The Peacemaker

A few weeks ago I went to E & L's wedding. And it was a beautiful wedding. But it was a hard weekend. I knew it would be, but it wasn't the way I anticipated.

It wasn't because riding in car for two days with a broken back was hard. I mean, it was excruciating, but I expected that.

It wasn't because it was hard to watch my cousin, who is eight years younger, get married before me. Surprisingly, I didn't even feel the tiniest twinge of jealousy.

It wasn't because my sister-in-law was unpredictable. She was, but this time that turned out to be a GOOD thing.

No, what made it hard was something I should have remembered from a great many childhood road trips: my parents always fight on vacation.

Back in July when it was clear I couldn't make this trip on my own, I was weighing my options. I could ride with my brother and sister-in-law, or I could ride with my parents. Both had logical advantages and disadvantages. With mom and dad, I'd have to drive to their house by myself first, but I could take less time off work. With M & C, they could pick me up on the way, but they would be on the road longer. Also, being so close to their 12th anniversary, they would probably want some time to themselves, though they would never admit it to me.

Logic aside, I went with total selfish reasons: the worst thing, I thought, about traveling with mom and dad would be dad's snoring. And I was on serious medication for the back pain, so that would be no big deal. M snores as well, but it was more C's erratic moods that I was afraid of. I can't handle too much emotional stress.

I'm an avoider. I hate confrontation of any kind. I'd rather walk away and wait for someone to forget why they are mad then to talk them down. I want everyone around me to be happy and comfortable, even if that means I'm not. Because a little discomfort is so much better than dealing with messy emotions.

Well, as this particular event was happening on my mom's side of the family, I knew there would be some discomfort. My dad hates weddings (as do I, but that's another post for another time). He also hates family get-togethers, especially on mom's side. Which I've never understood, because he seems to like everyone just fine. My mom cleared that little mystery up for me. See, my mom's family is close. Very close. We spend every holiday together, and we get together in between, just because. My dad's family isn't quite so close. His parents... well, that's a whole can of worms. Let me just say that dad isn't close to his family, and envies my mom for how close she is to hers.

I can't explain when everything went haywire. My dad used me as an excuse to escape all weekend -- "You need to go lie down. I'll take you back to the hotel." Things finally blew up on Sat afternoon, the day before the wedding. My brother and his wife and my mom went site-seeing, and my dad and I went driving. Neither knew what the other was up to. And it caused major friction the rest of the trip.

I spent the painfully quiet rides with my parents trying to talk myself out of feeling guilty. I'm not responsible for how they behave. I can't fix this, it's between the two of them. This emotional stress is not good for my healing.

Despite the beautiful wedding and the wonderful time I had, by Sunday evening I was fighting tears. I hate to see my parents fight, I hate that they hurt each other, I hate that my brother was so worried about me, and honestly? I was in serious pain. All either of them saw was their anger at each other. And the few tears I couldn't hold back? That was because I had overdone it. When my dad finally said, "You probably shouldn't have come" I couldn't have agreed with him more.

The next two days I spent watching Eli Stone on my ipod and pretending to sleep. Because that's how I deal with mom and dad not getting along. I'm a 30-year-old woman who hides because she hates dealing with things. So mature, I know.

I'm glad to be home. In MY house, where I control things. And I don't feel like I have to solve everyone's problems. Because, whether they know it or not, that's the responsibility my family has given me.

Tomorrow never comes

I'm a procrastinator. Apparently I'm really good at it. I've been avoiding lots of things -- reading, writing, blogging, getting in touch with old friends -- until I had more time. For the last 6 weeks I have had absolutley no excuse. I have nothing but time, flat on my back, to tell you the truth.

There is more to me than being shy and lovelorn. Alot more. I'm intelligent and funny and I truly care about people and want nothing more than for everyone around me to be happy.

I'm also terribly accident-prone.

This is different than being just plain clumsy. I'm clumsy as well as accident-prone, but the accidents that find me are the ones that do all the damage.

When I was a kid, I fell off our side porch. I was pretending the edge of it was a balance beam and... well... I missed. If I were a guy, odds are I wouldn't be able to have children.

On a high school field trip I got knocked upside the head by a kid who was goofing off the bus. Concussion.

In college, I was in Europe for the first time and managed to break my foot. Pressure fracture from too much walking.

In the space of eight months, I broke my left arm twice. The first time, I'm still not sure how it happened. The best solution I can come up with is that I rolled on it in my sleep. All I know is it started to ache and swell and after a few days I thought, Maybe I should go to the doctor... The second time was less of a mystery. I tripped on a board with wheels (not a skateboard) and caught myself with the arm that has previously been broken.

But this summer is the mother of all accidents. I was sitting in a boat and broke my back. All I was doing was sitting there, and in a split second, my summer went from packed with awesome activities to three months of a crappy back brace, lots of bedrest and prayers that I don't have to eventually have surgery.

I've learned a couple of things about myself with my various accidents over the years. First of all, I'm stronger than I ever thought I could be. When I broke my foot, I didn't know for over a week. I climbed a mountian. I was in Europe, for Pete's sake, I wasn't about to sit in my hotel room and whine about my suspiciously swollen foot. The moment the boat accident happened, I was in probably the worst pain of my life, but my first thought was, I just ruined our whole day! How can they ever forgive me? (I was with my aunt, uncle, cousin and his fiancee.) I didn't cry, throw up or pass out. In restrospect, passing out might not have been that bad.

Second, I have a rather high pain tolerance. I know some men (*cough* my father *cough*) who whine more about a head cold than I do about having a broken back. I have been subjected to plenty of painful tests over the years and have managed to survive them all without screaming, fainting, crying, or whining. I think you just deal with what you have to deal with, and that's it. Whining and crying doesn't help. Don't know about fainting....

Basically, you have to deal with what you have to deal with, and I don't know if anyone knows how strong they are until they have to deal with something that actually tests that strength.

Wow. I just wrote a whole blog post. Yay me! Now, to keep this up....