It’s the day before he moves out forever.

Everyday I am waking up with a headache.

I’m tired and feeling so very sad.

I feel that I have let the most precious thing in my life die.

I’m also feeling that I have let my mum down.

Shortly before she died – days in fact – my husband visited her in hospital. She said “I am so glad that you two have each other.”

She loved my husband.

She wasn’t happy in her own marriage, and whilst my dad adored her, he really was no good at showing it and lived in his own world. Indeed, they lived two separate lives without any kind of intimacy.

What mum really wanted was a husband who was also her friend. She said as much to him not long after they were married. He said “don’t be silly, husband and wife can’t be friends.” At her funeral he chose “You’re My Best Friend” by Don Williams for her funeral. It’s an achingly moving song. I wish she could have known that was how he felt about her.

But here’s the problem: mum had been a source of conflict between my husband and myself. Like most boys, I’d been trained to look after my mum and care-take her feelings. My husband was the same … once upon a time … which has its own tragic outcome for the course of his life, but that is his story to tell, not mine.

I was always conflicted between my love and loyalty to her and my love and loyalty to my partner. I guess this is a common problem: we see it a loot in literature and film.

When she died, I remember saying to my husband that he wouldn’t have to fight for my affection any more.

I feel that I shouldn’t feel as though I have let my mum down – she should never have been so important to the life of my marriage. Her strong presence and her in my life and the bond we had often left my husband feeling less important to me. In the end, I would always put him first, but I was careful to avoid being tested. I was, however, always tortured with guilt that I was letting one or other of them down.

Funny how these posts evolve – I hadn’t expected to say so much about mum.

Hooking back to the song that dad had played at mum’s funeral, about his partner being his best friend, that is relevant and something I think that I will increasingly appreciate about my own partner: we might have struggled enormously to communicate, but we have such love for each other and such a rich history. A history which is often painful and full of conflict and grief, but also with shining lights of delight.

I grieve for him and the golden moments that we shared, the music, TV, and films that we both loved together. For the adventures that we have had together. Maybe I will even grieve for the care that I have for him – having somebody to love is a privilege.

It is a privilege that I have forfeited and trampled over in my question to fully be me.

What price “authenticity”?