Boundaries

If you are much younger than me, it might not compute, since we know so much about different brains these days, but back in my late teens/early twenties, I had no idea there were different brains and the implications of mating with someone with a very different brain to me. I was chockful of empathy and sweetness (I have re-read my letters to my husband of that era since he died and there is no other assessment that can be made). I knew there were oddities, but I certainly didn't know to give them a name or a diagnosis, and I thought I could work with them.

Time was incredibly slippery for him, and unlike in later years, he could be shy with waiters. Maths and science were more his thing, and I assisted with any sort of writing task for quite some time. Eventually, he learned to write well from a business perspective which I think suited his brain better - more making one point after another.

He had a temper, no question about it, but I was used to this sort of thing, and I had watched my mother soothe my father. It didn't seem all that abnormal to me.

On the whole, it felt that we complemented one another's skills and I got something from him that I couldn't explain to my family who were worried about my choice. Way back then, I think what they saw was that he needed to be right, which sort of passed me by. I was focussed on his soft skills, some sort of camaraderie; some sort of quiet world we had created where we were at one.

Since he has died, I have felt this desire to give the past 50 years some sort of overarching story. I think as humans we want one clearly defined story about what happened to us, whereas I think there are at least two stories of our lives together. The grieving process has required that I sort of merge them together in some coherent fashion for my own sake. It's a bit like needing an answer to the question, 'What was that all about?"

So, the two stories are love, an unshakable love - and undiagnosed neurodiversity and a personality disorder.

To explain the unshakable love and maybe even the neurodiversity in one story...

We were somewhere in Spain when we walked into a leather store after seeing some leather handbags we thought would make good presents to bring home. There were some beautiful women's leather jackets and my husband noted one in particular. The owner of the store began to engage with us and my husband and the owner had me trying on jackets, including the one my husband seemed to like the most. He started trying to convince the owner that the back was faulty whilst the owner was equally adamant that it was perfect.

I was getting hot in the jackets and them pulling me about to make their points, and I was ready to go, but on they went negotiating prices until they came to an agreed price. Good naturedly they bantered insults about Scottish and Spanish people. 

At a certain point, the owner asked about us, and my husband said, 'She has been with me for well over 40 years'. He didn't say, 'We have been together for well over 40 years.' Now make of that what you will, but to my ears I heard, 'I can be such a pain in the ass, and look at her devotion to me, she has endured it all.' It was recognition of the fact, recognition he probably didn't realise he was making at all, that in amongst this relationship there was neurodiversity and loyalty; a lasting love through all the mayhem and chaos.

When we left the store and said our goodbyes with the goods, I asked my husband, 'Do you even like the jacket?'

'I love it, it's gorgeous!'

'Is there a fault?'

'No, it's perfect.'

He needed stimulation, lots of stimulation. It led to some crazy share market trading and a sense of chaos that permeated the everyday. To this end, he found my desire for some clarity and certainty to be boring. Franked dividends, where was the fun in that when you could invest in some start up that could go to the moon?

At a certain point, after turbulent years I created my first boundary with him - I would never again sign anything for him that I didn't understand and didn't agree with. He acknowledged the boundary and didn't ask me to break it ever again, explaining thereafter what he asked me to sign.

In the end, I inherited his debt, the hardest part of the last year I think, but the end is near on that one and I get to start afresh, the slate clean, the future far more certain than it has ever been.

I think he knew I was smart. He saw my transcript one day - all the HDs of a Masters and he acknowledged how well I had done - but I don't think he ever imagined that I could turn around this ship or steer it at all. I found in his desk drawer some notes, not to me but to my oldest son. I certainly discuss with that son the direction to take, but I have instigated the details of that plan all by myself. I think my husband would have been surprised that I was quite capable of taking over from him and looking after the family's future.

To be honest, I am a little surprised myself. I think, by virtue of my husband's desire for complete control, I felt incompetent, and indeed there was much to learn and to experience, but I am doing it, I continue to do it, and I have confidence that whatever comes, I will be okay.

I know he loved me dearly and I loved him dearly. If I have something to say, maybe a final chapter, a conclusion, it would be, 'We were lucky to have him, and he was lucky to have us'.