Of Men and Trees

I've been laid low for five days. Today's day six and so far, it seems as if I may be able to get up and move around more comfortably. Yesterday sucked. The entire holiday weekend sucked. How lousy is that? You have your husband home for four whole days and you're both sick? Bleah.

On Monday, we were invited to his parents' home for Memorial Day celebrations; I had no intention of going anyway; being sick was just a convenient excuse. But I had decided long in advance that I was finished subjecting myself to the blank stares and uncomfortable silences from my father-in-law. So my husband and my son got ready to go as I lay in a ball on the bed in front of a movie.

You know, I really figured it was going to be ok. I thought *I* was ok. The thought I'd put into it over the past few weeks should have prepared me for being there alone while the rest of the family was somewhere else, celebrating. And ... I should know better. Of course I fell apart. I felt just as alone and segregated as I should be. Separated from family and the few loved ones I have, and alone. My choice. I kept reminding myself, it was my choice. But it was damned difficult, too, knowing that the reason that choice came to fruition was because a man couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the fact that someone in his family had mental health issues and insisted on taking his anger out on me.

So I cried. Curled up around a pillow and cried, imagining what was going on, "over there", and thought about just how many people I DON'T have in my life any more. Wondering how long it will be before I have less than that. Thought about what the table would look like that my mother-in-law had set, with flowers and flags and ALWAYS something special for everyone. Felt thoroughly miserable, but got over it by the time my husband and kid got home.

And when he got home, he brought with him a magazine from his father; National Geographic, which contains an article on soccer, and a pull-out on it. A small thing: an olive branch. I looked at it with suspicion, tossed it on the bed and said, "So?"

He sighed. "At least he's trying."

Is he? I wasn't so sure. Why, all of a sudden? Why the quick change? And am I supposed to just dive wholeheartedly into this turn of events?

I asked my therapist. He had an odd idea. He said much the same as my husband did: "He's trying. He's never had anyone in the family with a mental illness, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. Now he's trying to come to terms. Accept it. Rate the behaviour. Maybe right now he's a -50. The magazine, that takes him to a -40. Give him till December and see where his rating is then."

Well, yesterday he (my FIL) came by the house to drop off a plumeria tree that they had been promising us. It was just he and I. In all seriousness, I was too sick to be nervous or unhappy. I just talked to him like I always did, and he responded the way he always did. We got our tree situated, and he even, at one point, patted my back. It was sort of surreal.

Now I don't know what to think. I'm scared to just forget everything that happened because if I do, I open myself up to a world of hurt. On the other hand, he seems to be offering that olivebranch.

I have one evening to spend with them before they leave for the summer, coming up on Thursday night. It's my son's Award's Night for his graduation. Apparently he's getting something.

I'll let you know.