jmgoyder

http://jmgromance.com/

The dynamics had shifted during my time away. I was grief-stricken over my father’s sudden death, worried about my mother, Inna was frailer and her ill-health made her frustrated and grouchy, and Husband-to-be was aloof and moody and seemed to avoid me.

Instead of pedalling fast to the farm, I pedalled slowly on my bicycle and my sense of anticipation diminished daily. I didn’t understand why Husband-to-be was sometimes so cold towards me, despite the incident under the clothesline which we had laughed about the very next day.

But that laughter was short-lived. He seemed not to want to meet my eyes.

And then one of Husband-to-be’s best mates told me that there was a girlfriend – someone they had both met at a local agricultural show while I was away at the Bible college.

I had lost my heart to Husband-to-be.

The idea that he had a girlfriend shocked me and that’s when I lost heart altogether.

I remember feeling a terrible guilt over my glee at being able to go back to Inna’s house despite my father’s death.

My guilt was multi-faceted because I felt guilty about my joy at seeing Husband-to-be on a daily basis; I felt guilt every morning I rode my bicycle away from my mother’s house; I felt guilt that my father’s sudden death had made me temporarily popular; I felt guilt that my mother and brothers and I didn’t talk about our Dad-grief.

All of that young guilt eventually turned my ridiculously sweet nature into a bitter sourness and, one day, as I was hanging the clothes out for Inna and waiting for the hour when I would be able to go home to my mother, who mourned, but didn’t show it, Husband came over from the dairy and asked if I could stay the night with Inna because he wanted to go out.

Without any pre-warning, the biggest fury I have ever felt, grabbed me and I yelled, “YOU ARE A SELFISH PIG!” I then abandoned the washing, hopped on my bicycle and rode home, crying as hard as I could all the way so that, when I got home, I would be able to give my mother a smile.

I have to tell the days after my father’s death in point form:

• I stayed with my grandparents in Sydney for two days until they could arrange a flight back to Perth
• My mum, and my two brothers, picked me up from the airport and, during the two hour trip down south to home, we exchanged funny anecdotes about Dad
• The next day it was felt best if I went to see Dad’s corpse in the morgue
• I kissed his freezing cold cheek and got a shock
• Husband-to-be took me for a long drive the day before the funeral
• I couldn’t cry at the funeral service so I tried to make myself cry at the cemetery
• It took two years for me to stop crying for Dad
• My mother kept her own grief away from me
• My brothers kept their own grief away from me
• I went back to work for Inna
• One afternoon, I went into Husband-to-be’s bedroom where he always had his 5-minute afternoon nap
• “Could you give me a hug?” I asked
• He sat up on the edge of his bed and patted the space next to him
• I sat down, nervously, not wanting him to think I was an idiot
• A beautiful, kind smile spread across his face
• He gave me a big hug
• My tears stopped falling

I felt my father’s palm against mine as this time I let myself fall in love.