We made these promises
    You made these promises

Enough with the fakeness. The false cheer, the air of 'things are getting better'.

You've missed the point. Hell, I missed the point. Jake got the point before anyone else and he has this way of...I don't know, of making the most of a temporary anything. He lives life. He wants for so much and so much is fleeting.

Things are getting better in the sense that the plan is working. The therapy works. It helps. The pills help except for a few aspects. Things are getting worse in other respects as we settle into this life with all it's thorns. Caleb is engaging in a quiet harassment. I worry for Ben. Jacob fends off as many ghosts and people as he can. The shit hit the fan the other day when his annual conference invite came in the mail and he considered it thoughtfully. And then I realized what I have done to him. I never should have met the guy. He wouldn't have this complicated life walking on eggshells and being able to do damage control in his sleep.

Who does that?

Jake does. My poor overtaxed, overtired, overextended angel boy who should have a better life than this, for all his efforts. And watching him valiantly deny and justify all of this hurts. It hurts me, and I take full responsibility for ruining what could have been the most beautiful years of his life. He shouldn't be living on pins and needles, hanging out at the edge of Bridget's dark and crazy world.

No, he should be..well, he should be..free.

Televangelist for a day.

Jacob survived being on the five pm local news show. It was a segment in two parts about young urban families and the resurgence of regular church attendance, the trend of spirituality.

He thought that was very cool and so they came out to interview him in the church and instead started right in on an edgy pigeonholing of ministers under forty and how they bring a cool factor to an otherwise stodgy institution.

I've done it, thought it, said it myself. What irked Jacob was their intro, it blindsided him when they introduced him as Local Unitarian minister Jacob Reilly, the founder of (our church) in (our neighborhood) who is a lot more rock and roll than Reverend.

He didn't want to focus on Jacob. He doesn't want people showing up because it's the new cool thing to do, he wants them to show up to worship.

Once we stopped wincing (since what's done is done) the actual story itself was positive, upbeat and succinct, and both Sam and Jake are proud of the numbers they can quote attendance-wise, and even more proud of the stake the church has and the positive role it plays in the community.

Nowhere at any time did anyone mention how popular the back lot is at night for casual albeit safe-sex encounters. I went over to help rake leaves this morning and found four more condoms. Maybe they should put that on the news. Jacob is still over there now, installing motion-sensor lighting to try and make it less appealing. I came home. I'm out of steam already and it's only 10 a.m.

Echoes, silence, patience and grace.

What a perfect title for a record. So far I love it but it's only been on the stereo for seven minutes.

And one of the joys of never seeing music videos anymore (yes, fuck you too Muchmusic, Muchmoremusic and MTV for being so busy showing 'reality' TV programs that my children are going to grow up to believe that radio killed the video star) is that you don't get to see the difference when a major band like the Foo Fighters changes drummers.

Not until your husband is on television and they make a crack in the intro about the "minister of this church is more Taylor Hawkins than Billy Graham" (wow, how crass, really) and he tells you he asked them to change it and they basically refused so you looked up Taylor Hawkins and kind of squeal a little (well I did, Jake is still really mad) because they totally look alike. Taylor looks more like a younger Jake. In any case, I've been a fan forever and I had no idea. I wonder if Taylor knows he's going to get a little older and cut his hair and be compared to Robert Redford a lot, too.

Distractions, folks, distractions are good for Bridget. It keeps those nightmares from driving me..well, to distraction.

Life imitating art.

Hello Caleb.

I used his charisma to mask some of my trepidation.

You think you're brilliant but you've played a bad hand. Jacob is going to be along shortly.

I'll be gone before he gets here, princess. I simply wanted to remind you that writing about 'snowmen' and my private affairs is going to bring you nothing but heartache.

You're a neverending gift in that regard then, aren't you?

He walked across the path and stooped, picking up the black ribbon that I had pulled from my hair and brought it back to me, presenting it on his outstretched palm.

You always looked beautiful in black, Bridget.

Mourning clothes.

You can mourn only for things you can no longer have, princess.

You don't know me, Caleb.

Oh but I do. More than you realize. I know you put on lavender lingerie this morning and that you threw away the breakfast danish Jacob left for you. I know you're taking penicillin for a sore throat and that you have been driving a lot alone lately, and I know that Jacob is off doing a tour right now of his precious hippie church with a TV crew and that you didn't want to be filmed so you decided to take his distraction and use it to your advantage. An interesting move considering that usually, princess, you are the distraction at hand.

You have no business being here, Caleb. This bench is for Cole's children.

Ah, yes, my beautiful niece and nephew. Please reconsider my offer and take them out of that wretched neighborhood public school and give them half a shot at an education in a private school.

They love their school, this isn't any of your business.

I simply want what's best for you and the children, Bridget.

What would be best for us would be you leaving us alone.

I wish I could, but I'm so drawn to you.

Get un-drawn.

It didn't work for your large and largely unruly husband, why would it work for anyone else?

Because you want me to be happy, maybe? Because you want to make up for your brother's abuse?

No, princess. Wrong on all counts. Because I want to keep you. Keep what I once had. Clear and simple. My little brother had impeccable taste and I'm hungry. Families keep their riches within the ranks, and you are our brightest treasure.

Go away, Caleb.

Oh I will go away, but I'll be back. Until then, keep that beautiful wardrobe of pastel-colored panties in full rotation. They look magnificent on you.

I opened my eyes, fighting the sleep that wanted to pull me back down. I was warm, the fever raged within, I was awash in fearful sweat, bathed in a cold terror from what amounted to a simple nightmare.

Caleb wasn't here.

Or was he?

I sought Jacob's arms and burrowed into them and he rolled away in a slumbering protest. I was burning up. His hand came to rest on my forehead.

Baby girl, stay in today.

No, I have to go visit Cole for a bit and then I have one phone conference this afternoon.

Cancel both, you can do it tomorrow.

No, I'll be okay, once I'm up and have had some Tylenol.

He agreed and I rose to head for the shower. Within an hour I did feel better, and I was just putting the finishing touches on my outfit when Jacob emerged from his own shower to get dressed.

Wear the black ribbon, Bridget. You always look so beautiful in black.

I turned to stare at him curiously and he was holding the black ribbon out in the palm of his hand, exactly the way Caleb had in my nightmare.

I fainted.

Jacob waded into my unconscious subconscious with an ice-cold cloth and shaking hands.

Jesus. What happened?

You quoted a line from my nightmare. Something Caleb said.

What was it?

How beautiful I look in black.

Everyone says that, Bridge. It's the contrast of light and dark. It's stunning. Don't read so much into a nightmare.

Maybe it was a warning.

That he's here? I don't think he'd return. I don't think legally he can return.

I wouldn't count on a ruling keeping him away.

Naw, but I would count on fear. He's only alive because I won't risk losing my life with you to permanently end his trips to be near you.

Then maybe that's why he continues to push. He knows you can't touch him.

Pretty much the same method of madness that Cole lived by, right?

I don't even want to talk about it anymore, Jake.

That's fine, but I'm going to drive you this morning.

That would be nice.

No, it fucking sucks but under the circumstances it's a better idea than most, princess.

So I found myself an hour later walking through a deja-vu haze as I wobbled down the path toward the bench I think I know every inch of. I got there and it was empty and I turned and sat down on it and the relief came flooding out in a long sigh of a breath.

And then I looked down at the ground beside the bench itself and there was a newspaper bearing today's date.

I flew back down the path as fast as my high heels would let me go on those slippery leaves and I ran right into Jacob, hitting my head on his chest and springing back like I was hit with force.

What happened?

I don't know.

Hold me while I sleep.

After indulging in several wonderful days at home again, Jacob returned to work today, joining Sam down at the church, who graciously had a second desk brought into his office and encouraged Jake to just roll with the status quo and continue to consider the church his own, the place where he will always be welcome and made to feel at home in an understanding place when it comes to having needs met, just as Jacob originally intended this church to be, before it swallowed him whole.

That sentiment couldn't have been truer today by the phone call I received an hour ago.

How are you doing, Bridget? You were sleeping so restlessly when I left.

I'm okay. Not a hundred percent but not as bad as before.

Nightmares? I read your entry this morning.

Yes. The pills make them worse, Jake.

It's okay. I'm coming home in a little while.

Really? How come?

So I can hold you while you sleep. You won't have any more nightmares that way.

445 nights without you.

The damp leaves were slippery beneath my feet. My black pumps were treacherous, my long coat was drenched and my ponytail, curled inside the collar of my coat sat against my neck, damp and uncomfortable, cold. My umbrella was long discarded in a trashcan at the edge of the parking lot, having been turned inside out by the wind and rendered useless and yet the wind died down quickly as I entered the park. The old-fashioned Victorian streetlamps were lit to ward off the daylight's gloom and the park itself contained few people.

I've never encountered anyone using Cole's bench as a resting spot until today. As I turned left on the path that wound down past the cherry blossom trees I could see Cole sitting there. He had a suit on and an overcoat and polished black shoes and he read a newspaper. As if he was waiting for me.

My Cole only wore a suit three times in his life. Two job interviews and a funeral. Not to our wedding and not to his own cremation did I expect to see him in a suit and so to see him now, so stiff and formal only spoke of the unreality our life together had become at last. A figment of our collective imaginations, a make-believe farce, easily dissected.

The wind was picking up again, swirling wisps of hair out of my ponytail and lashing it into my mouth. That was Cole for sure, he never liked my hair up, he liked it loose and soft.

I pulled out the black ribbon and let it fall to the ground and I began to walk quickly, I wanted a little time with him now, before I got caught up in school and life and Halloween and therapy and Jacob and no one seems to understand that sometimes I need time alone with Cole and then it makes me feel so much better and I can go a little longer and a little further away from him and things aren't so bad.

I reached the bench and stuck my hand out to pull away the paper from his face to kiss him and it wasn't Cole.

It was Caleb.

Sitting on Cole's bench, waiting for me.

Hello, Bridget.

First fall day.

This year brought a quieter, gentler start to the fall. A roaring fire to see us through breakfast, and a big thunder and rainstorm. Then a quiet morning reading and drawing and watching the leaves flutter down to the sidewalk in front of our house, as the skies cleared and the honking geese bade their goodbyes on the wind, en route to warmer shores. Jacob playing Gordon Lightfoot songs on his guitar but not singing the words today as he rests his voice, as he tries to decide how sick he might be. My throat was on fire this morning, daggers all the way down with each swallow and I can't wait to get better.

The toothbrush-holder cup has been replaced with four travel cases and each brush now has it's own sterile spot and there are four cups along the counter for each of us to have our own. We have a cupboard full of homeopathic remedies, tinctures and capsules to offset the regimented prescriptions and newfangled medicine and between all of that we'll beat this illness sometime during the week to come, if we are lucky. The doctor told us to remember to wash our hands even more, now that the cold weather has come and I reminded him of last year when my fingertips cracked and bled every day and I couldn't hold them together and I would bandage them up and just keep typing and he asked if I wanted to be sick like this or just use some extra moisturizer.

Inside my head I politely told him where he could stuff the moisturizer.

It's now around 30 degrees and heavy in the skies and so I'm guessing the rain is going to make it's return so I closed the windows in the bedrooms but left the others open for now. Soon the temperature will drop and Jacob will light the fire he laid just now and we'll curl up again together once the kids are in bed and talk about nothing, just read with our heads touching again, Jacob with his copy of Kerouac's Good Blonde and Others and me with a whole stack of helpful books from Joel's library on learning how to live with myself that I will ignore in favor of starting a new embroidery project. Ruth has two pairs of jeans she'd like personalized and I wanted to do the pillows upstairs so that they match, they're all different shades of green so if I use a cream thread and embroider the same design on each one, I think it'll look very nice.

However, based on the way today has gone so far, I imagine I'll wind up resting my head on Jacob's shoulder and falling asleep like I did last night (missing the last fifteen crucial minutes of The Departed) and doing absolutely nothing at all.

Van gogh and good tea.

We're home, a long day so far and still a few hours to go before I can sleep. I went to bed around eight o'clock last night after struggling through chills and a raging fever and I couldn't hold a cup of the final mystery tea so Jacob gently ordered me to bed. It would have been wonderful to sleep but I was up at twelve to get water for Henry, who still wakes up coughing here and there, and then again at 3 when my stomach decided that antibiotics were the worst thing ever and I woke the whole house up with wonderful retching sounds. Always fun.

This morning we had family therapy, then medical checkups to make sure Henry is clearing up (he is) and the rest of us haven't gotten any worse (we're not) and then we went to a Van Gogh mixed media tribute installment at a gallery with Joel. Afterward he took us all to lunch, where I had the best cup of tea in the world. Maybe it was simply better for having followed the works of a painter that gives me the chills when I look closely at his work, as when I looked at the paper this morning, reading about his final piece going up for public sale, I was struck by how light and colorful it was but also by how much homesickness it conveyed to me. Amazing. Did you know he tried and failed to become a minister before taking up painting in his late twenties? That's where his spirituality speaks, in his brush strokes. Phenomenal.

This afternoon we went for groceries and bought more tea and more soup makings and a giant combo pack of day/nyquil for me to dive into and we're not going to church tomorrow either, having been told by Sam to stay home and get well and then Jacob can conduct services next weekend which will be fun and comforting to have him back where he belongs. Plus Sam is scared to death of germs and avoids people who are under the weather while Joel is so important he never gets colds and therefore doesn't care. It's funny but what is wonderful is they both care about what is good for us, and that will always be a fine arts exhibition for Bridget and a day off for Jake.

I'm off now with yet another cup of tea (fully labeled!) to go and snuggle in beside Jacob while he writes in front of the fire. He's a much better writer than I am anyway, only not when he writes about life. His words turn to lyrics only when he waxes on the big picture, the philosophical nature of life itself, God, love, eternal happiness. Not so much when writing about tea.

We're a pretty diverse and interesting bunch, I think.

And yes, I happily bought him a case of his favorite cookies today. Only he wants to keep them on top of the fridge from now on. Fine by me.

Oh and for the scorekeepers of irrational reactions, you will be pleased to know that Ruth pointed out as we drove home that the geese were flying south for the winter. Sure enough, I looked out the truck window and saw the great wide v-formations in the sky and promptly burst into tears. It's sort of becoming a tradition.

Seven very long days.

I was taken to therapy anyway. I kept coughing and within 15 minutes our productive discussion had devolved into some old-boys network jokes about how my coughing sounded like the barking of a new puppy and I finally let my eyes come to rest on Jake and I motioned for him to fuck off, that we needed to go home. I'm really not sure how I was supposed to navigate therapy sessions with my charades and nodding and constant coughing but Jacob was more concerned in the end that I not do any backsliding. Remind me of this the next time he is as sick as I am now.

He made it up to me, making lunch when we came home (for the kids, we're not much hungry) and then once they were installed on the couch with a good movie he took me upstairs and we crawled under the blankets, where he stripped off my clothes and explored my feverish skin. He remarked on how my weight gain has meant rounded out elbows and knees and belly and how I'm thin but not sticks and bone anymore. He turned me over and pulled my hair back and his other hand held my ribcage up off the bed and he was slower and heavier from being sick and it was so difficult to find energy to return his affections but I tried. Now he's sleeping and I am back downstairs while the rest of the world chants TGIF as if it's a religion. Tomorrow we have doctor checkups, family therapy and groceries so it will be a busy morning.

Hopefully we'll all feel better by then.

The Reilly family on autopilot.

As is the case with life, eventually the whole house will succumb to the sickness that comes into it. Considering the toothbrushes sit beside the bathroom sink in a ceramic coffee cup, more often touching than not. Considering the kisses and long embraces and cold air that makes for closed windows and the return of school days in which I'm beginning to suspect they pipe germs through the ventilation system for compliance from the older grades.

I can't get my head off the table today. I can't hear a thing and I can't speak. One of those days where you burst into tears only because you feel so damned sick and you're frustrated. Because you know that you still have to cook and clean and work and comfort everyone else and you're down to the painful stub of your own resources. We're not even getting dressed today and I'm jumping through phone hoops to cancel therapy this morning because the idea of putting on clothes and driving downtown to sit in a dry room to be dissected for ninety minutes would be more painful than decapitation at this point, I think.

I was washing dishes earlier, leaning heavily against the counter, doing an awful job, when Jacob's arms came around me and he took over and told me to take it easy. I pointed out that he was sick too and should get some rest and he laughed and told me I wasn't in this alone. That he loves being able to cancel days and say out loud that his wife and children are sick, instead of pretending to have a family, or wishing he did. To be able to find that sort of perverted glee in a bad cold/flu made me laugh but I was touched at the same time. He still has so much joy in being here, in being part of this family, even in being sick along with us that makes me feel a whole lot better. It almost makes up for the sicknesses that can't be cured with prescriptions, rest and liquids. It makes up for so many things.

It makes me feel a little more normal and a lot more grateful.

Off to rest and drink tea for the rest of the day, and sleep, hopefully. One of my favorite things in the world these days is crawling under a warm blanket into Jacob's arms and having a late afternoon nap. I hope there's one in here somewhere today.

If you have any ideas for getting through the rest of the winter without our usual rounds of colds and flu bugs drop me a line. I would like to tackle this season head on, instead of playing catch-up until May.