Today is my anniversary. Exactly two years ago today, I started writing this blog. Back then, I was desperate and in despair. Rosie was a mere 3 3/4 years old. What she knew of her dad was that he had been suffering from an unidentified illness all her life.
“Daddy’s always sleeping.”
“Daddy’s feeling poorly.”
The day I wrote my first post here, Ben was shivering on the sofa, in withdrawal. Rosie and I did our best to carry on as normal, colouring together, doing puzzles, hiding in the bedroom away from his retching and moaning.
We were all poised at that point. On the edge of treatment – detox – and the promise of recovery. That was the first detox. There were more to come, plus two attempts at rehab, before he dug himself out of his rut.
Then, he was never far from relapse. Now he is a little further from it (we don’t kid ourselves, nor do we tempt fate).
Then, we were married. Now we are separated.
Then, he still loved me. Now he is diffident.
Then, he lied. Now he hides the truth.
Then, I was angry. Now I am stoic.
Then, I was lonely. Now I am lonely.
And so we return to that old Proustian maxim. Change. Yes, slowly, while the backdrop remains the same in so many ways. We creep forth at a petty pace. We strut and fret. But this tale of sound and fury, this tale will not be for nothing.
Change. It’s coming.