an innocent question

“Why didn’t you say something?”

My oldest younger brother asks me this as we sit at his patio table, eating and enjoying a spectacular New England day.

It would seem he’s forgotten that for the majority of my youngest son’s life, until 2 years ago, he, his wife and their whole family, had disowned me.  Our mother’s death had brought us back together, but until then, there’d been zero contact in nearly 5 years.

The abuse had been going on much longer than that, but had gotten truly out of hand almost 5 years ago.  That’s when he took off the mask he’d been wearing that portrayed him as a loving, caring partner, father.  That’s when the cheating, lying, ego maniacal control freak stopped pretending.  That’s when he declared that he was done living “for other people” and was only going to do what felt good for him.

What would I have said, if I could have?

“Help, he’s being a jerk.”

“Help, he’s being selfish.”

“Help, he’s cheating on me but I can’t prove it.”

“Help, he’s cheating on me and I can prove it.”

“Help, he’s mistreating the kids, and I can’t make it stop because it’s so covert.”

“Help, he’s trying to make me lose my mind.”

“Help, this is not the person I once knew and had spent 14 years with.”

“Help I hate my life and what I’ve become.”

“Help, I’ve thought about just ending it all to escape the pain.”

What is the politically correct way to say “THIS ASSHOLE HAS BROKEN ME”?


Note:  I originally wrote this shortly after returning from a trip to Rhode Island and visiting my family.  I’ve not published it for who knows what reasons, but now I am.  If my family reads it, please do not be upset with me.


The sheer amount of energy it takes to be HATED by someone is staggering. It consumes you. It’s what you think about when you wake up. It’s what is in the back of your mind when you’re washing dishes or cooking dinner. It’s forefront in your mind when you’re reading another diatribe. It pervades your sleep, teasing your mind into complying with its games even when you’re trying your hardest to forget and just … JUST rest.


The sense of betrayal is always there as well. Everything you do – EVERY SINGLE THING – is something you did before, when you were loved – or thought you were. When you trusted, and were trusted – or thought you were. When you were partnered with this person who you thought had your back. Would defend you through thick and thin. Would LOVE. YOU. Only you. ALL of you. Or so you thought.


People tell you “It’ll get better. This is for the best.” But it doesn’t feel like it ever will get better. It’s almost like telling someone with cancer – a disgusting disease that is eating at your very soul – “it’ll get better”. It will never be the same kind of “better”. Of course, some day, the day might come when every thought, every feeling, isn’t doused in a healthy dose of regret and hurt. That day may come when the first thing I think about when I wake up isn’t “ok, what’s he gonna pull today?”. But I have a feeling that that day is a long way off.



I wrote before about time flying by.  I remember when this tiny bundle was finally brought to me, after what felt like FOREVER.  He was perfect. He was healthy, despite the fears to the contrary that sent us into the o.r.  Now, technically he’s a man. He’s old enough to go fight for our country, gamble, and whatever else is new for an 18 year old.  He graduates high school in 13 days and will go to college in the fall.  But I still see him as that baby, being cradled in my grandmother’s arms (from this post) and it’s so hard to accept that he doesn’t need mama anymore.



Whenever my kids have wished something BAD would happen to someone, I’ve scolded them.  Don’t DO that – karma’s a bitch.  But that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the last 6 weeks.  I’ve been wishing that the bitch who is now living in my house, sleeping in my bed, using my things that I’d accumulated as a normal part of running a household – would self-combust.  Well, that’s putting it mildly.  But yes, I’ve been wishing bad things would happen to her because she is the catalyst for all of this SHIT that we were thrown into.  I’ve asked the question over and over:  what kind of person is she to have moved IN to this situation? I realize he probably made her all sorts of promises, but as someone who has spent damned near the last 20 years with him can attest, his promises are shit.  Unless it has something to do with him and his own wants, his promises don’t mean anything.  He can throw money at things, but only to suit his own purpose.

I’m sure he “rescued” her from some shit situation. I’m sure she is thankful in ways that I never EVER want to imagine.  But what kind of a woman – mother – GRANDmother – moves in to this situation?

So my wish for her? That karma kicks her square in the teeth.




One of the neat things about this house is that all of the windowsills are fashioned out of what appears to be marble.  They are thick slabs of marble that you know will support whatever you put on them.

On the sill in the kitchen, the first thing I did was place a photo of my mom hugging her mom, who is cradling my first-born.  My grandmother (Nana) hopefully did not realize that mom was also supporting the baby, because we weren’t sure that Nana really had him – she’d been showing signs of dementia – so mom has one hand on nana’s shoulder, and the other one is supporting Nana’s other arm, which is supporting the baby.  It’s all done out of love, of course.  Each morning, I sit at my table and drink my coffee with mom and Nana as they sit perched on the marble windowsill.