Water Balloon

19th May 2011 Thursday

When I come back from the market this morning my husband tells me the internet is down and he can’t do any work.

I think I’ll go to the allotment he says.

Something inside me bursts like a water balloon. Something I’ve been holding on to. Something I don’t want to admit to. Something I want to protect my husband from. The angry me. The one that wants to scream -

It’s not fair.

I don’t want you to have a *******brain disease.

I don’t want to look after you.

I don’t want to change.

I don’t want to live on benefits.

I don’t want to be good any more.

Stop hanging around me in the kitchen.

Go and DO something. Make something. Get a life. Don’t give in to it.

I think if I say this to my husband I will hurt him. It’s not his fault.

Talk to him, says my sister on the phone.

Go and hit some cushions, says my friend on the phone.

I shove the vegetables into the fridge. Put away the washing up and bang the cupboard doors. When my husband comes back he says,

Are you alright?

No, I say when I would have said yes. And I tell him.

And he says, Thank you for being honest with me and I was thinking the same thing. I’m tired of not knowing what to do. I’ve been making some phone calls, I’ve got some ideas.....

And my day feels different now. Not like wading through jelly. More like cutting through butter with a hot knife.

I hang the towels to dry in the sun, roast a joint of beef for my father. I mow the daisies in the lawn, plant two ferns in the front garden and water the thirsty geraniums, the wilting busy lizzies. I wash lettuces for lunch, make a batch of chocolate brownies, iron my father’s hankies, his pillow cases, talk to my sister-in-law on the phone. I visit an old friend in her garden full of azaelas - rose red, pink and peach like a living sunset.

Later my husband shows me some of the letters and cards he has received from clients who are shocked and sad he will no longer be looking after them. He didn’t know how much they loved him. But I did.