Coming Closer

I do not know, I have been sleeping since I came in from a long day at work. The week started out with a lot of promise. Tom has been cleaning the house, Sean has made another commitment to stop drinking, and I felt safe. I was making plans to visit home more often, to take my place again as the woman of the house. I thought too of doing my bedroom over with some new Ralph Lauren furniture. I was really thinking of going home for the first time in two years when that same night in talking to Tom about Sean and bringing up the sore subject of his own denial of drinking and smoking, Tom's anger and defiance to defend his right to destructive behavior was more than I could deal with. Now, I see where there is a clash of egos. By Tuesday, he began to get sick, and I'm mad that he is sick. Crazy Tuesday took a turn for the worse when a series of phone calls within a 10-minute span ended with messages of no one to work for the night. This drove me out of my bed to face the evening with sore feet and a heavy heart. I've had breakdowns before; the patterns begin when I start playing the martyr. Then I work to single-handedly clean up all the messes. Then no expense is too great to put my world back together again so that it's pleasing to the eye. Like the alcohol that stopped working for me, maybe I must face the reality that prettying things up my way doesn't work either. Mostly I faced the sad fact, no one wants me interfering with their stuff. I have refused to accept this. Torn is how I feel. Lonely enough to take my role as martyr, being mute, or finding life amongst the single parties of one. If I do not take a stand, I will perish. Today there is a snow storm predicted, 6 to 12 inches. It started at noon, like they said. Since I'm trying to live and let live, but also not die of guilt by leaving my poor, sick husband with no food, I make my first stop the Star Market. Hamburg and cheese, ham , salami, provolone, t.v. dinners (the ones that read for the hungry man), coca-cola, candy, all the food I see him buy, I put in the cart. Give him what he wants to eat! There was a new black girl on the register; she made Scarlet O'Hara's Prissy look like Althea Gibson. I finally got my plastic bags in the car. As I pulled up to my old house, I could see his car was gone. Not surprising, he was very hungry the night before but refused help from Sean who was willing--after I mentioned it--to cook something for him. Really didn't want to see anyone anyway, but like Santa, I just slipped in, and put my bundles in the fridge. When I got back to the city, guess who was in my business trying to be helpful? My sick husband, not looking that sick. There wasn't much I had to say to him. My heart was still heavy from the night before. Later on in the day, as the snow got heavier, I went home and put a log on the fireplace and reminisced about that Christmas story I heard a long time ago of a young couple who wanted to give each other a Christmas present but didn't have any money. She went out and sold her hair that her husband had admired so much to buy him a watch chain, and her husband went out and sold his watch to buy a comb for her hair.

Copyright; Ruth Mahoney December 16, or 17, 1988