over everything else. A proper old-fashioned letter might just ‘get through’ to your selfish son, telling him that he may not have a father for very much longer and asking if he wishes to live the rest of his life regretting his actions.

Do you have an old photo of the two of them in happier times that you can slip into the envelope to prick his conscience? 

That can work, so try. And time with your decent daughter-in-law and grandchildren is a priority. I wish you all the strength you need.

 He just won’t cope if I die first

Dear Bel,

My husband and I have been happily married for 39 years, with no children. I am 73 and he is ten years older. We are both in reasonably good health.

Here is my unusual problem: I am terrified of dying first, because he wouldn’t be able to cope alone. He is getting a little bit forgetful and confused — though I think not badly enough to seek medical advice.

Like me, he has a good sense of humour, a youthful outlook and is an excellent conversationalist. We have lovely family and friends and a pleasant social life.

We have given powers of attorney to my brother and sister-in-law, which is some comfort, but I am still terrified of leaving him a widower.

These days I see to everything: paperwork, appointments, medications (he takes a lot and has been known to forget); social events, ticket bookings, holidays, dog-walking (he is waiting for knee surgery so can’t walk far); all the cooking, shopping and most of the housework.

I’m not complaining — I do it all because I love him, and I know he’s not able to, physically or (I hate saying this) mentally. He sometimes seems distant and not with it, although at other times he’s fine.

Because we have no children, once one of us dies there’ll be no one to take care of the other. I know I could manage alone, but my darling husband wouldn’t be able to, and that’s what scares me.

His shed, workshop and ride-on mower are his favourite things so he couldn’t bear to go into a home — and it’s not fair to expect family members to look after him.

Do you think my fear irrational?

ELIZABETH 

Your poignant letter is indeed unusual on this page, yet you express an ancient anxiety.

When I was at university I studied medieval Scottish poetry in which the Latin refrain, Timor mortis conturbat me tolls all the way through. It means, ‘The fear of death disturbs me’ — even at 21 I understood its meaning. 

At that time my first husband and I used to whisper to each other the dread that one goodbye must be the last. The richer life becomes through love, the sadder it is to imagine it coming to an end.

But here you add another layer of significance. Because when you love somebody deeply, natural fears about your own death are made far worse by that very love. The self-centred thought, ‘I don’t want to die’ is transformed into the selfless, ‘I can’t bear to imagine my loved one suffering without me.’ Is that ‘irrational’? Of course not.

Your letter is an example of reason and emotion all rolled into one — and it certainly spoke to me. 

The American farmer-poet Wendell Berry wrote a beautiful poem (part of a sequence called Sabbath Poems) about an old couple sitting on their porch in companionable silence after supper, knowing each other so well, and yet not able to know the impossible . . . ‘Which one goes first through the dark doorway, bidding / Goodnight, and which sits on a while alone.’

That terrible Question Mark is at the heart of all our lives and your letter. And — as is so often the case these days — I find myself sympathising yet admitting there is nothing I can say. How can I write down any sort of answer to the pain of love and the fear of death all rolled into one?

You do so much to keep your good life with your husband happy, busy and efficient and at times that must be tiring. Setting up the powers of attorney is a sensible but melancholy process (we’ve done the same) which forces you to look ahead, no matter how much you do not want to.

I might suggest some exercises in mindfulness (information on this, like everything else, is available online) but someone as intelligent as you already knows perfectly well it’s wiser to live in the present as much as possible. And try suggesting meditation for relaxation to somebody whose mind is like a hive of bees . . .

Your husband is older, and men tend to live shorter lives than women; you can draw a conclusion from that point which I don’t wish to spell out. For now all you can do is rejoice that your dear husband takes such pleasure in his ‘shed, workshop and ride-on mower’ and make sure he works on his upper body strength (get him some weights — seriously) in preparation for the knee surgery.

Might you invest in a mobility scooter for him to go out and about with you? Most of all, Elizabeth, be sure to create plenty of time to keep yourself as healthy and relaxed as possible.

When your thoughts make you panicky I want you to take a deep breath and focus your eyes and mind on something tangible like the shape of a cloud, the smell of a flower or a beautiful piece of music you love. For what does it matter in the end — where it’s all leading, for any of us? Butterflies’ lives are short, but they fulfil their purpose and are beautiful.

And finally… there are two sides to every story

This column began its life in June 2007 and since then I’m glad to say I have only ever encountered two or three complaints. The latest arises after I included a letter from someone complaining bitterly about a family member.

I’ve now heard from C, the sister of that accused person, telling me the letter-writer is a ‘narcissistic’ liar, and expressing anger that the letter was printed. Her distress in two emails distressed me greatly in turn.

Of course, in replying to any letter I only have one side of a story, but I’m afraid the alternative (checking every fact) would be utterly impossible. There is no choice but to take letters at face value.

C writes, ‘Unwittingly, you became part of the malevolent behaviour, when you printed the letter.’

I’m glad she understands I can have no control over who is, or is not, telling the truth. But I do care greatly about the feelings of everyone reading this page and hate inadvertently to cause pain.

C says, ‘. . . where you have failed massively is by not doing enough to protect my sibling’s identity. Simply changing the author’s name does not anonymise the letter.’

Here I acknowledge she is right; I should have done more to disguise the letter.

Often I alter as many facts as possible, but this time I did not. It can be a fine balance, because if you change everything the original letter becomes almost inauthentic.

But in this case I think I’m at fault — and very much regret it. If anybody recognises someone who appears on this page they should realise that family issues can be toxic, as C has informed me.

It’s always annoyed me when people ask if the letters to this page are ‘real’.

My riposte is that I used to write fiction, but no longer need to. It would be so much easier to make everything up, when complicated reality is so problematic.