So To Bed

Entry by: Olivia

2nd December 2016
So to bed
‘She knew from the moment that she met him’ – what tosh. Reader – its not like that. But every now and again there is a moment – a much sought after moment – but a moment none the less. A moment when you look at this person in front of you and just know how it will all go. The lust, the love, the tears and the end. Played out by phone, text and distance. Spotted with visits and grabbed time, cloaked in deceit, justified by wounded self-righteous disdain.
But you are not that person are you? You are not the one who deviates, who transgresses. Are you? Not even if …..
No one sets out to behave badly, but we all have our martyrdom role. We are martyred to our parents – because if it wasn’t for them we wouldn’t be so screwed up would we – we all know what Larkin told us. We would be perfectly sane if they hadn’t tried to force us into that dreadful school.
Taking up the mantel, off we go into further martyrdom. We wipe our brows over recalcitrant children – ‘our cross to bear’, ‘its worth it’ we sigh. The over busy job, underpaid and undervalued, ‘but we need to keep a roof over our heads, don’t we?’ we plead. We dismiss the admiration of others in which we bask. The faulty partner, ‘well, we soldier on’, don’t we? With an air of self-deprecating humility we ‘accept our lot’. Did you know that there is a top trumps of martyrdom? Disability ranks highly and illness higher still. Being the partner of a dying person is trumped only by the suffering of the dying one themselves. A few words can summon the full horror, little needs to be said, a head tilted to one side speaks volumes.
Everyone understands but no one knows. No one knows the misery of the impending death. The beatification of the dying person is matched in equal measure by the martyrdom of the primary carer. The perfect pair, bravely facing the hand they have been dealt.
It made the moment so easy. The remission it offered was priceless. However much of a moment it was it was a sacrifice to common sense and wisdom. But what was she to do? Day in and day out she gave her all to the sacrificial care of the poor man (so brave). Surely she was entitled to a little comfort – she didn’t ask for much.
And so to bed. She couldn’t help herself, he was so insistent. She was so beaten down by it all. What did she expect ? Of course he wrote her out of his will, here she was now, it was her own fault, her lover gone and her dear departed husband. She would manage, she always had, only herself to blame – so sad. Such a big cross to bear