When I was helping my mum to look after my elderly father, who was suffering from dementia, we were all living in the same house on the edge of some remote Cornish cliffs. To have a break from it all, my husband and I would sometimes have what we called “a party for two” in my dad’s old painting studio.
This would mean Col and me arriving there after a couple of hours apart, dressed up, candles lit, child in bed at Granny’s, leaving us free to sit in front of the wood burner with some wine and talk to each other like we did in the old days before all our million responsibilities.
I seem to remember there was a lot of watching music videos together. I’d get to choose two, and then Col would do the same. It would go on for hours like this, as a fun and fluid backdrop to our chats about other stuff. The great thing about the videos was that they allowed for a bit of disjointed time travel back to our youth (Pulp’s Do You Remember the First Time? could be swiftly followed by something by Aphex Twin), a bit of dancing and generally mucking about. We could forget where we were in life for a bit – ie middle-aged working parents helping to care for an elderly parent.
Dressing up was vital – how could I feel romantic if I was still wearing my “carer’s clothes”? A particular hoodie (nicked from my 14-year-old niece) and a trashed but incredibly comfortable pair of suede boots were almost glued to me so that I didn’t have to think about what to wear in the morning. Remembering how much effort I used to put into my appearance when we were first dating was sort of shocking.
Before having a kid, and then a dad with dementia, I could spend hours getting ready for a date. All that preparation was a gorgeous ritual, and by the time we’d meet for our first drink we’d both be the best of ourselves. This is why carving out protected time from caring duties proved essential: it gave both of us the opportunity to shed all those layers and remember who we had been, who we were still, and who we were capable of being in the future.
If anyone deserved my affection at that time, it was my husband, not only for helping with my father from time to time, but for putting up with so much from me. I was pretty emotionally unavailable during those years, but he’d prop me up, listen to me, and give me hugs and kisses. His patience was amazing. What else proves commitment to a marriage like keeping the whole show on the road while your partner is going through a hard, unattractive and unproductive time?
I discovered that gratitude is a powerful thing. If I think how lucky I am to have Col, it makes me feel happy. And when I’m happy, I’m much more giving. A partner’s support is massively romantic, isn’t it? Helping to walk each other through the difficulties we face in this life is a huge part of what real love is. Even as I write this, I realise I don’t say thank you to him enough for all the million things he still does and gives me every day.
