Time for a change

To whom it may concern.

I hereby wish to submit my formal resignation from my current role. I have been in this position now for three years, three months, two weeks, one day and twenty-three hours. Not counting the fifteen days I spent in consideration for the role. It wasn’t a position I wanted nor did I submit any formal application so I feel that I should be allowed to withdraw. Because, to be perfectly frank, this role sucks. It is awful. There is no bright side to the role, I can find nothing positive whatsoever in it. It is all-encompassing, has impacted my relationships with my family and friends, destroyed my ability to focus and concentrate, stolen any confidence I ever had, and left me struggling to find joy in my life.

If I am being completely honest, I do not feel that the role of widowed mother of two young children is one that should exist. It would be better if you got rid of this position altogether. It is far too difficult for one person to do on their own. The decision to have children and build a life together was one that my late husband and I took together and the transformation of this role, without any input from me, is utterly unwarranted. To be fair, my late husband didn’t have choice in this matter and it did have an even greater impact on him than on me so perhaps this should also be taken into consideration.

This role has taken too great a toll on me and my life. It makes everyday life so much more difficult and difficult situations are almost impossible to deal with. I currently have mice in my house and it is much harder to manage alone than with a partner. We have had mice twice in the past and I dealt with those situations very easily, but this one is really stressing me out. It is reminding me of the previous times. Like in our old student house, where the disgusting boys next door moved out (no loss there – they were stinky, inconsiderate, stereotypical inconsiderate fratboys) and their little visitors moved into our house. My late husband went mad, searching out any holes in the walls and filling them with foam. I found it funny. We got rid of the mice very quickly and life moved on.

The second situation was even funnier. The cat brought us in a present, and didn’t kill it before she left it at my feet. I think I was supposed to kill it for her, but why she would want me to do that I have no idea as she was the best at that. The mouse promptly ran off into the kitchen and tried to hide out there for a day or two before it managed to get out the back door. It makes me smile just to think of the cat, who never before or after brought us a present, dropping a live mouse at my feet. The memory of running around late night supermarkets trying to find mouse traps at the request of my late husband who, again, didn’t like mice being in the house, was one that I brought up any time he tried to claim that he wasn’t dramatic.

So now there are mice in the house again. I’m blaming the residents at the end of the road who have dug up their garden over the past few weeks, disturbing the mice that lived there. And my current role of widowed mother makes this situation incredibly difficult to deal with. My memories of the previous situations are happy ones, filled with humour and the ease of working together on a common goal with someone who understands you, mind, body and soul. It’s strange that the memory of a difficult situation can be happy. But this time there’s no joy or laughter. There’s no easy way. No bright side. Just me trying to work out how the animals are getting in and getting past the traps. And making sure the girls don’t get anxious about them being in the house. Even though I’m not really sleeping because the inconsiderate creatures are running around in the walls beside my bed in the middle of the night. And when they’re not running around, I’m waking at the slightest sound, trying to work out if it’s an animal invader or just one of the kids turning over in bed.

It really brings home just how much easier it is to cope with life when you have a supportive partner by your side. I could deal with anything because he was there to hold me up. As I would for him when he needed it. Home renovation disasters, bereavement, job loss, illness, even working from home during a global pandemic while looking after a toddler – we could get through anything as long as we were together. Even the worst news was bearable once he put his arms around me. The world made sense.

Not now though. Now everything is different. The world looks more dangerous. There’s no humour in a mouse infestation. In fact, it makes it worse because I can imagine how we would have dealt with it together and I miss him so so much. I know that I’ll get rid of the mice over the next couple of days, but in the meantime I’m panicking over the slightest noise and sitting in tears in the middle of the night, feeling completely inadequate and wanting a hug. Not just any hug, a hug from my husband. One that lets me know that I’m safe, that the world makes sense, that life will work out ok because we’re together. And my current role makes this impossible.

So now I have to put on a brave face. Pretend I can cope with life. Keep working away because I still have bills to pay. Do the housework, tidy the garden, feed the kids. Do homework. Make sure they still have fun. Comfort them when they cry for their daddy. Stay in touch with family and friends who are worried about me and try to convince them that I’m doing ok. Try and find new hobbies and interests, preferably ones that do not remind me of my late husband and happier times, all while missing half of my heart. Figure out how to feel happy again. Maybe even try to figure out how to feel anything again because I’m pretty sure I stopped feeling anything but loss and heartbreak when my husband died.

And my husband really didn’t deserve this. He was a wonderful man, the best partner I could ask for, and I strongly suspect that if my children were given a choice of which parent to keep, they would have kept him. He was funny and mischievous with a strong sense of morality. He was kind to animals and children. Good at his job. Clever, loving, supportive. Really there was no reason at all to take him away from us.

As you can see, I do not feel that this role is right for me. I’m not sure who the role is right for, but it is definitely not for me. So if you could arrange for my husband to be returned to me, or to turn the clock back to before I took on this role – I really don’t mind how you arrange it, just as long as it gets arranged – I would be eternally grateful.

Any help you can give me on this matter will be much appreciated.

With best wishes,

A heartbroken widow.