In The Blink Of An Eye, Everything Can Change
A month or so ago, my husband suggested an impulsive date night out. This was unusual because a) he hates to leave the house, b) he hates to spend money — he is an accountant by trade, and c) we were at the start of New Year’s diet that both of us knew we would have to abort if we dined out.
The reason for this spontaneous celebration was that the stock market had chosen to work WITH us for the first time in the five years since he started to invest. All my husband’s hard work was paying off, and I was proud of him — although obviously I didn’t say so in so many words because one of my main responsibilities as his partner is to keep his feet on the ground, and I take this very seriously.
Not that we really need a buoyant stock market to keep us grounded. You see, in spite of our obvious privilege of having savings, like most other couples we’re had our share of pain as well. Ours comes in the form of our youngest child who refuses to accept life for what it is. His is not really my story to share in any detail here, but suffice it to say that even at the age of almost twenty-three, he keeps our emotions on our toes.
When you live with the impact of mental illness, there are many opportunities to creep into a dark corner and think “why me?” The fear of losing a child or not being able to make your child happy impacts every other area of your life to take off the shine. That’s why we try to embrace moments of happiness where we can — particularly intimate dinners for two that provide a rare occasion to be us again, the couple we were before.
A couple of weeks later, a couple of police officers knocked on our door — AGAIN — and we were jettisoned back into our reality of being carers to our adult child. I would be lying if I said it gets any easier, but we are more prepared — although, in hindsight, my husband should have got dressed before he answered the door.
And then this week, Coronavirus knocked on our door. Not literally — fortunately for us — nevertheless, the financial ramifications of which mean that at some point we may have to reconsider our employment options — i.e. proper jobs, that neither of us has the mental capacity to do anymore.
It never ceases to amaze me how everything can change in the blink of an eye, which is why we try to embrace every special “moment”. On Friday night, we had our first functional meal out as a family in years. It is strange to believe that this time last year, no one had heard of the Coronavirus. Twenty-something years ago, when my husband first dabbled in the stock market, we lost our first personal fortune and he swore he wouldn’t touch it again. Five years ago, no one imagined that Harvey Weinstein would be incarcerated. Twenty-three years ago, I never considered that I would earn money from writing or that it would be my most successful form of therapy in difficult times.