Just Me

Jacob, at twelve years old, is much more mature than I am, and a much better person.  Why, you ask?  This:

We did a little school clothes shopping a Saturday or two ago.  I promised him a quick pit stop, followed by lunch at one of his favorite spots, and a movie after that.  All his personal shopping skills gleaned from years of trooping along with the two females in his life, mom and sister, have gone by the wayside.  He is now the typical impatient male who has no interest in comparing fabrics or stitching, and shops only because an important woman in his life has some type of power over him.  I miss the little guy who would point out how intricate the thread detail was and debate footwear.

Our business done in ten minutes or so, we approached the counter to pay, Jacob's face relieved and victorious.  I've gotten much better about small talk with people, and listened as the saleslady told me how busy they'd been, how her son is in his first year of college, and how woefully empty her nest felt.  I nodded, and smiled a tight-lipped little grin, thinking she may never know what a truly empty nest feels like.  She turned to Jake, asking after his grade this year, was he ready to go back, and the like, before turning back to me, "But you must know what I mean, you have an older one.  Is she in college now?"

No.  She's not.  She's not in college.  She's dead.

So there's that awkward pause, in which I have to decide whether to take the smile off the kind lady's face or just go along with the banter and walk away.  In that handful of seconds, unbeknownst to the other person, a handful of images- some real and some imagined- play across my mind:  Cory in the cap and gown that never existed, Cory sitting at the dining room table with a litter of books and papers- juicebox and cookies at the ready, Cory grabbing an imaginary tote, imaginary car keys in hand- rushing to get to an imaginary class...somewhere.  Living.  Alive. 

 The pain of having a child leave for college is no doubt real, but God, why couldn't that be my pain?  What did I do so wrong to be punished this way while so many others just float right along?  Why can't that empty nest be mine?

It sours my stomach  It hardens my heart.  It makes my words harsh and narrows my perspective to one:  mine.

The jealousy just slips in, and takes over the world.  Not even realizing I was speaking aloud, I ranted in the parking lot, "Yeah...sure, she misses her son cause he's off to college!!  Give me a break!  She can call him and hear his voice.   She will see his face again because chances are no one is going to run him over on the street."  Oh, the anger turns me into a completely different person.  Put a baseball bat in my hands during one of these tirades, and there's no telling what would happen.

Jacob touched my arm so gently.  "I'm sure it's still hard for her, though.  You know, she said she had to work so many hours when he was little that she barely saw him.  She probably feels like she missed out on his childhood.  It's not as hard as us missing Cory like we do, but she did look really sad."

And there you have it.  Jacob could take himself out of the equation, and look at things from someone else's perspective.

 Most times, I cannot.  I remain mired in this wretched living nightmare, and have very little sympathy for those who take the world for granted.

I used to be a nice person.  Now I'm just me.