A Mother's Story by Rosie Batty Page B

human being who was completely dependent on me – and I thrived on it.
    Dad and Josephine were due to visit from England any day. Their excitement over the phone had been palpable, and I couldn’t wait for them to meet Luke. I had been home a few days when Greg returned from the monastery. He was over the moon. He was so gentle and nurturing with Luke. There was a kind of wonder in his eyes as he nursed him. This great hulk of a man was reduced to jelly by the slightest smirk or facial tic of his newborn son. I remember thinking, whatever Greg was, whatever problems he had dealing with life in the adult world, he clearly had the capacity for unconditional love. Here was a man with his son – and it looked for all the world like he would do anything to protect him from harm.
    He asked if he could stay with us for a couple of nights. Because I’d had a caesarean and was having trouble moving around, much less carrying Luke, part of me was secretly relieved. He began to help out by chopping firewood, keeping the wood stove fed and making sure I was eating properly. He had attended enough birthing classes to know that the father could help during the night by waking when the baby woke, changing its nappy and bringing it back to the mother for feeding.
    After a few nights of not much sleep, I awoke one night to Luke wailing in the crib next to me. Greg decided Luke was waking up not because he was a newborn and was hungry or lonely, but because he was cold. And so he wanted to take Lukeinto the living room and sleep with him next to the wood stove. I wasn’t having any of it. I was adamant that Luke remain in the bedroom with me.
    Before I knew it, the disagreement escalated into a full-blown argument, with Greg shouting that he knew what was best for him. I tried to defuse the situation, telling Greg we were both tired and we would talk about it in the morning. But just as I turned to walk back into the bedroom, he picked up the big tea chest that I used as a coffee table and lifted it above his head, threatening to throw it across the room.
    I raced over and started grappling with this six-foot-two man, screaming at him to put the tea chest down, even though, upon my release from the hospital, doctors had advised me not to strain myself for fear of tearing my stitches. I didn’t think at any point that either Luke or I were in danger. It never occurred to me that either of us might get hurt. Greg was quite simply angry and this was his response.
    The next morning I told him I wanted him to leave and that he wasn’t to return unless at my express invitation. He seemed confused. He was aware my parents were arriving within the week – and really wanted to meet them.
    I was incredulous. He had never contributed anything financially to the costs of Luke’s birth. He had no job nor any prospect of one, he had watched as I had been forced to ask my father for the cash required to tide me over until I could return to work – Dad has always ensured my financial security, and I am so lucky and very grateful for that – and yet Greg wasn’t even remotely ashamed at the prospect of meeting him. I told him it was quite simply not going to happen. That even if he had no shame, I certainly did, and there was no way I was going to present him to my family. And so he left.
    When finally Dad and Josephine arrived, we shared such a special time all together. They were enraptured with Luke, and I was just so happy to be able to share this most incredible moment in my life with them. It was probably the closest we have ever been as a family. I felt the loneliness drop away, and a surge of empowerment came just from their presence. I was part of a family that, for all its idiosyncrasies, was underpinned by love and loyalty. The thousands of miles that separated me from it on a daily basis made it hard to feel the love and support most of the time – but here was evidence that it existed.
    I made a