Looking at my son’s face over lunch in the city with Samuel at my side, I am feeling my age. His face is no longer young, more tired. Yet he is passionate about his work, family, and life. Both sons are.
Time moves on, days go by. My eyes mist at so many lost due to anxiety ruling the moments, dissociating from my body to escape pain. No comfort found in either place. No one, no place felt safe.
Pleasure is absorbed now, being in the now, not getting tangled in little things, except when I do; Samuel adds a three dollar tip to the cashier after lunch, a self-serve place.
“Are you crazy?” I said, looking at the receipt when we returned home.
“It came up on the receipt, so I added a tip, and they are service people” he said, then after a thoughtful pause, “It was a lot though.”
“We go to the counter, get our own drinks, and do everything ourselves,” I said, adding, “If it came up can I have all your bank account, would you give that?”
Exasperated, immediately my body went into overdrive thinking of every little thing he already does to annoy me, knowing at the same time that this has been my way of life, not liking, not trusting, not letting go…wanting to stop it, but stuck with being me.
Usually 5 PM is a time I am too tired to walk, but was drawn out to the meadow as the last of the sun’s rays dappled the mix of colors with gold like a kiss goodnight. Lap after lap calmed me, sitting by the creek after the last lap until the sun began to set behind the clouds.
All this man does and you’re going to be mad about a 3 dollar tip? (The place Shane chose was already way over-priced for soup and salad- I could feed an office building full of people for what we paid, and by the way, no one tipped me when I was a cashier)
When coming back inside I felt more myself. I become so easily crazed over nothing. But there is often more behind it; like his driving the entire way to the city in the passing lane blocking us between the guardrail and traffic with no way out. The feeling of pressure in my gut over-rode the enjoyment of fall foliage.
How many times have I told him how that makes me feel? He means no harm. That message in my head is an improvement from the years of rage towards him when feeling discounted or not thought of.
He means no harm, yet he also does not take into account how hard this aspect of my life is. PTSD, and the ramifications. Instead of patiently teaching him about it, I’d not talk.
This day was no different, though short-lived. The walk out in nature cured me. I was able to return to cordiality.
It is expected that we will both annoy each other at times. Taking time alone, soothing what feels ragged, helps to reclaim the person I can and want to be, finding gratitude and peace once again.