Holiday Fun Begins

Yesterday, as the FIRST of the two twenty pound turkeys was cooking, and I was doing some last minute cleaning and rearranging, I was fairly certain that I wasn't going to make it this year. I wasn't concerned about the preparations. I've been hostessing the BIG family Thanksgiving celebration since we moved to this home twelve years ago. I was bothered, and a little surprised, by my emotional state. If I would have had the time, I think I may have indulged in a good pity cry.

Things have been hitting me sideways, with melancholy thoughts of O.S. and D.I.L.ly. As I readied the Christmas Tree in our Library, a heaviness began settling on my heart. I top this tree with a wooden star that O.S. created one Christmas time about 10 years ago. I had been grumbling about not having an appropriate tree topper. I'd tried bows, angels, lighted aluminum stars, but nothing ever worked to MY satisfaction. O.S. disappeared into our shop, and emerged later with the gift. It's a wonderful thing. It's five points are perfect. The shaft is hand tooled and fits perfectly over the highest artificial branch. O.S. stained it a distressed gold. I keep it out all year long. It perches on a bookshelf until called into service as the crowning glory on the most traditional evergreen.

Since I notice it often, and admire it regularly, I was startled by the sadness that griped by heart as I placed it this year. I never, never think of O.S. apart from D.I.L.ly. They have been friends and then more for most of the years of their youth and young adulthood. I know that to be without her would injure my son in all the ways that could never be made well again. And yet, unbidden, the fantasy came with crystal clarity. I am adept at turning my mind from unpleasant thoughts and inappropriate, harmful ruminations, but this one ran it's course. O.S. came home alone, and broken, but not destroyed...and I felt happy.

I saw him as he always was. Sad but intact. I saw his melancholy smile, I felt his hug, mine matched the tears in his eyes. A wash of HOPE poured over me. And I've been undone ever since. I'm ashamed that I value my joy over D.I.L.ly's, although I despair that love is beyond her understanding. I'm wary of feeling an emotion for a scenario that I'd never imagined before, let alone entertained. A scenario that I'm convinced will never play out. And yet, this is the one, above all others that I long for.

I don't wish D.I.L.ly ill. She's deeply troubled, damaged in a fundamental, unreachable area of her mind and heart. If anyone can reach her, save her, it is O.S. A large portion of my motivation in separating from, and distancing myself was to protect O.S. from ever having to choose between his wife and his mother. Tall One and I worked to instill the importance of connubial commitment. We value that attribute, and have striven to exemplify it in our own marriage.

So, I am sad. Sad to know that hope has been stirred. Sad to realize I'm not the realist I strive to be, but more the emotional, needy sot that I've expected all along.

And, today, Happy Thanksgiving, will bring challenges I'm not up to. I've no more strength to comfort or cajole. I wonder about my resources to remain civil. My sister-in-law, I imagine is facing similar trials. Her son, my favorite nephew, was arrested for an offense that we wish was drug related, it's that much worse. And, actually, the thoughts of her difficulties, her dilemma in dealing with family en mass, is the only calming, strengthen, motivating factor in my involuntary resolve to stay and not flee to a little known tropical island and begin drowning all memories in copious amounts of adult beverages.

So, my goals for this most festive of holiday seasons will be:
1). To not offend my mother's limited emotional resources. I WILL NOT tell her to "fuck off"...no matter how many times I have to stifle the impulse. It's like a poison ivy itch...It would only feel good for a moment, and then I risk infection.
2). Not to alienate further, my already emotionally stunted mother-in-law. It's not her fault. She tries her best. She's just hopelessly mired in her desire to present a socially pleasing fiction. I will stifle my overwhelming urge to yell, "get a clue"! It's too late, she wouldn't understand. There would be no satisfaction. I'd look like a lunatic.
3). To concentrate on the good stuff, the fine things, the circumstances that will buoy my dwindling reserves...and when I start to "count my blessings", I am encouraged. I CAN do this. I WILL survive...

Happy fucking Thanksgiving...I'm eating two desserts....