BEL MOONEY: My son is so sad, my husband so distant. I can’t cope

Dear Bel,

I’m not suicidal. I really don’t want to take my own life. But oh how I wish it was all over.

Sometimes I just long to lie in a warm comfortable bed, surrounded by my loved ones, listening to them quietly chatter away and then gradually drifting away in peace and eternal silence.

My husband and I are both 70 – married for more than 40 years with four children and five grandchildren close by. It gives both the joy and the hard work our children expect from us.

I think my husband has Asperger’s — he is very isolated and introverted. If I write a list of tasks, he will do them, but no list and nothing gets done. But he is very different with our grandchildren, where he plays and sings.

I still work part time. I should retire, but going to work is my escape. My husband is semi-retired with a consulting firm, but wants to lock himself in his study at home for long hours. We mess together in quiet contentment.

Last year my son’s marriage broke up. She kept the house and the children. He moved back home, broken and depressed. He had given up a well-paying job that gave him more time with the children so that his wife could build her career.

So now he has little chance of getting a home. He is so sad and our quiet boring life (which suits us) must be torture for him.

Just when we thought things had hit rock bottom, he was landed with a dog – bought for his children after he left. But it bites and barks, they have lost interest and his ex doesn’t want to keep it.

It is almost a year old and is only small but untrained. It will not be left in a room alone and the nights are terrible. We all end up yelling at each other. My son is in tears over the chaos he has caused. When the dog is good, it is adorable. But how long can we survive the toxic atmosphere my depressed son and manic dog have caused?

I do not know what to do. I know I just have to keep going: homemaker and peacekeeper. Caring for everyone but feeling desolate and low.

Between a small, overcrowded house, a man who is blind to what is going on except to get mad and shout (he never has any solutions or ideas), a broken and depressed son and a dog who will one day be totally lovely (but not yet) … i desperately long for peace and quiet.

I know that there are no solutions other than to gird my loins, grit my teeth, smile and move on.

But I would appreciate your words of calm wisdom and encouragement and the promise of a sunnier morning.

CAROL

First, I am very sorry for your son and the pain he has had to endure. The emotional upheaval at the end of a marriage is immense and can seem endless.

The feeling of failure and loss can really depress the spirit, and all you can do is reassure your son that it will get better with time.

He may benefit from counseling. I hope he and his ex get custody sorted out so he has plenty of access to his kids.

Your longer letter explains how after moving out he bought the small dog (in response to his children begging) because he ‘thought it would give them a focus’. A bad idea. His ex probably had no interest in the animal, and it takes an involved adult to train and care for a dog.

Dogs bark and bite for a reason and pick up emotional distress around them, so this poor pet must be unhappy and in dire need of exercise. Then he/she calms down and will bring the whole family (you most of all, I daresay) a lot of joy, which is why it should be the first priority.

Dog trainers usually run regular classes – have you looked locally? Since your husband enjoys his grandchildren’s visits, perhaps this could be something you could add to his list for research? Yes, you have to instruct him, but why shouldn’t he help? Reassuring him that a cute, playful little dog will please all the grandchildren can be a good motivator. This must be taken into account.

It may seem unfair that I have started with your son and the dog, instead of focusing on your exhaustion and longing for peace. But of course, sorting out the two will help your own life immensely, right?

You are the kind of woman whose life is dominated by a need to give, give, give – but who doesn’t get nearly enough consideration in return. The family must begin to observe your needs as well as their own.

You get tired of looking after grandchildren, tolerate your husband’s lack of help and ‘always smile and do my absolute best to hide my own feelings and make sure everyone else is okay’.

You cry in the bathroom so no one sees and you endure the chaos – until you snap and start yelling. Not good for you or your poor son.

You can’t go on like this. The first step should be to sit down formally, as if for a proper meeting, with your son and husband, and calmly and clearly tell them exactly how you feel. They need to know, and so do your other children. You need to plan how you can make things better, starting with the dog. If you continue to feel this anxious, frustrated and stressed, there is a danger that you may have some kind of breakdown. And what good would it do them all?

I totally understand the lonely feeling of not being ‘allowed’ to be sad and show weakness.

I also understand your longing for peace. But you have to stop smiling and being too easy to take advantage of. Let those who love you know.

Why am I such a crybaby today?

Dear Bel,

This may seem like a trivial issue, but over the past five years or so (I’m in my mid-60s) I’ve become a terrible fathead. Movies, music, acting got me going. I cry at weddings and cry at funerals, even when the person is not close to me.

I even cry when I think about the death of a famous person that I really appreciated, such as George Michael. Reading things can also get me going.

It’s getting embarrassing and I don’t know how to stop it. I do not get it either. I didn’t feel that way until recently.

I didn’t cry once when my dad died when I was young, and I’ve only cried once when I was diagnosed with cancer ten years ago. I am still being treated by an oncologist, but the cancer is, thank God, not active at the moment.

I’m generally not a pessimist and have a lot to be thankful for, so why have I become such a crying crybaby and what can be done?

CHLOE

This email seems very reasonable to me. I have yet to meet an emotional person who doesn’t think there’s a lot to cry about these days. But why do I state “these days”?

War and suffering are timeless; but right now, rolling news plus online content means it’s hard to escape events that break your heart—or drive you crazy, which can trigger a different kind of tear.

Just as major events beyond our control have always been emotionally charged, so have the important landmarks of individual lives: births, marriages, deaths. You cry at weddings and funerals because you feel intensely involved in the lives and deaths of people and identify with the feelings of those around you.

Movies, books, and music can work on the emotions because they express versions of universal suffering, so the tears we may shed are about much more than the story, the words, or the melody. These tears of compassion are for the human condition, which of course we all share.

These are lacrimae rerum, meaning ‘the tears for/of things’. It comes from Virgil’s great poem the Aeneid, where the hero is inspired to reflect on the Trojan War that drove him to flight, and on the death of family and friends – the mortal fates that always touch the heart.

I sense that you feel the years passing by. In addition, the cancer diagnosis ten years ago must have been a shock, and every year you deal with the underlying concern.

This week our hearts and prayers will be with the King as he meets treatment with his usual sense of courage and steadfast duty.

There is a lot to be sad about – so is it surprising that you feel deeply? I can’t read Oscar Wilde’s stories out loud to my grandson without starting to cry. Just try, The Happy Prince and The Selfish Giant – too touching and beautiful for words.

Now you will realize that I do not want you to be cured of this disease. There are so many things in life that ‘catch the heart and blow it up’ (to use a beautiful line by Seamus Heaney) and there is nothing ’embarrassing’ about crying in compassion – or joy.