Visit Day 4

Hubs started yesterday morning with a money text from YS. I have been plying my "Ears Open Mouth Shut" mantra through the recent rounds of what I am still calling, "The Identified Patient Syndrome." Yes, I see it is a repetitious cycle the family rides together, but each of us have our own view and interpretation of the cycle. ^It^ remains a highly volatile topic of conversation. The brutal tit-for-tat skirmishes which result from any attempts to discuss ^it^ are, possibly, the most well-defined part of the cycle. Even the busiest and least available of neighbors notice that part of the cycle. I am utterly convinced that any of us have matching definitions of ^it^ by the time we reach the "letting ^it^ go" portion of the cycle.

Hubs triggered pretty visciously over the text. After he finished his venting, I risked bringing up the times I have received such texts and all the yaddah blahs attached. Begin tit-for-tat skirmish. My pain is bigger than your pain. My version is smarter than your version. My right is righter than your right. Etcetera, etceteri through the halls of invalid comparison.

We managed to get the ugly dialog out the door for a driving tour of the four rivers (Ohio, Tennessee, Cumberland and Clark) which give this region its "Four Rivers" moniker. The tit-for-tat skirmish was still brutal, but I still believe (prayers ongoing) it was honest progress in the dialog. We spent more time discussing the validity of the comparisons than expostulating over what makes my sacrifice bigger than your sacrifice.

The tones were civil, with subtle overtones of compassion as we shared the sandwiches we had picked up on our way back from our driving tour in the mid-afternoon. Hubs vacuumed his sandwich while I picked at mine. Eating while stressed remains somewhere between difficult and impossible for me. Hubs comfort eats under stress. Still, it was emotionally exhausting. I fell into another of my semi-comotose slumbers. It was a restful sleep and the house has been peaceful since I woke around 2 a.m. Or am I treating Denial like a river in North Africa again? I do love my rivers. . .

Time for guit-chi. In recent mornings, the blockage seems to be moving, at last. The winds, rhythms, tones and recall are choppy and uneven, but flowing. Hubs may be on the verge of understanding that my guit-chi isnae the performing art that goes down at jam sessions. Maybe. I am still looking for the words for ^it^, myself. I have been since music therapy came to rely on recorded music more than musical instruments.