Nobody told me how hard it is to be an adult. When I fucked off out of school at eighteen with the dregs of a Leaving Certificate clutched in hand, there were no expectations laid down. Like, I was a graduate fuck-up whom no college or university would touch. I fucked around for six months in a computer-oriented Post Leaving Certificate course before I submitted to the retail grind for the next seven years.
Even after I went off to the United States and had children I maintained a kind of disassociation from an adult mentality. First I trusted the Adult Stuff to Mariah, and later I abdicated it to my breakdown and suicide attempt.
Even later still, after I met Eadaoin, I kept up the pretense of separation: I’ve had all manner of awful shit happen by-and-by, ergo tiny ginger woman is better at Adult than me, ergo she should have the keys to the car.
Belatedly and painfully, I’ve come to discover that this doesn’t work. Worse; it is a selfish act: I made my own happiness and well-being Eadaoin’s responsibility.
At the end of this, I feel like I stood still while life overtook me.
- Caira turned ten last month. She’s turned into a quietly-intelligent girl full of a love of the natural world.
- Garrett is seven and already on on the path to being a techie by way of Minecraft.
- Jemma, of Ouro committed suicide in Cork on Monday. Her funeral is tomorrow in Tallaght.
Today, I’m here in my life, engaged and responsive to my partner and kids. It sucks. It rewards. Life goes on.