Wednesday night, around midnight, Bear and I were dozing in the van. In the parking garage. At O'Hare.

Just before midnight, CD called. His plane, which had been idling on the tarmac for 90 minutes, was finally finally pullling up to a gate. A half an hour later, he was swinging out of the elevator. Grim Tired. Anxious.

He looked at me.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said.

The next morning, he came into our room. I was sleeping, truly sick now. I could hear Bear watching in TV in the den. It was quiet a long time.

"What do you want to do about Thanksgiving?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," I said, and rolled away from him into the pillows.

Thursday night, curled up on the couch with Bear. The kitchen smelled of the "Thanksgiving in a box" he'd bought at the grocery store. CD poked his head into the living room.

"Could you handle some food?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. And I got up to help make the gravy.

Friday morning, on the phone with my bookkeeper. My babysitter is a no-show, Bear is racing up and down the hallways. CD is at work. I've had to call him 3 times to get him to give me the numbers - he needs to rent a car for a week. This. That. It's playing havoc with the budget. My bookkeeper is gamely "making it fit". She's giving me choices.

But I am paralyzed. I can barely make sure my kid isn't licking electrical appliances.

"I don't know. I don't know what to do," I tell her quietly.

"No problems; let me put together a budget and just see if you agree with the choices I make."

Sunday afternoon, working on the holiday stuff in jammies in my office. The guys come in, CD trips over a pile of stuff on the floor. He tells me to put it away.

I remind him it is my office, the one place where I can keep rocks on the floor if I want to. I run a home from here. I run an international program from here. I have supported my family for 4 years from here. I blog from here. I organize the family finances from here. Here. My floor.

CD realizes that I am really not going to shrug it off. I rise up like a viper. He storms up the hall. He comes back. We patch together a peace.

Later a friend asks me. What am I going to do. I can feel the tides pulling me in different directions. I am conflicted. And hopeful. And sad.

I don't know.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:33 AM | Comments (13) | Add Comment
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In recent weeks, this site has turned into a vent for some of the hardest times my family has faced.

I want to thank you for responding in such a way that has powered me to get through the days. To do what must be done. To be sane where sanity is needed. To give love and comfort to Bear when I didn't even know I had any left. Your generousity has restored some of my faith. It is a wonderful surprise.

One of you had me in hysterics, comparing my life to a Country Song if only I had a truck (or a dog). Another made me tear up by offering to visit. Another reminded me not to make decisions in anger. The collective goodwill, hope, and honest comments have got me through yesterday and the day before and the...

But if there's an update wanted then I have nothing. Because nothing, esssentially, has changed.

I hang up the phone tonight, with the angry words still ringing in my ears. But of course we didn't mean them, we take them back. We'll sort it out, smooth it over. Of course we will. Of course.

And my bright spot, he's snoring in his bed. His forehead is only slightly warm. His hair sweaty, his nose finally a little less clogged. I slip into his room and tuck the blanket around him. Add water to the vaporizer. Look up at all the printouts taped to his wall - of all of us. How can we all look so young in pictures taken just a couple of years ago? Did we age so much overnight?

.....So John keeps daydreaming about this woman he has lost. Daydreams that they are still together and still in love.

One day, though, he goes into his daydream for the last time.

He imagines her and says: I'm not coming here anymore.
And not-real her asks: Why not?
And he answers: It doesn't change anything. And it makes me sad.

I know the feeling.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:36 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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1 I'm glad that Bear is getting better. One more thing to be grateful for, one less to worry about. Your strength is admirable, Elizabeth.

Posted by: Bond Girl at November 23, 2004 03:49 AM (8caiM)

2 I'm glad you are feeling the love from Internetland! That's wonderful. People do care -- and even if CD can't get over his problems -- there are good people out there Don't ever give up on that!! Hugs to you!

Posted by: Fredette at November 23, 2004 03:54 AM (QhI+Z)

3 I hope it works out for the best, whatever that turns out to be.

Posted by: Beth at November 23, 2004 04:55 AM (whvdZ)

4 Keep hanging in there. Take deep breaths. Just keep telling yourself: All will be well, and all will be well. Because it will. It really will, even if "well" isn't what you plan for it to be. Sending you prayers and good vibes...

Posted by: Psycho Kitty at November 23, 2004 07:14 AM (lRZ1W)

5 Hugs to you and Bear!! And fiddle dee dee to CD!

Posted by: Azalea at November 23, 2004 08:12 AM (hRxUm)

6 *holds out tissue* *lowers shoulder* *opens ears* *unwraps chocolate bar* *sigh* *pat pat*

Posted by: Genuine at November 23, 2004 08:59 AM (8A35f)

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I took this picture during our recent trip to Boston. There is nothing like New England in the fall.

I look at this picture and remember, Bear in the backseat and me driving the smooth roads. Pointing out maples and oaks and elms.

"It's pretty colors" Bear said.

"Yes, the leaves are gorgeous. I am so glad you and I are sharing this."

And he responded, in a little voice, "I miss Daddy." And my heart skipped a beat.

We've taught him this. That family is the three of us. And for as long as we live now, anything less will feel incomplete.

Last night, in the deep chasms of silence between CD and I on the phone, I felt like screaming. Screaming that we have to work this out. Have to. Because we are a family.

But I don't get to make decisions for CD. I don't get to direct his heart.

In the world where I grew up, my family was related or connected to everyone else. You know, my father and your father went to school together. My grandmother's sister was your aunt's best friend. My son, on visits out East, plays with a boy - and they represent the 4th generation of our families to befriend each other.

So you can imagine. In such a cloistered world. You keep what is private, private. Divorces would seemingly come out of nowhere, because "Gee? The Andersons? Really? Why, they were just at the Smith's Bridge party last weekend and weren't they laughing up a storm?"

Where I come from, you could accidentally amputate your leg at the knee and you'd STILL finish the round of cards before asking, ever so politely, for someone to please fetch an old dish towel before you bled out on the antique Persian rug? Stiff upper lip, old bean.

So I imagine the fact that I have brought the problems between CD and I into the open would unilaterally horrify everyone I know East of Niagra.

But it has helped, so much, not to try and play "happy shiny people" more than I have to. To be able to say that when Bear crawled into bed with me this morning and said, in his little voice, "I miss daddy" ... I cried. His sweaty hair and stuffy nose close to my chest. I held him tight and we burrowed under the down comforter.

And I told him (but meaning it in a different way....)"Me, too, honey. Me too."

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:52 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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As Mindy (of "The Mommy Blog" fame) put it so well in a recent DotMom post:

I find myself frantically groping for some solid and instructive point of reference. I need something that doesn't give when I ask it to support some of my weight.

I feel so fragile and alone. As I responded to an email (or two) today - I'm reacting by being curled up in a ball under my desk.

It's amazing and encouraging that so many people who have been through this too - and found ways to make it work. I can't begin to explain how much all the kindness you've shown me has helped.

Since a series of major events about four years ago, we have been stuggling between periods of improvement, even joy, and periods of pain. In the times of pain, such as now, CD pushes me away to this "parental pedestal".

And as so many of you suggested, yes - we are getting help. It's just not... well, helping.

He's still on his business trip. I'm still home with Bear. He and I need to make some major paradigm shifts and get back to being partners. Ultimately, the decision rests with CD. I am praying that his heart leads him to join me at the table - so we can stop fighting each other and start fighting for us.

This isn't about love. I have always loved him. This is about life.

So now I'm waiting. And, yes, spending a little too much time curled up in a ball under my desk. And praying. Praying a lot.

Tick. Tock.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 11:33 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Bear is acting out.

He's doing it because life around him is frayed and he's only 4. His communication mechanism for announcing emotions is to act them. One day, he will be able to sublimate the feelings into healthy creative ways (like eating an entire Sara Lee Black Forest Cake in one sitting). For now he makes do with stomping his feet and telling his babysitter that she's a doody-head for not letting him have his way.

*sigh*

Since I'm not sure that Bear notices what is going on with my job or my diet, I think he's reacting strongly to the fact that CD and I are not doing well. Because, you know, it's important that everything in my life share a communal moment of suckage.

CD's been treating me, more and more especially in the last 6 months, like I am HIS mother as well as Bear's.

And not in a nice way. In the crappy way that a teenager treats their mom.

Like I am somehow responsible for making sure his team shirt is clean on game days and remembering to hit the ATM so he can have money for hanging at the mall and hey, while I'm at it, make him dinner and then wash the dishes.

It's ok to forget you mom's birthday and then do some idiotic last-minute thing and expect that to make it all better. It's ok to drown her in the details of your day and then hang up without asking how she is.

I mean, it's NOT ok - but in a sense it's ok in that it happens. In a short time period of years. For a child. And their PARENT.

But not for a wife. So finally today I took a deep breath and drew a line in the sand.

Either he starts up the time machine and starts turning his behavior back into adult, equal, romping partnership that we had or else he needs to take his adolescent self out of the nest.

I'll keep you posted.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:35 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment
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This is an anniversary of sorts for me.

Just after my birthday in November, 1994, I donned my cassock for the last time.

It was a sevice led by Boston's Bishop Thomas Shaw. He was newly elevated to being a Bishop and I was newly back from Europe. Somehow I had been asked to assist in a Unity service he was going to lead.

Before the service, the Bishop made a point of finding me to shake my hand. I quickly tucked the last of my hair up in a bun as he held out his hand to me. "You worked with Bishop Griswold?" he asked, all egalitarian and earnest.

I nodded. We shook.

The courtesy address for a Bishop is "Your Grace" - the same as for a Duke or Duchess. But Frank Griswold is the only person I have ever called that. So with other Bishops I do that thing you do with prospective in-laws - wait to make eye contact and avoid any kind of reference at all.

"We're glad to have you with us here," Bishop Shaw said, very kindly. "I think I was told that you'd resigned from the Chicago Diocese, but you should come by the diocesan offices..."

"I think that it's my last service 'in uniform'," I interrupted, with a smile and sad eyes. I pointed to the pews with a lift of my jaw. "My mother is in the congregation..."

"Oh," he said, understanding my motivation. We continued with making smiley faces but we each pulled back into ourselves even as he let go of my hand. "The offer's open if ..."

And it was done.

The service went well. They used me as a glorified sign language interpreter. My part in assisting was given to a bright-eyed sycophant.

As a civilian, I still tried to make it work in Boston for another 3 months. Riding the salty ferry into the city every morning for an assortment of temp jobs. Combing through thrift shops for an office-worthy wardrobe. Fingering momentoes of my previous life and then tucking them back into my suitcase at the back of my mother's closet.

My brother had already moved back home, so I slept on the couch. Carefully putting away all the bedding every morning.

As the crocuses pushed up in the first taste of spring, 1995, I called my girlfriend Dee back in Chicago. "Help," I cried. "I want to come home."

The next day, I got up and left a note for my mother, and took my suitcase to the airport. My mother caught up with me there a few hours later. I used that true and old tired line "It isn't YOU; it's ME."

Dee was there when my plane landed. A week later I had a temp job at the TeleCo. 2 weeks after that, we moved me into the apartment building that would be my home for the next 6 years. 2 years later, I met CD and soon he moved in there with me.

On the 5th anniversary of this time, CD and I went downtown to look at all the shop displays. It was cold and there was a little bit of snow. CD and I had just reconciled after a hard time. We'd began couple's counseling and just returned from a mini-break up in Door County.

He carried our bundles. I held a paper cup of coffee. We made our way, in the dusk, over to Huron Street.

"This was home," I said. Althought there have been many more people who have spent much more of their lives in the Cathedral and Diocesan Offices than me. Still, for a time, this had been the center of my purpose in my life.

CD stood, somewhat impatiently, as I pointed out where my office had been and all the little landmarks. That was the little chapel where I had led services. That was the hall where I presided over Bingo.

And now 5 more years have passed. A decade since I was in black. And it still seems like if I just reach behind me, it is still there. Just. The last "Amen" ringing in my ears.

* "History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again." - Maya Angelou

Posted by: Elizabeth at 05:09 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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My birthday? Well, that sucked.

Picture CD asking me for present suggestions at 11AM on my birthday morning. No, he wasn't looking for GOOD suggestions (like a chunky sapphire and platinum ring or a vintage Jag) but BAD suggestions (like things he can get for under $10. At the grocery store. While picking up a gallon of milk with Bear in tow).

And when Bear whispered to him later that it was time to light candles on a cake and sing, CD looked at him blankly and said "no cake".

Those two words? Are EVIL.

Luckily? My girlfriends are the kind of women who came galloping in, like shimmering Valkyries in Hondas.

Off first for an outstanding manicure. We were laughing so hard in the spa's front window that an old man walking up the street in an old-fashioned camel hair coat and plaid hat stopped and looked in at us.

He waved. We waved back. He grinned. We grinned back. Before it got creepy, he took off. A few minutes later, he came back down the sidewalk. And older lady on his arm, her shopping in his other hand. He mimed an introduction, we smiled at them happily.

Then it was off for some fabulous authentic Itlalian food. With lots of cocktails. We twizzled our fingertips under the candlelight and said - look, how pretty our red nails look in this light.

It was a rotten day that improved with age. My girlfriends let me know that I am loved. They are the kind of women that will drive round-trip 6 hours and never let me feel the obligation for it.

The night finished with the new inane Bridget Jones movie. Because, well, Colin. And Hugh.

I slept in a comfy guest bed and in the morning there was homemade cafe mocha, with cinnamon sprinkles.

The best gift I got for my birthday this year? The friendship of my amazing girlfriends. Who are, in real life and in the blogisphere, some of the most amazing kick-ass strong beautiful women you could find.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:45 PM | Comments (18) | Add Comment
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