My Best Friend

How would I summarise my relationship with my (ex)Wife without it sounding clichéd?

She was my lover, the woman who had born our children - I still vividly remember skipping across the hospital car park with the sun dawning and the bird chorus just starting, so happy with the world, in love with my wonderful wife, joyous at the birth of my son.  So too, can I remember the passion with which I told her I loved her dearly and how I wanted to be with her always.  Every night that I shared a bed with her, irrespective of whether she was asleep or awake or if we had quarrelled or made love, I would kiss her on the back of her neck and whisper to her that I loved her.

She was my friend, the woman who had shared with me the moments of joy and grief, of celebration and commiseration.  We talked frankly and honestly (so I thought) and I was always prepared to forgive her failings or inconsiderate behaviour, as you can only do for a genuine friend.  Sure we had moments of anger and argument, but always we would make up and sort out our differences.

She was my confidant, telling her things that I could only ever tell her and her only. My upbringing had made me a very reserved, withdrawn and private person.  She fostered in me the ability to talk openly about myself and about my true feelings, my hopes and fears.

So it was that when I lost her, I also lost my best friend.

Through the months following the revelations of my wife's deceit and betrayal, it was my children who were my driving force to keep working, struggling on - living even.  My eldest daughter was a great source of strength, always willing to talk, phone or text message - offering words of support and comfort.  My other children were supportive too, saying that they wanted to be with me, showing me that I really mattered.

As time has gone on and the pressures of being a single parent have taken their toll, my children have increasingly become more withdrawn, more selfish and unable to understand my mental turmoil and feelings.  It's difficult to be both parents to a child, with no mutual support when trying to maintain discipline or make a point.  Too easy going and you're damned, too tough and you're damned likewise.

So it is that I feel now that I have lost (not sure now that I ever had) my children's trust, their faith or respect.  Another friend lost.

Last week I took my dog (called Beau) to the vet's.  He's a little Dachshund (sausage dog).  We got him twelve years ago.  My wife had always wanted a dachie, so it was for her that we travelled halfway across the country (a number of times) to ensure we got him.  Trouble was that from day one, he became my dog, the little shadow that followed me everywhere.

Through the last two years in particular, he has been a great source of comfort, a constant companion through a difficult time.  However, I had noticed that he was behaving differently of late, and I became worried that all was not right.  The vet confirmed this and told me that Beau has Cushing's Syndrome, probably caused by a tumour on his pituitary gland.  The remedy is a course of tablets for the rest of his life.  The trouble is, the pills are a last desperate measure, as likely to kill him as save him.  Now I have started the treatment, each day I give him a pill, not knowing if this will be the last I will give him.

So it is that, bit by bit, I feel like all my friends are going out of my life.

Mike.