BEL MOONEY: Secret sister bombshell has wrecked memories of darling Dad 

Dear Bel,

My sister and I recently found out that we have another sister. We knew Dad had an affair back in the day (with a girl six months younger than me!) but we didn’t know there was a child.

Apparently, he carried on the affair for 16-17 years after we found out, and saw his daughter most weeks until she cut him out of her life several years ago because he wouldn’t introduce her to us. She got in touch with my sister via social media.

We’re both having great difficulty forgiving Dad for his betrayal as he swore on my sister’s life that it had finished. But our wonderful, beloved and adored father was leading a double life right under our noses.

He passed away 18 months ago, and our mum died in March last year.

We are quite convinced she knew nothing about it as she had taken an overdose when she first found out about the affair back in the 1970s. We don’t think she could have lived with the thought of him having a child elsewhere. We have met our sister, who’s a nice girl — all this is not her fault.

That, too, though is difficult. We don’t want to turn our backs on her because she’s had a lifetime of being denied and it would be cruel to do the same.

But I’m not sure how we can build a relationship around something that causes us pain. She has a family of her own and is quite fulfilled so she won’t be hanging around waiting for us to include her in ours. In fact, we’re not quite sure where she wants it to go either.

I just wish I could contemplate my dad’s photos without calling him awful names and looking the other way.

He was the best dad we could have asked for but now it all seems such a sham — and that feeling never goes away.

I just want to stop thinking about it and get on with my life — I was 65 on Christmas Day and feel it is too late in life for this kind of upset. How do I get it out of my mind?

LUCY

A story like this is the stuff of literature — containing such a saga of love, sex, betrayal, secrets and revelation.

Yet there is nothing fictional about the pain and grief experienced by you and your sister — and especially your poor mother.

I’ve heard of similar case histories, although ones where the unknown child was conceived before the marriage then kept secret. This is much worse — and your ongoing rage at your late father is quite understandable. In making two women (and three daughters) suffer, he behaved appallingly.

There are two issues: first, how to cope with your horribly changed memory of your father, and second, how to deal with any relationship with the sister you never knew.

I know it’s hard — yet I want to suggest your ‘wonderful, beloved and adored father’ will never entirely cease to be just that: one man, one reality, seen through the eyes of the daughters who loved him.

He is hardly the first person to have led a double life and that ‘other’ person — the unfaithful husband, the long-term lover, the father of a secret child, the liar, the cheat — represents another reality. And both were/are true.

You say abusive things to his photographs, but you would not bother if you’d left behind all love for him. Instead, you still insist, ‘he was the best dad we could have’.

So don’t you have to come to terms with the co-existence of those two truths? I know it’s very confusing, but I think it’s your adoration of Good Dad that ‘never goes away’, rather than the discovery of the full extent of his deception.

What can you do? Nothing — except realise that human beings are infinitely complex and the weak saint can be a strong sinner, too.

I believe Good Dad and Bad Dad loved all three daughters. Which is another way of asking you not to view his relationship with you as a ‘sham’. His love for you was not a lie — and it’s vital for your mental health that you realise that.

I hope one day you will be able to look at his photograph and whisper, ‘OK, Dad, you behaved like a s*** but I’m not going to let that take away all my good memories.’

You will never quite ‘forgive’ but you can accept.

You write generously of your half-sister — whose life has been tough. She must have been desperate to belong, and yet I’m sure she realises that tracing relatives does not magic them into family. You’ve all met, which must have been extremely strange, necessitating self-control and giving you all much to ponder. Now the only way forward is with caution.

You and your sister could each arrange to meet her again separately. There is so much to discover and one-to-one makes talking easier, I reckon.

After that . . .who knows? It will surely evolve as it is meant to be.

You can’t possibly ‘get it out of your mind,’ Lucy, so I wouldn’t try. Just pause to reflect that even the saddest ‘upsets’ add to who we are and how we understand the world.

Being a gran has stirred up old grief

Dear Bel,

Thirty-six years ago I gave birth to twin boys. At just eight months I found my easy blond boy dead. No reason was found.

Fast forward to the present, and my daughter has a lovely blond son, now nine months old. But all the pain and grief which I had boxed away has surged back. I am hoping that as he grows he will come to look more like his father’s family.

We are delighted to have a baby in the family again. But I feel sad and depressed. I can’t tell anyone as I don’t want to spoil things.

CYNTHIA

First let me say how sad I feel that the happy arrival of a beautiful baby boy should have opened your old wound — a scar never healed, just covered over by time.

Although I’ve never received a letter quite the same as yours, I have had many which involve an old sadness being triggered by something in the present.

Grief can no more be ‘boxed away’ than we can tell the clouds not to bring rain. Your short email (containing so little information about the intervening years, including your relationship with your living twin son) is about just such a jolt to your innermost self, especially as your grandson resembles the baby who died.

It’s very important that we start by you taking some deep breaths and accepting that your reaction is normal.

Thirty-six years ago, you probably did not receive the help you needed to process your grief. But even if you had got expert counselling from then until now, there is no guarantee that the arrival of your blond baby grandson would not have caused a confusing mixture of joy and pain.

And fear. Even if your grandson had been a funny little dark-haired scrap, I suspect you would have been terrified (especially as the eight-month point came) that something would go terribly wrong once again.

I am sure you felt guilty all those years ago, because somehow you failed to keep your son alive. Now you are feeling guilty for allowing your old grief to get in the way of your love for your grandson. You must understand that none of it is your fault.

I honestly do not believe it would ‘spoil’ anything for you to whisper to your daughter, as you hold your grandson: ‘He’s so beautiful and I’m so happy, yet a part of me feels sad because he reminds me so much of my (your baby’s name).’

Let it be spoken, just the once. I hope she will give you a hug and understand. And that then you can allow your love for this baby boy to grow, as he develops into the unique person he is, bringing the whole family joy.

Dear Bel,

I have just retired at 70 (in Orpington, Kent), have lots of energy and people skills, and would be grateful if you could please help me find charity work. A quick internet search hasn’t helped but there must be lots of places crying out for help. Reading to the blind or engaging a lonely person in conversation would be great.

TONY

Thanks for a positive question. I love it when people realise that getting out there and helping others is a way to stay youthful (as well as useful), happy and connected. From working in a charity shop to hearing primary schoolchildren read (as a friend of mine does), volunteering can bring a new lease of life to those like you who know that you never retire from life.

But I agree the internet is pretty hopeless. Searching for volunteering opportunities in your area, you’re led all around the houses, with adverts and next to no information. I would contact the Royal Voluntary Service (volunteering.royalvoluntaryservice.org.uk) and follow links to see what help is needed in your area. A better bet might be to contact your local Age Concern because its day centre at Saxon House is always looking for volunteers.

Good luck to you — and I hope other readers might be encouraged to volunteer in their local areas. As the great Winston Churchill once said: ‘You make a living by what you get. You make a life by what you give.’

And finally…How I love living next to my son

Ten years ago today I awoke for the first time in our new home — my breath a cloud in the freezing air of the bedroom.

We’d moved from a comfortable, elegant Bath home to an ancient farmhouse which needed masses doing to it, situated in a rather ugly little village towards Bristol. And I hated it.

Why the move? My son was desperate to leave London with his girlfriend (now wife) and start a new life and business. The only way this was achievable was for me to find a house with a separate cottage. So he sold his flat, bought into this property — and our experiment in ‘shared’ living began.

For the first six months I was miserable, moaning while my husband stoically started making improvements. The other two were happy as larks.

Last night we toasted that bitter January day in 2010, when the removal men piled up my life in boxes and the old Aga gave up the ghost. Now I can honestly say I have never been happier.

My son and I became faintly irritated with each other over Brexit — but that’s par for the course, isn’t it? And when I got a third little dog he felt that, as we share vital dog care, I should have talked it through with him — which was right. Chatting about choices is essential when you live like this.

But the four of us have never exchanged a cross word in ten years. How come? I’ve been thinking about this, since many family quarrels arrive in my postbag.

I think the key is stepping back. My daughter-in-law (whom I adore and admire) has her own home, her own way of doing things, and I don’t believe it’s the role of a mother/mother-in-law to interfere — or even express views, unless asked.

We’re here to help with the two grandsons, if needed. Otherwise we live our life and they live theirs — in matey independence. We need to treat family as we should neighbours, friends and colleagues . . . with respect.