When Brian was still very young and his father would take off on yet another one of his endless business trips, he would rub his little stomach and inform me he was too sick to attend school. It got to be such a pattern--Martin would leave in a taxi for the airport, Brian would immediately 'come down with something'--that finally it was Brian who gave a name to what he needed.
"Is it time for a 'mental help day' honey?" I would ask my son.
He had once overhead the expression mental health day. Being a little guy, he created his own version of the phrase which truth be told, was closer to the heart of the matter.
Right now, a 'mental help' week, month, year, or just forever is what I desperately need.
Yesterday, as well as most of today, I spent staring at a wall. Even potato chips provided no comfort. Life is truly overwhelming when sodium can't calm me down. The wine didn't help either, especially when Julie could hear me washing it down over the phone.
"Are you drinking already Joelly? It's barely 11 o'clock. I'm worried about you cousin," she said when we spoke this morning.
"Water, Julie, it is water, I swear," I lied, like a true addict. I may not be addicted to booze--yet--but certainly to ennui.
I'm utterly exhausted from holding so many conflicting emotions in my heart. Happy for my daughter; distressed about her future father-in-law-to-be; happy about the young man she has chosen; apoplectic about planning a wedding with Deborah's old man.
And of course, the constant rejection for anything that might remotely revive, or even begin, a career in international development hasn't helped my own mental health.
Did I actually believe at one time in my life that I would set the world on fire? Save it? Help people? Must women of a certain age think they are not or have not lived up to their potential when really, it's all a crock of bullshit anyway?
But oh, to be young and hopeful again.
Deborah practically gives me the evil eye now when I bring up the subject of weddings. She has her own angst to deal with. Like any bride-to-be these days, she is already stressed about hurting people's feelings if this one isn't invited, that one isn't made a bridesmaid, indeed if there is no wedding at all because her father won't pay for one! (A thought I admit has crossed my mind too.)
She has not even told her father yet, but she texted her brother. Will Brian spill the beans? Deborah made him swear to an embargo on the news until together, she and I could figure out how to handle her father.
As an escape plan (for both mother and daughter), I have already none-too-diplomatically suggested to Sean and Deborah that elopements are in vogue again. But other than running off to Las Vegas and having an Elvis impersonator marry them, I'm not being helpful.
The longer I sit and just mope, the more unfair the situation will become for Deborah. This is supposed to be a happy time of her life.
So I finally roused myself, threw away the chips (and yes, the cheap box of white wine) and took a decision on what to do next.
I will call Edna.
When life gets to be too much, who better to help you than your ex-mother-in-law?
absolutely!!!
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