Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [73]
If Scrooge needed three ghosts to be brought to sanity, what did God have in mind for me?
“Carl called. Please call him back soon because those two words together are really tongue twisters,” said Cathryn as she unlocked the door to the empty office. “I thought you might want some privacy after yesterday. Jan filled me in.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“And, Leah, you can’t change the past, you can only change yourself.”
I punched in the number with the hope he may have decided not to answer, and I could just leave a message. Nope. Second ring.
The crux of the conversation was he wanted to visit that afternoon, but not unless I approved. I’d asked him if his parents were coming with him. Of course not.
“So, just for kicks—they thought I’d be at their party. What did you tell them was the reason I didn’t show up?”
“I told them the truth. That you were having a bad night, and you didn’t want to leave the center,” he said.
If truth can be counted in particles, then I’d say he’d told them not maybe “the” truth, but at least “a” truth. He said he couldn’t tell them during their party, and today they were exhausted after the party, but he promised he’d talk to them this week.
I hung up and related the story to Cathryn.
“I told him to call me after he’d told them, and we’d visit during the week. He didn’t sound too happy when he hung up. But since I’m not too happy with him …”
“How long are you going to hold on to that anger? Sounds like this might be a control issue. No truth, no visit. Is that it?”
“Shouldn’t it be?” I said. “He lied about why I’m here. That's not a big deal?”
“Sure it is,” she said. “But here's something I want you to process. Why does he have to tell them? He talked to your dad, which you’d asked him to do. Is there a reason you can’t tell his parents yourself?”
“They’re his parents, that's all. I just think they should hear it from him.”
“Then why didn’t you talk to your father? He's your parent. Did you call your brother?”
“No, Carl asked my dad to call Peter.”
“So, besides Carl, did you have to tell anyone else?”
“Well, no. There isn’t really anyone else.” I tapped my foot on the floor, crossed my arms, and stifled my irritation with this barrage of questions.
“Exactly. You wanted Carl to do what you weren’t willing to do. And now, since he didn’t do it the way you told him to, you’re angry.”
“I’m angry because he lied to them. He didn’t tell them the truth about why I’m here.” I couldn’t believe Cathryn wasn’t getting this.
“Does it matter? The why, I mean. What difference does it make in terms of your recovery? And if it makes a difference, then you can call them. It seems to me you’re holding Carl to a different standard.”
“Yes, and the standard is the truth. That's the standard I’m holding him to,” I hissed.
“If that works for you,” She patted my back. “I have to work on a few charts. Let me know if you need anything.”
Cathryn strolled to the office.
My indignation stepped up to the plate, but the pitcher disappeared. What team was I playing on?
Disappointed by Cathryn on Sunday, then ambushed by Matthew on Monday.
“Instead of group this week, you’re scheduled for another session with Ron.” He looked at the clock. “In fact, your session starts in ten minutes.”
“Am I being punished because I disagreed with Cathryn?”
Matthew cleared his throat and leaned forward on the counter so we were just about on eye level. “Punishment isn’t doled out here. Sick people who have enough courage to walk through those doors don’t need us to dole out punishment. They’ve done it enough to themselves. Maybe just trust that session is where you need to be. We don’t need to always understand something to accept it.”
Maybe I’ve been here long enough. The AA blahblahblah was getting tiresome. “Do you have a catchy little aphorism