Dear Bel,
I am 37 and nearly two years ago lost my mother to cancer. My father, elder sister and I all cared for her until the end. Afterwards my sister and I helped and cared for Dad, spending time with him at home and on holiday, cooking meals, arranging trips and helping with his housework. All this, compounded by our grief, took its toll and we became run down. Now, although I still miss Mum, I feel that I’m coping better with my loss.
Now the issue is our relationship with our father. Our parents were married nearly 40 years and had a relatively happy marriage although there were problems when I was at university and he had an affair. After a temporary separation and counselling their bond seemed stronger. Dad seemed very lost after Mum died so we (my sister and I and our husbands) were quite surprised to learn that he’d met another woman five months after losing Mum. He is 62, she is in her late fifties — a divorcée with grown-up children but no grandchildren.
He kept their relationship secret at first but admitted at Christmas that they’ve been serious for the past year. They’ve enjoyed several holidays and regularly stay at each other’s houses. He spends most of his spare time, energy and a lot of money on her and sees us only when he has nothing planned with her. Though he loves his three grandchildren (aged 2, 4 and 8), we have to ask him to spend time with them by inviting him over or on trips or by visiting him! This is upsetting as Mum doted on her grandchildren. So far I have been very supportive of his relationship and have enjoyed spending time with his new partner on the few occasions that we have met. But I feel that his new passion is to the detriment of everyone, especially his grandchildren. I am glad that he’s no longer lonely and is enjoying life but after losing my mother I am finding this behaviour difficult to cope with. Should I speak to him about how we feel (either alone or with my sister) or carry on as though there is no problem and wait for the “honeymoon” period to subside?
Juliet
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Love and disappointment walk hand in hand and always will — until human beings turn into angels. After suffering the loss of your beloved mother you took care of your father as she must have requested, and so it was a shock to the good daughters when he suddenly started dating this lady. You had helped him as best you could, but you also needed his help to cope with your own continuing grief, and it wasn’t there. You felt he not only betrayed your mother — not honouring her memory by mourning long enough — but also you and your sister, because by withdrawing into private happiness he has compounded your loss. Having imagined the two of them as ideal grandparents, you thought at least you’d be left with one to play the role — but instead he has metamorphosed into a skittish, self-absorbed lover. It wasn’t surprising that he kept the relationship secret; he knew you’d disapprove. Let me say immediately that I know it’s hard, but people often do remarry very quickly after a long marriage is ended by death. They just cannot be alone — and it might help if you could think of this as proof of how your wonderful mother “trained” him into the habit of loving.
Let us focus on the disappointment. Although unconditional love is the parental ideal, in fact we do expect things of our children and are easily disappointed — when, for example, the enchanting ten-year-old becomes a slobbish, rude, idle teenager who fails exams. But it cuts both ways. That teenager grows up, gets a good job, marries, starts a family, and expects the ideal scenario of devoted grandparents babysitting, reading stories and imparting their wisdom (a life two women have expressed longing for recently on this page, only to be disappointed because their daughters wish to remain childless). And what happens? Dad is too busy to pay attention to the baby because he remarried and has a young child of his own. Mum loves the grandchildren, of course, but wants to do all the things she never did and is backpacking around the world. Some people even feel cheated because instead of a twinkly Grandpa, there’s a demanding Grump in the corner. I’m going to bring in another letter here, which will provide a perspective, as it were, from the other end of this issue.
I am 68 and was in business for 33 years with a man who 12 years ago became my husband. I was married with three children, and left the family because of this relationship. My children (then 11, 12 and 13) stayed with their father when I moved in to my partner’s flat. Gradually my second marriage broke down, and my divorce coincides with retirement. My two older children are in France, but my youngest daughter (who lives in the country) has offered me accommodation, since my house has been sold. Meanwhile, an old friend made contact, his wife having died, and over the past six months we have become close. I told my daughter of my joy at finding companionship, but she is upset that I am not going to live with her family. She says I am ungrateful. That she took many years getting over the loss of her mother at 11, and now it’s happening again. She says I’ve never been a proper grandmother (there are ten grandchildren) and that she doesn’t want another man in my life. I say I will be around more, but she is inconsolable.
I always felt guilty at leaving home all those years ago, and now feel the same guilt. But I don’t want to vegetate; there are so many opportunities to broaden one’s mind and having a companion to share them with makes it all the more pleasurable. I am torn.
Christine
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Actually I don’t believe Christine is torn, although her guilt is real — and well-founded. The lesson of Greek tragedy is that our actions and their consequences will resonate for ever, whether we like it or not. There is nothing she can do to alter the past, and such an innately decisive person is not going to turn her back on this new love for the sake of the grandchildren. Nor should she, because she would always resent it. All she can do is to try to make up for hurts she has inflicted (which hurt her too) by being as attentive as she can and talking to her daughter as much as possible, in the hope that she will learn to cope with this renewed feeling of disappointment. That daughter, like all adult children, must also learn that she cannot dictate what an errant parent does or does not do, and it is irrelevant whether or not she “wants” a new person in her mother’s life. The only way forward is for her to invite the new man too, thus making sure the children see more of their grandmother.
Which takes us back to you. It would be a great mistake for you and your sister to confront your father, as Christine’s daughter did, because all that happens is that words are said that ought to have remained unspoken — such as accusing someone of being a bad grandparent. It doesn’t help at all. You say that his new passion “is to the detriment of everyone around him”, but surely it doesn’t have to be that way? Much as I understand your feelings, I beg you not to turn this new phase in your father’s life into a negative thing. Since you have enjoyed meeting his new partner, and especially as she has no grandchildren of her own, why not make it clear how much you want her to visit?
Both you and Christine’s daughter are weighed down by unresolved grief for your mothers. A beloved mother and grandmother was taken from you at the early age of 58 and you will always feel that loss. Christine’s daughter is angry with her mother for walking out on the family when she was 11 and has felt disappointed with her ever since. You would give anything to have your mother back, even if she started backpacking and dancing salsa instead of babysitting. The Universe deals us all some awkward hands, but all you can do is take calming breaths, and deal with the cards you have — which here inevitably involves forgiving your parent for his or her imperfections, as one day you may want your children to forgive you.
DO YOU NEED ADVICE
E-mail your problems to: bel.mooney@thetimes.co.uk or write to her at: times2, 1 Pennington Street, London E98 1TT. Detail such as your age is helpful. Please include your real name, but we will use your chosen pseudonym if you wish.
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Bel Mooney reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.