Published: 23:27 GMT, 26 September 2014 | Updated: 23:27 GMT, 26 September 2014
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Third wheel: The camera phone that comes everywhere Dear Bel
I hardly know where to start as I’m so mixed up and unsettled. Six years ago I married for the second time, after four years alone, which were spent searching desperately for Mrs Right.
In 2008, by some good fortune, I thought I’d met a most lovely lady, whom I quickly took to — having had some seriously bad and fruitless blind dates. We married that year, as we both felt it would be right to make our relationship legal and decent as soon as possible.
But now comes the crunch. I am growing increasingly indifferent towards this hard-working, busy lady — despite her love for me. I’m finding life a void, as I just don’t enjoy spending time with her.
Often there is a third person with us wherever we go: namely a camera-phone, which, despite my protestations, always seems to spring from her bag sooner or later. That makes me feel even more alone.
My wife and I are both in our late 50s and quite healthy. Two years ago we moved halfway across the country to be near her relatives and to make a fresh start — which I hoped might help. But it’s only made the situation between us worse, as I’ve not taken to our new surroundings like she has.
I’m becoming seriously depressed and feel there is simply nothing to look forward to any more.
To make matters worse I lost both of my parents in 2012/13, and miss them so much.
I feel I have reached the end of my tether and would rather be alone, full stop. What advice can you give me?
ROGER
PS: My first marriage lasted 26 years and produced two children and five grandchildren, whom I rarely see except at weddings, etc. They all have little time for me as they are busy with their own lives.
There are many aspects of this unhappy letter that disturb me, starting with the fact you were ‘searching desperately for Mrs Right’.
That you were so very needy boded ill for any relationship you found — and, indeed, you decided to marry far too quickly, when you hardly knew each other.
Because your letter was handwritten, I am surely right to conclude that you have no computer skills, yet it sounds (reading between the lines and also ‘reading’ your actual handwriting and paper) as if your wife is a tad more sophisticated than you — intrusive smartphone and all.
I can’t help wondering what you had in common when you met, as it sounds as if she is still working and in touch with people, whereas you sound something of a loner. Those who feel ‘alone’ often put up the fences that surround them with their very own hands, then look bleakly at the barriers and blame others.
Your first wife died ten years ago, and less than two years ago you lost both parents, which was devastating. I’d be interested to know if you’d already moved house by then, and whether that made it harder to see your elderly parents — and, if so, if you blamed your wife for that.
Such things count for a lot, which is why it frustrates me to have so little information. Yet I found it revealing that you added the facts about your children and grandchildren in postscript, as if the sense of being cut off from your family didn’t really bother you at all.
You don’t enjoy time with your wife, you don’t have feelings for her any more, you don’t like where you now live .?.?. What is to be done?
Perhaps she whips out her smartphone (which I agree with you is a rude, detestable habit) because she is simply desperate to have some communication with somebody You assert with confidence that your wife still loves you but, to be frank, you don’t sound like the kind of man who would have any inkling of what his wife actually feels.
Perhaps she whips out her smartphone (which I agree with you is a rude, detestable habit) because she is simply desperate to have some communication with somebody.
Anyway, this is the point at which people like me (often feeling pretty desperate ourselves!) suggest counselling in a last-ditch attempt to save a marriage, or perhaps to help end it with dignity. But that would be a waste of time with you, of that I’m sure.
You sound like the last person who would phone the relationship counselling service Relate and make an appointment, and you don’t have the computer skills even to look at its website.
If you really feel you no longer wish to remain married, then very few people would be hurt by a separation — except, of course, your wife.
Does she have any idea of how you feel? Surely it’s time to have a conversation about your loneliness, your fury at her phone, your dislike of where you live, and so on.
Perhaps you should also confide how much you miss your parents — because I doubt you have.
I could tell you that nothing will be lost if you separate and that there is no point in remaining in a situation that is making you feel so depressed.
On the other hand, there are probably financial things to sort out, and I’d ask you to seriously imagine what it would be like to be alone again.
Would you start desperately seeking that mythical Mrs Right yet again? Could you bear the exhaustion and disappointment?
It might be better to work at what you have — because it can be dreadfully daunting to start again at your age.
And remember, there is no such thing as Mr or Mrs Right.
I dread talking to my ex’s daughter
Dear Bel
I would like your opinion of the situation I’m in. I’m 56 and this year will be celebrating 30 happy years with my husband. But in my early 20s, I was married very briefly to David, who was 25 and the brother of a school friend.
He and I both remarried and I never saw him again, although I heard he and his wife had two daughters.
Then, six weeks ago, my friend rang to tell me David had died the previous day of cancer and would I be prepared to go to the funeral? I agreed to go with my husband but to the service only.
A few days ago I received (via my friend) a letter from one of David’s daughters wanting to talk to me about her father and our life together — saying that before he died he had shown her our wedding photographs and spoken about me.
She also said she is thinking of a law degree and wanted to know about his early career as a barrister. (That had caused problems for us as I had to move to where his chambers were and knew no one.)
I don’t know what to do as I understand that she would like to know about him as a part of her bereavement, especially as her mother died first. But it was so long ago and such a mismatch, I can’t think what I could tell her.
I think that seeing us in the photographs looking young and happy is adding a glamour that is not really there and so I don’t know how to respond, but I don’t want to be insensitive. What do you think?
DOROTHY
Poor doomed Anne Frank, in hiding from the Nazis, wrote: ‘How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single minute before starting to improve the world.’
To me those words form the beginning and end of your problem. You have the power to do some good, so what are you waiting for?
To be honest, I am surprised you even have to ask me, when to most people it will be clear what you must do. The fact that you are so hesitant reveals perhaps more than you realise about your response to that first marriage.
Was it you who ended it — because I calculate you married your second husband very quickly? Maybe this is the moment to come to terms with what happened and jettison all lingering (but subconscious) feelings of resentment and failure and, possibly, guilt.
Anne Frank, who hid from the Nazis in Amsterdam, with her family, during the Second World War Please don’t tell me you don’t have any — because I do not believe you. If you didn’t, this awkward doubt would not have arisen.
A young woman writes to you because she wants to talk about a part of her dead father’s life, which remained important enough for him to hang on to those photographs and show them to her.
Maybe that short marriage meant more to him than to you. Maybe the death of his wife triggered fond thoughts of the past. Who can say?
But obviously you knew him before the wedding and then shared married life when he was at the beginning of his career. Your words must flow from there. Where did you go on dates? What movies did you see?
What was his favourite food? Did he wear flares? Was he nervous before he entered his first Chambers? What setbacks did he meet? Who were your friends? Did you make moussaka for supper and drink cheap red wine? What about holidays?
There are so many tiny nuggets of information which you could easily dredge up, if you truly wanted to please this young women who is on a quest to discover more about her dad. It’s not much to ask, is it? Surely you can rustle up a little affection, a little ‘glamour’ for her?
When in doubt, do something generous. When somebody asks something of you, say Yes rather than No. When somebody younger is seeking guidance and help, give it. When somebody older is seeking reassurance and help, give it.
When you don’t like the person you are in your distant memories, be kind to that fallible soul who still wears your face. If you feel you were hurt in the distant past, then please realise that it’s all over and we’re all walking towards the grave hand in hand — so what the hell?
Understand why that relationship failed and this one worked and that all recrimination is irrelevant in the face of the universe and its silence. So be kind. None of us have to wait a single moment more before making the world a better place — and it’s is not the business of governments or systems, but of the individual soul who holds out a hand.
Comfort in a world of darkness
A few weeks ago I wrote about ‘the kindness of strangers’, linked to bone marrow and organ donation. When you feel gloomy about this world of ours — the bigotry, the violence, the greed, the nastiness — it’s very easy to forget the good will all around.
You glimpse it on the London Underground when a guy in a hurry stops to help a harassed mother with her pushchair.My dad experienced it when four young people rushed to pick him up after a fall. You hear about it if you are involved with charities (as I am) and find out how much time people put in to help.
I’ll give you one small example. A small charity called Read Around Bath runs reading groups in seven care homes.
In many of them there’s a sense of time hanging heavily, the TV blaring, few visitors, loneliness and lack of mental stimulus. The volunteers read aloud to a group — sometimes a few chapters of a chosen book each week, combined with a selection of poems and perhaps something nostalgic.
I suppose you’re right and breaking up
Would be quite a good thing,
But staying together
Would be an equally good thing .?.?.
Hugo Williams: Love Poem
(from the new Forward Book of Poetry 2014)
Volunteers also reach out to others (including the homeless) to give them delight of being read to — showing them that somebody cares.
So I put on a small event to spread the word and raise much-needed funds — and I needed an actor to read with me. Two I know (who’ve been helpful before) were unavailable but gave me the email of the terrific Jonathan Hyde — known to millions for his role as J.????Bruce Ismay, chairman of the White Star Line in the movie Titanic.
Just back from the States, where he was publicising his terrifying new TV thriller The Strain, he didn’t know me or the charity, but said yes to giving up an evening.
You see? The kindness of strangers at work yet again.
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