The day my world collapsed

The day my world collapsed

I must have been six years old when early one morning my mother came into my bedroom room with her eyes shedding a stream of uncontrollable tears. Her body was shaking with emotion. She grabbed me and held me close, planting kisses on my face and hair. It was several minutes before she said. “He left”. At first I had difficulty in understanding what she meant. Slowly I realized she was talking about her husband, my father. “What do you mean he has left”.

“ My darling, he has abandoned us”.

I have a younger sister. She was three years younger than me so my mother decided to let her continue sleeping. As the dawn faded into the morning the absence of my father was a saddeness that left three people staring into space without any energy to confront the day. We children knew that our parents had difficulty in adjusting to living together as a family unit. In recent years we often heard arguments taking place behind closed doors. But in our presents they acted as a loving couple proud of their two children. My mother was always attentive to our needs and was forever giving us the occasional kiss and saying how much she loved us. My father was more of a shadowy figure. He enjoyed being locked away in his studio or away on what he called business trips. At that stage in my life I never understood what that meant. I had just started preschool to which my mother and sister took me to daily. 

But on the day father abandoned us we just sat in the kitchen with mother holding my sister in her arms trying to explain why our father had left us. That day her talk seemed completely incoherent. The gist of my mothers conversation was that our father had fallen out of love for her and was not made for family life, that he felt like a trapped bird in a stifling cage, with no air or freedom to stretch his wings. We just sat there and listened.  My mother's talk was disturbed by her periods of crying. I was never taken to school that day. I am not even sure we were given something to eat.

Slowly our household fell into its normal routine of our life before my father left. The time prior to my father marrying my mother she had been to the town’s university and studied law. After graduating she went to work for a local solicitors office with the ambition of being made a partner. My father was a young local artist living in a rented house near the beach that had a small worksop attached.. He lived a modest life by using his imagination and hands to make sculptures from driftwood found on the beach. The story goes that as my mother occasionally spent her weekends strolling on the beach she often saw him and when she finally met him fell wildly in love. Once they married she bought his rented house, with the help of her parents.  

For two days after my father left us my mother just sat around staring into the middle distance. We had to attract her attention to be fed. On the third day she gathered us in the kitchen and took my sister in her arms. She then spoke to me as though I was the head of the house. 

“ We need to make some decisions. Next week I have to go back to work. We will need my salary to pay for food, clothing, school and many other items necessary to live in our society. Thankfully we own our house. I am going to persuade my mother to come and live with us and sell her house. I intend to convert your father's workshop into Paul’s  study and bedroom.  Paul, are you happy with the idea?” I just didn’t know what to say so I nodded my head. It was already disturbingly sad not to hear my father working with his chisels and hammers on the woods he found on the beach. Now it was to be my room, maybe all those sounds and smells would haunt me for years to come. 

Over the next few months we settled down to family life without a father figure. He was sadly missed especially by mother who I knew was still deeply in love with him. Her mother living with us softened the blow as she was a very active and loving person always present in our daily lives. It must have been in my fourteenth year when  mother sat me down and tried to explain why she thought my father left.

“My darling boy, I believe you are old enough to listen to my side of the story about why your father left us. You know I suffer from his absence. That is why it is important for me to try and explain to you why I think he abandoned us. I had just started my first job after university at the firm I still work for. On weekends I was often found on the local beach walking my mother ‘s dog. One day I had the chance to meet  a tall, well built, good looking man that I had often noticed collecting driftwood. It was like an enormous flash of lightning, my whole body shocked with a profound emotional movement. As I shook his hand and looked into his eyes I knew I had fallen deeply and uncontrollably in love with him. He must have felt something as without hesitation and permission he bent forward and took my face in his hands and kissed me. One week later I persuaded him to marry me. It was so right, I was profoundly in love, and ignored his slight hesitation. He thought we should take the time to get to know each other better.

The first year of our marriage was like living in what I imagine heaven is like. But I soon realized I had married a wild and untamable beautiful bird that possessed a deep desire to feel a sense of freedom. To tame this ardor I gave him his first child. For a couple of years he was fascinated by you and carved you many interesting toys. I then started to hear the flapping of wings on the cage bars. I applied the same medicine and gave him a second child. Two months  after her birth he asked me if he could go away for a year as the family life was unsettling and smothering any creative ability he might have. I told him in no uncertain measure , NO.  We have responsibilities to our children. They did not ask to be born. 

Three months later we started arguing about money, my job and the long hours. He was a proud man and deeply felt among other things he was not pulling his weight over financial matters. I sensed at this time he was going to leave us. The question was when? I could feel him struggling with the decision. It took him well over a year. Then very early one morning he just disappeared taking his clothes and the money in his bank account. I also noticed he took a couple of his best chisels and two hammers. I have never heard from him since’. 

I got up and gave my mother a long tender hug.

The years went by. In that period granny left us. She was greatly missed as she acted as the foundation rock for our family. My young sister had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, although she remained a very shy person and very close and dependent on our mother. I attended university to study law following my mother’s footsteps. My mother was made a partner in her firm. We rarely spoke about our absent father but I could sense that my mother greatly suffered from his absence. To the outside world he had died of cancer many years ago. Only my mother’s solicitor partners were told the truth and asked to abide by a code of silence on the matter. My mother was very sensitive to the fact that he just walked out of our lives. On occasions I missed his presence but was able to console myself with what I considered was my moral responsibility to look after my mother and sister. In the areas of sport and career choices I would have loved his presence. 

The day after I graduated and was preparing to take a holiday in France my mother came to me asking for a favor. 

“Paul, I know you are leaving for France but if I give you an address in Paris would you see if you could trace your fathers whereabouts. All  those years ago just after he left I employed a private detective to try and find him. I knew he was heading for Paris as when he asked me  to leave for a year his destination was Paris. The private detective found through police records his name and Paris address came up on a speeding ticket. I still have the address. For some unknown reason I never asked the private detective to follow up on the address”.

“Mother, are you sure you want to rake up the past that has been like a dark cloud following all these years? You know the absence of a father has deeply affected your daughter. 

“Yes, my request has been carefully thought out.  if you could find and persuade him to come and see me I am sure it would remove a   burden of sadness that I struggle with”. 

“What makes you sure that he would want to come and see you.”

“It may seem odd but I feel if I make the first move he will come.”

“If I find him and that it is a big if. Supposing he is remarried with children”?

“Dearest Paul, have no fear we were two people that found a lifetime bond. But that bond needed one member to experience flying from the cage of family life for short periods of time. I said no. I was so deeply in love I was unable to assess his needs.”

“Give me the address. If you are sure that is what you want I will try.”

On my third day in Paris I went to the address written some seventeen years ago on a speeding ticket. It was an old small warehouse in an artists quarter of Paris. I found a man painting there. When I asked him if Monsieur Norris lived here. He downed his paint brush, examined me, and started to reply first in French and then in broken English.

 “Yes, he did once live here. A very nice chap and talented. Why do you ask”? 

“I am his son”.

“Oh, that’s interesting. He once told me about his family in England.

He left about five years ago for the Normandy coast.  In fact last year I had a postcard from him from a place called Honfleur. He said he had found a nice studio with living quarters near the beach.. On the card was written an address in case I wanted to come and see him. If I can find the card would you like the address”?

“With pleasure. Let me help you find it.”

Like several artist workshops the warehouse was scattered with canvases, paper work, paint and brushes. Twenty minutes later I had the address in Honfleur. I was about to ask him a number of questions but he told me to come back in three days as he had a painting to finish for an exposition. I took the hint and on thanking him and saying goodbye I told him as I had the address I would be in Honfleur tomorrow.

The next day I was in Honfleur standing in front of an artist’s studio with living quarters above. The property was close to a beach in an area that looked as if it was designed to attrach artists and small businesses. I could see somebody working in the studio, no doubt my father, last seen about eighteen years ago. I stood there hesitating as to whether to introduce myself. Could my mother’s talking about a lifetime bond be just an older woman's dream? He had fled his responsibilities and what interest would he have of being reminded of them. My mother had worked so hard to replace him in providing for all our needs. I suddenly had a strong feeling I owed her this request. I knock on the studio’s door. It was opened by an aging man with a handsome face and slightly graying long hair. He had a hammer in one hand. 

In a strong emotional voice I said. “Hello father.” The hammer dropped with a loud bang to the floor.

I stayed two days with my father. We talked about the family, his work and my future. He was intensely interested to hear about mother. When I told him she had been made partner. He smiled. On the second day we broached the subject of why he had left us. It was a long emotional story with tears on both sides. I saw in front of me a man still deeply in love with my mother but once the children arrived he felt smothered by family life and just needed a period to reconnect with his independence and freedom. Finally after much soul searching he just left us. Paris had been good to him and he had found a way of making a comfortable living with his sculptures. As he had left no address he agonized over contacting us all, but didn’t. He said at times he felt lonely and craved the love and warm body of his wife.  At this point I suggested my mother would like a meeting with him. He looked in the distance and to my great surprise said. 

“I will come to your house at midday 30 days from today's date.

We left each other with a powerful bear hug hiding tears.”

One month later my effort of setting up a perfect day of reconciliation happened. Mother and I agreed at this stage we would not allow my sister to be present. That morning I sensed that my mother was deeply anxious. She dressed in a pretty cotton summer that made her look younger. At midday the front door bell sounded. My mother went to open it. I was in the background watching. Two people stood there staring at each other completely absorbed by each other's presence. I told them I had a meeting and would be gone for about two hours. I am not sure they heard me. I let myself out of the back door. 

Two and a half hours later I returned to find the house completely silent. In some strange way I felt an atmosphere that was a mixture of love and sadness. I called out, no answer. I went up to my mother's room and there lying on bed nude with their hands intertwined with each other lay my dead father and mother. They looked so happy and peaceful. I noticed on the side table by the bed a small bottle that I imagine was some kind of poison. There was also a letter addressed to me and my sister placed leaning against the bottle. Standing in the doorway I knew I was without the strength or heart to open it. I needed my sister's presence.

David Nutt                                                      August 2024