Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

How does it feel
To know that you have failed?
When decent men are asked
To form a queue,
Your name will not be called.
Men who know what trust,
Respect, faithfulness and reliability
Really mean.
They stand there quietly chatting
In skins that fit them,
Lives that are not perfect,
May not be easy,
But are lived with dignity and strength.

And so you watch from the side
As this throng of grown ups walk
Through that gate and out of sight.
And you turn away.

Do you know what you have missed?
Or has something shiny caught your eye,
Distracted you again,
And you cannot see
What lies beyond the gate.

Yes, it's furious isn't it?  The anger oozes from every line, the criticism, the disgust plain for all to see.  I wrote it sometime in February 2008, barely two months after he left for the last time.  I remember giving it to the Absent Father.  In my desperation I did give him early poems, a bit like an abandoned puppy might bring a favourite toy to someone hoping for recognition, hoping that the light might shine and I could get in the car and go home. 
 
This one made him angry.  'Failure' he derided loudly, 'What on earth do you mean by failure?  Really I've had enough of all this, it is too much'  And thus he stormed off to his better life.
 
I'm not quite sure what makes me turn to it now, part of me is concerned that I'm using the past to support my present, making relevant what should be consigned to another time, but I suppose it's because I have a dear female friend who has been dumped in different but oddly similar circumstances very recently, and my talking to her has stirred memories that were ebbing to a silence at a back of my mind. 
 
Equally there is the on-going saga of the Absent Father and his relationship with our children.  Or rather his non-relationship.  His choice of companion has always grated with our children, perhaps inevitably so.  She is the reason they no longer spend any time with him, so they are hardly likely to be thrilled with her existence, which, I'm told but have no corroboration for, she was perplexed about, but now accepts.  They have no phone calls, texts or emails with their father.  They haven't seen him since July 2011 and he lives 8 miles away.  He has complained they make no effort.  When the Absent Father married he didn't mention their existence in his speech, which hurt them deeply.  If you were a childless, second wife to a man with grown up children, what would you do?
 
It can't be easy taking on the wicked stepmother mantle, especially when childless yourself.  When I was internet dating I made it an absolute requirement that any man I contacted had children.  I did not want a man who did not understand that my time with my children was vital for me.  They also had to understand that loving your children is not in competition with, or more important than, any relationship I might have with them.  It is different.  I have been fortunate that the men I have been out with have understood that.  More than that, it was an essential part of their make up that they have ring-fenced time with their children too.
 
I was about to say that I was more fortunate than the Absent Father because I could be choosy, but I realise I'm about to fall into the trap I used to make for myself; making excuses for him.  At what point was the fact that he was married with children not clear to the woman he met on the train at 5.43am all those years ago?  Ok, so he didn't wear a wedding ring, liking to ape the upper classes and wear a signet ring on his little finger instead.  The ring had a crest, something his father had invented for the family, I believe.  My father wore a wedding ring, but then I was told many years ago I was 'A common little nothing who is no better than she ought to be' by his father.  The Absent Father didn't defend my honour so besmirched in the alcohol fuelled assault on my worth.  He told me many years later he always regretted not doing so.  Sadly, now all I think is he probably believed it.
 
So the Absent Father's Woman must have realised as she extracted my husband with promises of an easier life that the children needed to be accommodated in the happy ever after plans somehow.  Was it a total surprise that they treated her with suspicion and disdain?  In my usual way I have asked people about being a step-parent, it is remarkably common, terrifyingly common, and I have come across childless women who have married men with children.  The theme that runs through is you have to work at it, you have appreciate it isn't easy, it takes time, and sometimes you have to put yourself second in your partner's life, but not all the time.  The key thing it seems is to understand that your partner needs time with his children alone if they are ever to make a reasonable relationship in the new emotional landscape.  Fathers and daughters is particularly tricky, so I'm told, and even a man with a son and daughter can have more troubles with the girl than the boy.  The only time I've had serious problems was a son protecting his mother, even though his parents divorced 12 or 13 years before I met their father, so no way was I responsible for the marriage breakdown.  It was tricky, I was bewildered at the disapproval hurled my way, but we all came through it eventually, and I learnt a valuable lesson: tread more carefully than you think you need to.  No, I wasn't rude about his mother, but their father thought as he and I were established, and he was on friendly terms with his ex, it would be ok for her and me to be at his house-warming party.  The fury that his son directed at me was savage, and I was mortified.  No way would I want to cause pain to another woman, after what I'd been through the idea that somebody could be hurt by my presence was really upsetting.  In time we all got on, and further down the line the relationship died a civilised and polite death, having run its course.
 
Sadly this kind of consideration has not been metered out to our children. Apparently enough time has now passed for them to stop making a fuss and just accepting that they only see their father if his Woman is in tow.  So they don't see him, and each day the pain they hide so well increases, the chances of them ever forgiving him diminishes.  Just every so often you get a glimpse of their inner worlds and I feel the duel agony of their pain and the truth of who is causing it: their father.  It is truly baffling how someone who went to Nativity Plays and Parents Evenings, spent money on private education because he thought it was worth it, and time on holiday laughing with his children can just walk away.  I know he's not alone in this action.  I am told the ache of trying to think about the past can be so great, one course of action is just not to think about it.
 
When I wrote the poem I had, as usual, a very strong image in my head.  The shiny thing was sparkly red against the dull gravel of the path.  The men were standing almost in a churchyard, but there was not church, more a village green, and the gate was picket with an arbour over it.  The gate stood half way up a hill and beyond the gate was the top of the hill and over to the horizon the low sun was glinting.  A warm yellow sun, wasn't visible until you got beyond that gate, but the grass looked a bit greener.  Where the saggy middle-aged men were standing was ordinary.  There was no real reason to walk through the gate except they knew they had to to get to the warm horizon.  The decent place.  Where shiny sparkly things were not needed as the real world was bright and rich with the growth of real things.  Shiny things were tawdry and fake, sparkled prettily against the gravel, but could never grow.