By Beverly D’Angelo

I am making dinner, everyone’s favorite, beef and cheese pie with a crescent roll crust. I don’t know why I don’t make it more often; it is easy enough. At least, since it is scarce, everyone is happy to have it.

The kitchen is warm from the oven. Guests are sipping wine, or cocktails as the case may be, and chatting casually. A couple of them get into a row about the upcoming presidential elections. Each not listening, but reiterating their own point louder with each repetition. Annoying, but I will insist they drop the argument when we sit down to dinner.

For now, there are appetizers and a charcuterie board where some of the women gather to discuss less contentious issues. That damn daycare. They might as well have a motto “give us your money, not your kids” proclaims one woman who swears she has not passed a single week without them sending one of her children home because of a cough. “Damn it, they are a daycare. Babies pass around these illnesses all the time. Mine got it somewhere. Did they send that kid home?”

Finally, we all sit and almost automatically, everyone lowers the tone and more fun and entertaining conversation flows. “Yes, Sid is going to be married in June. Her parents came around after disliking him at first. What’s not to like, he is financially stable, and a damn good-looking young man. I may not be humble about him, but he is totally self-effacing.”

“Yes, I was walking toward the pool, but looking at Jean while we talked. I walked straight into the deep end. I laughed so hard, it is a good thing I was in the pool, I think I may have peed myself.”

“Have you seen that show ‘Ghosts?’ I don’t think I have ever watched an episode without laughing out loud.”

It’s good to get away from the daily crush of obligations for a few hours with friends. Once a month, one of us will have dinner at their home and the others will bring sides or desserts, so no one is stuck with all of the prep work. 

As I finally sit down to lift and sip my own glass of wine, the phone rings. “Honey, could you grab that? My phone is on the kitchen counter.”

He does. I look to see what it is as his face becomes furrowed with a slight frown. “Ok. I’ll tell her.”

“That was Matt. Shelly had another seizure She is at Holy Family Hospital.”

The guests begin to demur, “Oh we can leave. You need to be there for Shelly.”

“No. This happens often. They will keep her in the ER for quite a while before they send her up to the floor. We won’t be able to see her until tomorrow. This makes about five times in the last four months. I just wish they could get the seizures under control. Every time she goes into the hospital, they change the medication, but it never seems to help.”

I don’t tell them nothing helps because she takes street drugs along with the medication she is prescribed. We have told the doctors, but addicts are addicts and doctors can only do so much.

I tell myself this is life. You don’t just raise your kids, you are responsible for them until you die.

We continue with a more subdued dinner for a while. Everyone perks up eventually and a good time is had by all.

When everyone leaves, I start clearing the table. Rob empties the dishwasher and starts loading it again.

Another phone call. Shelly this time. “Mom come and get me. I don’t want to be here.” 

I knew this was coming. She cries and I begin to fume. She is fifty-three and I spend more time taking care of her now than I did when she was a child. I keep my voice even and comforting. “Honey, they will send you home as soon as they make sure you are ok. It won’t happen tonight. They don’t do discharges at night, but I suspect you will be discharged in the morning.”

We go back and forth for several more minutes, then I say, “Good night, Shelly. I love you. Just relax and have a good sleep.”

When I get off the phone, I am aware of that cold dark place in my gut. I kind of picture it like a lava rock, but instead of being formed by a violent and angry volcano, it has the potential to erupt, blazingly, destructively, despite all of the padding I pour over it, “She can’t help it. I just want a day to myself. With all of the energy I put into Shelly, I am so tired and can’t enjoy the grandchildren and give them the attention they deserve. I have been trying to make cookies with Gin and Leah for at least a month. When I finally do, I am so tired I can’t enjoy it.

I go to bed and lie awake for a couple of hours before I finally take myself to the couch. I remember being told, “Go to your room and don’t come out until you have a smile on your face. If you are not happy, no one wants to know it.” My mother was so cold and uncaring. But I learned well. 

I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Until that stone inside of me starts to burn. I wish I could go get in the car and drive away and just keep on driving. The anger has no place to go and there will be more piled on tomorrow.

Eventually, I fall asleep. When I wake the next morning, I hope this day can be just me and Rob. We are retired. We can spend the day together. Maybe we can drive to the beach for a walk then go get dinner someplace nice.

And the phone rings.

                                                                    *   *   *

Beverly D’Angelo was born and raised in New Hampshire where she currently resides with her husband. She is a mother of three, grandmother of six, and great-grandmother of one. She enjoys spending time with her family, reading, writing and quilting. She and her husband are avid travelers.