Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [115]
Melinda had read notes from Ron's sessions with me at Brookforest and wanted me to consider how some of my feelings about sex may have been seeded. “I know you love your mother. We’re not placing blame, but if we don’t say, ‘I see where this started,’ we pass on behaviors. Here's what I think you need to consider giving back to the past: How did you know when your mother was angry?”
“She wouldn’t talk much.”
“What if she was very angry?”
“She’d talk even less.”
“Would you say your parents had fights often?”
“No. In fact, only one that I can remember. She threw one of her shoes at him one night. It might have been a spiked heel. I don’t even know how it started.”
“Not showing anger can be a form of being angry for people who shove it all inside. Your mother may have grown up thinking anger is wrong. Maybe she was told to be nice on the outside, even though you may be seething inside. How much anger can one body hold? Not much, and it gets handled in some unhealthy ways … like addictions, like your mother's afternoon drinking.”
“Well, she must have stuffed more than anger. Can you stuff affection in there too?” I crossed my arms and hoped this would soon end.
“You already know the answer to that one. She had a difficult time expressing emotion, not feeling emotion. She emotionally detached, and I think that's what you’ve been afraid of as a mother yourself. You don’t want to emotionally detach from this baby because of Alyssa. Your mom did the best she could with what she had. You need to remember that. Because your mother's dead, you may never know what precipitated these behaviors for her. The good news is you don’t need to know to heal.”
Listening to Melinda, I began to see my mother not as her “mom” label but as a young woman like myself: hesitant, uncertain, a woman told to deny her feelings. I wanted her to know that I understood.
Mom didn’t give it back.
She never had the chance.
I’m your chance, Mom.
My cell phone rang just as I fastened my seat belt. I dug it out of my purse, flipped it open, and started the car. Carl called to tell me that he wouldn’t be home in a few days like we’d both expected.
“Another two weeks?”
“Unexpected delays. Had to rebid some of the jobs. Construction costs increased. We’re reviewing the building plans for the retail and office spaces. I thought I’d be able to make it home this weekend, but I don’t think I’d be able to leave until late Friday night. My Monday meeting starts at 7:30, so I’d need to leave home Sunday.” The fatigue in Carl's voice surprised me. I expected him to be energized in this effort to prove himself worthy of the business.
“Do you want me to drive there for a few days?”
Please say no. Please say no.
“I’d love for you to be here, but I’m so busy right now we’d barely see each other. Besides, you have your own stuff to do … your meetings, sessions …”
When I asked him if he wanted me to reschedule the appointment with Dr. Nolan next week where we’d, hopefully, find out if we should buy blue or pink, his response lapsed into an irritation I hadn’t heard for a while.
“When did we decide we wanted to know this?”
“I don’t think we talked about it specifically. It's just what happens next.”
“Well, do we have to do this? I thought we wanted to be surprised like we were for Alyssa.”
I hesitated.
The truth will set you free.
“Honestly, I didn’t press the issue then because you’re the one who didn’t want to know. Not me. If you don’t want to know the sex of this baby, Dr. Nolan and I won’t tell you.”
“Anything else you haven’t mentioned?”
“I made an appointment with a contractor. I had some ideas about expanding the nursery to make—”
“Why aren’t you talking to me about this before you go off and make plans?”
“Carl, it's an appointment to talk. I haven’t signed papers. I thought I needed to not wait until a month before the baby's due to make changes.”
“You seem to be doing a lot of thinking while I’m gone.”
“Yes,