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Words I "spoke" on October 4, 2002
"If I�ve learned nothing else in the past year, I�ve learned that life is way too short, and far more fragile than we realize. It only takes a second for yours to change irrevocably. In the time it takes to put the pork chops in the oven, your husband can be dead. In the space between two heartbeats, your mother�s in a coma. The chance to say the things you haven�t said, do the things you haven�t gotten to�gone. You can�t get them back. You�re left with a big pile of �what if�s� and �if only�s� and they�re not easy bedfellows. "Your anger may be the most righteous anger in the world. The hurt you�re nursing may be the deepest hurt. The wrong committed against you the most egregious wrong. Find a way to get past it. Move on. Let it go.
"And above all, remember that your family is your family. You don�t get another one. You can�t choose a different one. Blood is blood. "
Funny that I should come across those today, reading back through my own archives. I do that occasionally--revisit where I've been in the past four years. I've been doing it a lot over the past couple days, as this past Saturday marked my FOUR YEAR ANNIVERSARY with Diaryland. I've changed a lot since I put down that first entry. Mostly for the better, I hope.
It's interesting how re-reading things gives you such different perspective. And also how sometimes your own words can kick you right in the teeth, even when they were about something totally different.
Next Thursday is Thanksgiving.
The original plan for the big day this year was a return to the trip away--Mom, Jim, Betsy, Amy, Lon, the Husband, Will and me in a condo or a house or somewhere other than here. We did this the first year we were married, and it worked out really well. Well enough that we all wanted to do it again. Or, at least, it appeared that we all wanted to do it again.
Mom and I started researching places months and months ago. We even invited my Aunt Ruthann and Uncle Bob, along with their son and his wife, to join us. Betsy piped up and said that she would look, too, since we were talking about going to the Cape and she is a real estate agent and all, and she knows all sorts of people and places down there. Great--let her do the work.
It appeared she was doing so. Then in late September, sitting down to celebrate Amy's birthday, she started the conversation. In the middle of dinner, around a table full of family and Amy's friends, she said, "Are you sure you're going to be able to afford to go away, with the wedding coming up and all?"
SHe sure knows how to make a room go silent. Because our financial situation isn't really table talk for Amy's birthday, we moved her away from the topic and left it alone. Afterwards, I mentioned to the Husband how inappropriate a comment it was. Not surprisingly, he hadn't noticed. But I digress...
A couple days went by, and then he brought it up again to me privately. "I was talking to Mom about Thanksgiving, and in light of the cost of the wedding, she doesn't think she or Dad or Amy are going to be able to afford to go away this year. They all really want to, but it just doesn't seem feasible money-wise." Disappointed but not seeing any other options, I then insisted that if we were sticking around, Thanksgiving needed to happen here. I didn't want to drag Will around.
Whatever. I was left with the task of telling my mother. My mother, who had already saved all the money for her part of the weekend.
Not surprisingly, she was pissed. And she said lousy things about Betsy, and she declared that she wasn't coming to Thanksgiving at all. I didn't take her very seriously--figured she was blowing off steam, and didn't mention it again for a while.
She wouldn't really go somewhere else for Thanksgiving. Right?
A month or so ago, it came up again. I had called Ruthann and invited them to come here, which she had happily accepted. I mentioned it to Mom, and we ended up in an unpleasant conversation, with her insisting that she wouldn't be here, and me saying that was ridiculous. She wasn't going to spend Thanksgiving without her family. She said she wouldn't stay if it meant spending the day with Betsy. "My house isn't done, and it won't be done by then, and I'm living in one lousy room of your house with doors I can't even close, and I have nowhere to escape to, and I would rather spend the day without you and Will than have to spend it with her!"
I still thought she was just being, as Carla put it, dramatic. There was no way.
I mentioned it again on Monday night. She wouldn't budge. I asked her what she would do instead. She mumbled some half-assed plans about visiting her friend Paula, whose two daughters live in NYC and are not nice to her and haven't invited her for Thanksgiving. Or she might go to Beverly (the place she told me she NEVER wants to visit again) if my cousin who lives there will sneak into the football game at halftime with her. Or she might go to my cousin Janet's to see my Uncle Bill, who has been sick and who she's worried about. Anywhere but here. Those were her words.
She doesn't understand why this is hard for me. "I'll be here in the morning, and I'll be here at night. I just won't be here for dinner. What's the big deal? It's not like I'm going to Wales!"
That would be easier. That would make me feel less abandoned. Then at least she'd have a good reason for being away. Then at least it would make a little sense. Then at least she wouldn't just be somewhere else for the purpose of NOT BEING HERE.
I know it's hard, her not having a house. I know she misses my grandparents. I know she misses David.
I miss my grandparents. I miss David. I told her that Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday, but that systematically, all the people who made it such a wonderful day have gone away. If she goes--that's it.
She said, "You have (the Husband). You have Will. They're your family. And so are Betsy and Jim and Amy and Lon. They're NOT my family."
Then she said, "It's just dinner, Jennifer. What's the big deal?"
What indeed. If it were just dinner, she wouldn't feel this way about it. And neither would I.
I'm trying to be a big person about this. To see her side. To not make her feel badly about it. But I can't.
And maybe, if I thought her being somewhere else would make her feel any better, I could do that. But all she's going to do is move her hurt and create a bigger hole here.
Yesterday, Ruthann called to tell me they aren't coming. Something about "the kids' schedules." I haven't returned her call yet. I don't trust myself to not cry.
So now, I'm making Thanksgiving dinner for the Husband's family. Jim, Betsy, Amy, Lon, the Husband, Will, and me.
I might as well have let Betsy cook. The turkey will be tasteless to me.
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