Little Boxes In My Heart

21/09/24

It’s been made clear to me that Kieran and Nicola are no longer going to allow me to have contact with my grandchildren.

This has nothing to do with the children, or any issues with my relationship with them to date; it’s solely about their parents’ co-dependant, toxic relationship.

As I’ve concluded previously, there is nothing I can do to fight the decision without making things worse and causing more pain for everyone, myself included. It seems, then, that a clean break is the healthiest option, right now, for all concerned.

It goes without saying that I’m entirely willing to be flexible about this, but if, and only if, circumstances and behaviours substantially change.

Knowing you’re doing the right thing doesn’t make it any less heart breaking.

I went through quite a long removal process with the ex’s possessions – the perpetual reminders, such as his favourite mugs in the cupboard, combined with the accidental stumbling over items left tucked away in drawers and ‘man junk’ boxes, was like constantly knocking the scab off a wound.

Although I still believe I was right to take it at my own pace, in the end I realised having his stuff around just stood in the way of my healing.

Compare this to when Poppy died and I knew I needed to move quickly to clear all the things out of the nursery, before elapsed time turned it into a form of shrine.

It was horrifically painful, like all wound cleansing is, but it was a huge step towards acceptance and a kind of closure; the scab could form, drop off of its own accord, eventually leaving a slightly tender scar.

This is the approach I’ve almost taken with the grandchildren’s things.

There’s a lot of things gathered through years of expeditions, adventures and growing creativity; some are very special either directly to them, or for the memories they contain for me, so for the time being I’ve packed them away into boxes and stacked those in their bedroom.

Their bedroom. A special safe space they’ve all enjoyed at my house, starting from when the oldest was three weeks old (he’s now seven years), and continuing almost every weekend, going from one little person staying, to two, and then the third joining in.

Sadly, number four never got the chance, as the family set-up began to implode not long after he was born.

That safe space has already been devastated by Kieran’s time in it; the smell of tobacco smoke pervades and the carpet is stained beyond redemption. Weirdly, it helps a little that the essence of what that room once was has already been erased.

The grandchildren would stay in various combinations, sometimes requesting a turn at a solo stay, other times requesting a sibling come too.

The individual stays were particularly special as we could focus in on individual interests and fascinations; fungus, cars, sparkles, space, maths, gardening, volcanos, muddy puddles – we explored both the real and imagined worlds together.

It occurred to me as I stripped the fridge of the paintings, drawings and letter magnets that have decorated it for years, the ex set all this crap in motion.

Don’t get me wrong, Kieran’s alcoholism and the associated problems are all his own responsibility, I’m not blaming the ex for that, but it’s like the ex leaving flicked a domino that set a whole chain falling.

When the ex left I hoped he’d maintain contact with Kieran, having been a sort of big brother/father figure to Kieran for almost two thirds of his life (since Kieran was in his early teens).

It never crossed my mind the ex would stop seeing the grandchildren, having been ‘Grandad’ to them for their entire lives.

As it became apparent the ex was ending his relationships with everyone, not just me, I became increasingly concerned about this triggering Kieran’s father/abandonment issues, and how that would impact on his various addictions.

Nicola quickly confirmed what I suspected would be the case; the addictions went off the charts out of control, ultimately culminating in her asking Kieran to leave their home. Of course, he came here.

With Kieran now occupying their bedroom, I could no longer have the grandchildren to stay with me; of course they could still stay or visit (although the house renovations were making it temporarily unsafe), but they would be staying or visiting with him.

Naturally, this started to impact on my relationship with the children; when they were here I felt I had to stay out of the way a lot, so that I wasn’t reducing the limited time Kieran now got to spend with them.

It was really hard; he’d tell them off, raising his voice frequently, and they’d turn to me for support that I felt unable to offer without being accused of undermining his parenting.

They’d want to read with me, or watch nature documentaries together, but Kieran didn’t make it comfortable for the grandchildren and I to have space for that kind of sharing.

Of course, ultimately, Kieran’s addiction associated behaviours meant I had to ask him to leave.

So, yeah, that domino the ex knocked down on New Year’s day has resulted in four children losing their grandparents, plus exacerbating the risk of them losing their father.

I’m so filled with dread about the difficulties that lie ahead, and the harm this will do to them.

The ex ‘s behaviour helped create (or bring forward?) the circumstances that have lead to me being estranged from my son, and subsequently my grandchildren too.

I feel like I’ve landed in one of those damned, interminably depressing, Eastenders type storylines; there’s still months to go before the big Christmas special, and at the rate I’m going I’m not going to have any familial connections left by then.

It can be hard not to focus in on the fact that I’m the common denominator in all of these disconnections; it’s tough, at times, to push away the feeling that my awfulness causes everyone to not want to be around me.

Clearly, some people who don’t want to be in my life have chosen not to be because they just don’t like or love me; that’s fair enough, you can’t please everyone (she says, despite having tried to do exactly that for some 50+ years). But I’m finally recognising that it doesn’t mean I’m flawed, just that me and the other person are incompatible. S’okay.

The real influence I’m exerting, as the common factor, is drawing these people to me, and allowing them to/trying to make them be part of my life in the first place. That’s the bit that’s not ok, and that I seek to change through all this bloody pain and processing and anguish and tears and rage.

Interestingly, aside from a little spurt of rage at the initial domino realisation, I’ve felt more resignation than anger; this selfishness, lack of responsibility, and cavalier disregard for how he impacts others is just who and what the ex is. There’s no big surprise, just added awareness.

After sobbing and snotting my way through packing away reminders of the grandchildren, it occurred to me that when I get to the next hardest bit – deciding what to throw and what to keep – I could create a little memory box for each of them.

I think I’m going to get some appropriate notepaper and/or cards, then write a little note for them about each item – what it’s meant to them, where it came from, any funny stories or notable associations. That way, the memories will be preserved for them.

I don’t know if they’ll ever get to see their boxes in my lifetime. I hope they will, because, apart from anything else, that would mean I’d be seeing them.

Worst case scenario, I have to make sure that the existence and whereabouts of these boxes is known by someone who will be able to pass them onto the grandchildren after I die.

Either way, they’ll know I didn’t just stop loving them.

From the point of making the decision to ask Kieran to move out, I’ve been very aware of the personal growth that’s taken place for me so far this year:

• I can feel myself moving away from pure reactions, changing old habits; more frequently being able to step back and give measured responses instead
• my mind-talk is hugely improved
• personal boundaries are, at least, a thing I now know I’m permitted to have. Good selfish.
• despite massive upheaval, I feel substantially more emotionally stable and resilient than I did at the start of the year.

Drop all the clichés you like here – clouds and silver linings; rain and rainbows; lemons and lemonade – you know the line-up.

The fact of the matter is, for all that this year has been one hell of a shitter, it’s also opened up the rosiest possibilities and potential for me, and, despite everything, I feel more personally centred and secure than ever before.

Don’t get giddy, there’s a long road ahead still.

No harm though, in taking a moment’s pause to enjoy the view, and to look back to see how far I’ve come.

JP