I have been away from this blog for a while. Life has got even tougher for me while I deal with the emotional toll of my father dying on the other side of the world.
I am starting to mourn many things and paramount is the choice I made over 25 years ago to emigrate to the other side of the world to be with my personality disordered ex husband. Of course I didn’t know at the time that he was ‘sick’. I was deeply in love and just wanted to be with him.
I couldn’t foresee the future, as none of us can. I didn’t think about the day I would get the ‘phone call’. For those of us living a long way from our family we know one day that call will come. It will either be that one of our parents has died, or that they are sick.
I got that call in September and it has been a downhill slide for my Dad since then.
And amongst all the other myriad of feelings that are running around in my head and heart, is resentment – deep bitter resentment – towards my ex husband who is the reason I am not with my Dad while he dies.
I can’t blame him for the choices I made and for not being able to see the long term consequences when I was only 25. Even though he sold me a lie and got me out here on false pretenses I have to take some responsibility for not being able to see through the lies or believing in his false self.
There are things I can blame him for though. After I left him I wanted to take the children back to England to see my family. They had never been there and met most of my family – only my parents who came over every year after they were born. I needed his permission to take them overseas. He agreed, at first, and then like most personality disordered exes, withdrew his permission and made it impossible for me to take them. For those of you who know what this is like I don’t need to go into details, suffice to say it was a long drawn out nasty fight and I gave in.
I never asked again. My children never went to London where my Dad would have delighted in taking them round all the sights, teaching them about London and giving them lasting happy memories of their Grandfather and his home.
Instead, I took them in January when he was in Hospital for the whole time. We visited every day we were there but Dad never got to take them anywhere, only look at London with them from his Hospital room, which was on the 9th Floor.
The only reason I could even take them then was because I had been through nearly 3 years of family court and had only just got new orders that allowed me to take the children overseas without their father’s permission. God was looking after us on the day I got those orders becase it was only 4 months later that I needed to take them over.
I am so angry at my ex now. He robbed my children of that chance to spend time with their Grandfather when he was well and that can never ever be given back.
I am struggling to deal with my grief and feelings of loss for myself and my children and I have nowhere to direct that anger at my ex.
The effects of having to co-parent with a personality disordered ex never end and reach into every corner of mine and my children’s lives.