What Can I Do to Bring on the Apocalypse? Just Have Dinner

This has been one of those weeks that I felt like the apocalypse was just around the corner. It was a perfect storm. Mental exhaustion, physical duties and outside stress all came together to make this truly a holiday week from hell.

Monday I was feeling good. I thought this will be great. I was scheduled to work only till 3:00 on Friday and then I would be off till the following Tuesday. All I had to do was make it till then and then I could spend some time away from pressure and stress, or so I thought.

Tuesday was uneventful. I went to work and came home. I was excited I was loosing weight. (lost another 3lbs since I last checked.) I was feeling good and stopped on my way home for dinner at Bob Evans. I have now taken the habit of bringing in a magazine or book to read while eating alone. It makes me at least feel less self-conscious. I always feel that people look down on others that eat alone. I guess it makes people think you have a purpose and you’re just not sad and lonely.

Wednesday I was at work. About half way though the day I got a call from my Mom. She had some routine tests done and they came back not so good. She evidently has colon cancer and needs to have part of it removed. She was hysterical and crying. She had already given up and was convinced that she was going to die. (I’m sure that we have some New York Jewish mother in our background) I tried to calmly explain to her that it would be alright. That it was just a little spot and that with a positive attitude it would all be ok. Needless to say I took the rest of the day off. Me and my brother went to see her. I bought dinner for everyone and took it over so she wouldn’t feel like she had to feed us. It’s deeply rooted inside all of us - when tragedy hits, feed them. Always medicate with food.

Thursday I got a call from my ex wife. She told me that my son had gotten into some kind of wrestling match with his friends and broke his new glasses. So there was another 82.92 for glasses. This was the 3rd time this year that he’s had new ones. I told him that he had to help me around the house this weekend to help pay them off. Needless to say, he cried about that. It must be hell to be 7 and asked to pick up sticks in the yard.

Friday came and I was really looking forward to getting off early and going to relax. After work I went to pick up my son who was staying till Monday night because of the holiday. We met my Mom and the rest of the gang for dinner that night. Everyone was focused on my son so that we could ignore the pink elephant in the room and not talk about Mom’s new cancer. My step-father just kept pushing his food around and looking down. It was a sign of what to expect the rest of the weekend. This was not looking good.

Saturday I thought I would go out and clean the yard up for the party that I had planned for Sunday. We have 4 acres of land that is landscaped. The previous owners were master gardeners and the place looks like it. I went out to the barn to get on the riding mower and found that it wouldn’t start. It’s only a year and half old. I tested the battery and its fine. So I called Sears and they can’t come out till the 30th of the month to fix it. So I push mowed the whole yard, trimmed and weeded everything. It took most of the day and I was beat afterwards.

Sunday dawned with new hope that was just begging to be smacked down. The bright spot of the day was over in a flash. I got a call from my soldier for the first time all week. I was so excited I went outside so that I could hear him better. (My son was playing his video games) I ran outside and sat on the porch so I could soak in every word. I didn’t want to miss anything. We talked about how he was doing and about me and mom. He talked to me for a while and before it had begun it was over. It was like really good sex. Bad sex never seems to end.

I had invited my Mom and her family over for dinner for the holiday and my step-fathers birthday. I spent the entire day getting ready for it. I started out making the biscuits for the berries and cream dessert I had planned. So of course I burned them black. When I went to make another batch I realized I had ran out of flour, so we got in the car and went to get some more. I was planning 2 whole chickens and about a dozen extra legs. I baked it all in this orange, ginger and soy sauce and they looked absolutely fabulous. I made Texas rice and beautiful organic salad and fresh dressing. When everyone got there it was pretty quiet. My mom comes over to me and makes me cook my step father a hot dog for dinner. (This deeply hurt my gay pride - a hot dog for dinner) It turns out that he won’t eat chicken when it’s still on the bone. I asked her if he really knew where it all came from. So there I was frying hot dogs 5 minutes before we were supposed to eat. I think that was where I knew that this party was spiraling out of control.

Now I have to say, that my Mom’s family have never been one to make great dinner parties. I love them dearly, but none of them are conversationalist. I have found that I have to invite at least 2 “talkers” to a party to get them out of their shell. This was a little like one of those plays where the actors speak very little and body actions and set design are what’s supposed to tell the story. Very avant-garde, but still kinda depressing. As we sat down I wished I would have had a drink right then. Everyone looked pale. People were pushing the food around their plates and not talking.

As dinner was winding down I started to make faces at my brother who was sitting looking at his plate. I got up and started to clear off the dirty dishes and bring in the dessert. Sugar always makes me happy, so I thought this would at least perk my attitude up. After that and it was just me and mom and brother sitting around the table I asked her why is it that every time we eat as a family we don't talk? She just started to cry and told me “I’ve failed again” (did I mention the Jewish thing?) I just sat there stunned and needless to say it never got better after that. Evidently that little comment made her cry the whole way home.

On Monday I was at my dads for a cookout. It was nice and everyone was loud and noisy. It’s so weird to think that my parents were married to each other sometimes. My dad is loud and outgoing and my Mom is quiet, shy and reserved. They seem to have such little in common. I felt like a third wheel the entire time. Most everyone there was with their spouse and they all kept talking about mine the entire time. It made me really miss him more. After the party I took my son home and that’s when Mom called me. She was crying again. Evidently that conversation we had a few days before about a positive attitude didn’t stick. She told me that she didn’t want to hurt anyone with false hope. She wanted to be a realist. What she forgot was that being a realist is taking your hope that you will be fine into your own hands. By being a “realist” she was condemning herself to a life of fear and depression. I told her lets say the doctors tell you that you have 12 months to live. You can take that 12 months and make it good for you and everyone else or they can be bad months while you are only focused on the end. By being positive she could actually improve her health and by doing that add time to what she has. (At this point we have every hope and belief that she will beat this. Again did I mention that Jewish Mother thing?) After that call she called me back and told me thanks for the talk and she feels like a burden was lifted off her shoulders.

I came home locked the door and took a sleeping pill to knock myself out. Thank God that week was over.