Pain on Sunday

Woke up, shook my legs, said my prayers, showered, made coffee. Or was it, made coffee, and then showered? Seems I haven't written in too long a time and I write now only out of pain and loss of center. Rainy, damp day. But that's just the elements that bring out the charm of this place I live in. Doorbell rang, my eldest son en route from Boston to Block Island, stopped to give me the coffee I ordered. Found this new black smack dealer in the North End. It's like velvet. He will be closing on his house on Block Island next week, and was in good spirits. Didn't get down to Elizabeth's till 9:30 a.m.. Tom was there and we exchanged our good mornings. The disagreement of the night before appeared to have been forgotten. We had gone to the movies the night before, both too tired. I had hoped to be restored to sanity by going. Sanity could have been the dessert after the dinner I rushed home to make, after working too much all day. He hated the movie. I challenged his reasons for not liking it. This gave birth to an exchange of put-downs on each other's principles. I like tomatoes, he likes tomatoes. No middle road. But this morning, like every other morning, we forget the night before. It would have stayed that way except I felt it my duty to see to it that he gets my point of view on the matter. Went to the old house to exchange cars for my trip to New York tomorrow. No sooner there and I started to do the dishes. They both looked at me like, "There she goes again." What did they know about a horse that keeps on going back to the barn? Sean asked about Thanksgiving, did we make any plans? I myself had been waiting for Tom to show some spirit and direction. Sean thought it would be a good idea to go out. Tom agreed. One more time someone saved Tom from the decision-making. I'm sorry Sean had to see my disappointment. He was in the middle. I am viewed as the intimidating person by the two of them. Their sympathies go to their Father. Sean made it clear, he wanted to at least eat with Tom. I was hurt by this. I feel I am the scapegoat for them all. There's lots of pain writing down these last hours. I come out looking the fool. Something is wrong. I have the extreme reaction that I want to disconnect myself from this situation for a whole year. "Didn't I do that two years ago?" Seems I have not surrendered. Live and let live is not part of my daily living. Just for today, my middle road will be, I will not look or try to find out what's going on in another's life.

Copyright; Ruth Mahoney November, 20 1988