Pity Pot

The grads have had their march once more. This time I didn't feel much like skipping home, not even when Claus Van Bulow gave me the once-over as I stood in my black Matsuda suit, dark glasses and all. I'm tired and a bit sad. Miss Piggy helped a lot yesterday when she shared some of her life with me. I was in the window of Elizabeth's talking to a woman from Scotland when in she walked: Miss Piggy, also from Scotland. I hadn't seen her since last year. She told me that she worked in a hatchery, where they worked with very sharp knives cutting up fresh fish that were untouched by pollution. They sent the roe directly home to the King and Queen. She worked there for ten years. Eighty-four and still putting one fJoot in front of the other. No sitting around any nursing home for her. She hops her bus--bad eyes and all--to stroll around the Benefit Street area which makes her feel like she's home in Scotland. Before leaving for Santa Fe, I felt part of a denial system lurking around me. Something was off, but I knew not what. When I returned from my trip, I discovered that there was something going on. The extent of the situation was revealed to me during a Unit Meeting when one member of the Unit got honest. This was the result of getting caught in a jackpot that involved months of using, even while in treatment. During a night that I was away, he frightened several people into thinking he might kill himself. I have encouraged honesty because I feel that this process, the one thing the Catholic Church preaches that relieves some of the heavy guilt they gave us in the first place, can help the person in a state of depression. I had anticipated what I would say, and I thought I'd steal a one-liner from my old friend, Jesus Christ: "Go now and sin no more." The heavy honesty relieved me too, I must say. I went about my business with a light heart, even asked the Unit member to have dinner with me that night. It had not been settled whether he would be asked to leave the house, or for that matter, if he still had a job. A meeting was called with the remaining members of the Unit to decide these questions. The following morning the meeting took place, but before it got underway, I realized that I felt angry and betrayed. When we did sit down for the purpose of problem-solving, I found I could not participate. For several years now, I had hoped this communication process would work. That morning, I felt I could no longer participate in this ritual. It wasn't working, and if something is not working, I had to try doing it differently. Never before had I dreamed I could remove myself from the situation. Sure, I left the house two years ago, but I never got out of the Lord's way long enough to let things resolve themselves. I never intended to sit down that morning to surrender to complete defeat, but then the words came out of my mouth: "I don't want to see either one of you for thirty days." And I meant it. My feelings were that one could not see what was happening with the other party even though it was right under his nose, because he himself was in so much denial. I am powerless over other people's denial, but for me to return to the game we have been into for years could result in my forgetting my own addiction. Seems no one likes my politics much anyway, so I'm going to try to please myself, then at least someone will be pleased. Recently I had a talk with my oldest son, to whom I'm afraid I gave hell for not giving me a little empathy, he was suggesting that I may have been on the pity pot. Later that day it came to me: when he was a small boy he gave me empathy on a daily basis even when he didn't know what the word meant. Empathy did not get his mother off the pity pot then, so he has changed his technique to trying to make her laugh instead. I must remember to thank him for his insights on human behavior.

Copyright; Ruth Mahoney