Buckle up, this is going to be incoherent and rambling.
What has happened to being a “man”? I was in Tesco Thursday with my eldest. There’s a chap, similar age to me with his missus. They are shopping and each has one side of the basket. Triggered! What the absolute Fuck is that about?! Firstly and logically, if one’s basket is too heavy – go get a trolley. If a trolley, by some situation I cannot imagine is not an option, fuck would I share the load with my missus. I would rather pull my shoulder out of its socket than do that! What signal does it send? My son clocked it as I did and smiled a wry smile. He knew it was grinding my gears.
Beta males are a curse and they are largely the construction of women. There is a war on masculinity and it is largely perpetuated by women. Masculinity can be uncomfortable. Masculinity and femineity are by nature different. Thousands of years of environmental and social programing make them so. Perhaps the answer to “toxic masculinity” isn’t to feminize men so that women are more comfortable; but to recognise the the differences and try and understand the different operating systems? How does this spill over to manhood/fatherhood? Bear with.
This incident lead me, through a series of wildly interconnecting thoughts to partial realization about losing my wife.
My friend’s son was admitted to hospital for a routine op. A friend with whom I’d lost touch for 30yrs and only reinstated communication on Wednesday. Anyway, I was not expecting to see a pic of her son in a hospital gown, Friday morning. Immediately I’m imprinted & invested in the situation. Not by choice! The child of a friend is imperilled and my Father switch is straight to 11.
So where is this going? I have received the news that my house move is proceeding so I need to get packing. My wife’s wardrobe dominates the room. It fills one whole wall of what was our bedroom. Contained within were the last clothes she wore. She operated a winter/summer wardrobe. Boxes of clothes made the seasonal procession from/to the loft, much to the chagrin of me and our eldest.
The clothes in the wardrobe include what she went into hospital wearing and what she died in. It needed emptying. It had stood, largely unopened for months; an imposing edifice. As I started the process of sorting her clothes so many feelings reignited. I glibly reported a wobble to my friend. But ultimately what was i feeling? There was sorrow and mourning, obviously. I began mourning the day she was diagnosed. I cried solidly for weeks. I remember stifling tears so much my jaw hurt. I had done mourning and there was something else in this outpouring.
Now, I can hear my wife saying “why is it always about you?”
So back to my friend’s child and hospital. Part of the “tribe is hurting” and I am impotent. Epiphany! I’m confronted with a situation I cannot effect.
What I was/am feeling is shame, guilt and anger. It’s an irrational, self indulgent(?) and male reaction. I’ve spent 25 years (20 married) promoting the narrative that “I’ve got this babe” or “Listen to Dad, it’ll be fine.” I’d convinced myself and the family of the narrative. I’d never come up wanting. I may have had to bluff while I thought of a plan but I always came good. Crisis, what crisis? House moves, financial worries, COVID, bullying, all covered. Not in isolation, we dealt with things as a team but I was always there with a wink and a smile and a dash bravado. It was always enough to reassure the team. I’d provide the embrace, the enveloping hug
But here, in the ultimate crucible, the final act of my wife’s life and our marriage when she needed me most; I had nothing. I failed. I couldn’t make it better. My children looked to me for reassurance that “Mum shall be alright”. I had nothing but cliches. The Emperor had no clothes.
The painful irony. I’m irritated by this chap for sharing a basket and I discover a burden that no amount of masculinity can carry.
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