The Diary
Joyce read avidly, gulping words that left her stunned. Her coffee got cold as she turned each hand-scrawled page, eyes wide, attention riveted. Muscles tensed, she winced and stared into space as her own words sank into her heart, took root, gave understanding and stabbed at the core of her being. She lived those days and weeks again.
She closed the diary, crammed it back into the box and kicked the box back into the corner of the closet.
Tears stung her eyes as she attempted to block out the memories of those days, but they came back vividly. “If only I could go back and do it over again,” she bemoaned to herself.
Shame, regret and guilt overwhelmed her; the familiar slide into depression threatened to cloud her days and weeks. “I’ll burn the diary,” she decided angrily. “I’ll burn the whole box of them.”
Thirty years ago, Joyce had been caught in a whirlwind, trapped into a move she had not wanted to make. Pressures had built up as moving day approached: dealing with her own family’s belongings and also fifty years of accumulation from deceased parents; the constant demands and needs of her preschoolers; lodgers in her home; and she was heavily pregnant again. It was a chaotic time; a time of too many responsibilities and stresses on time, body and emotions.
No wonder little Jim had been acting out. He had been tearful and fearful, scared to let go of Mommy’s hand at night and go to sleep.
“It was you who damaged him!” sang a voice in Joyce’s head. “You were short tempered. You bruised his psyche. He struggles today because of what you did to him then.”
“But he loves you today,” countered another voice in Joyce’s mind. “He doesn’t do things the way you would, but he loves you, and you know you love him, too.”
Joyce kicked the box further back into the corner of the closet and threw some unwanted clothes on top.
Then she scrubbed the bathroom sink and toilet, swept and washed the floor and put out fresh towels. Grabbing her jacket and mat she slammed the door on her way out to yoga class.
Joyce and Sue arrived at the gym the same time. “Hi! How are you?” greeted Sue. “Oh fine!” Joyce began cheerily, and then hesitated, a cloud momentarily furrowing her brow. “Really?” asked Sue, looking kindly right into Joyce’s eyes with her own deep grey ones.
“Er… well…I read something, and it disturbed me,” stammered Joyce, looking away and concentrating on getting the zipper of her jacket undone. “That’s all. I’m fine, really. But thanks for asking.”
“Sometimes it’s good to talk about these things,” said Sue, “when you’re able to and feel comfortable about it.”
“Yes…I guess you’re right. I suppose it was good to admit it out loud.”
Still, as the days went by, the guilt nagged at Joyce’s conscience. She took the pain with her to the activities she enjoyed and tried to dismiss the regrets of yesteryear.
As the sharp pain began to lessen, Joyce decided to meet with Jim at the park, with the dog. They shared a can of iced tea and a bag of chips as they walked and talked.
“Do you remember, Jim, the time when we moved to Midfield?”
“Not much, Mom, I was only three, wasn’t I? Oh, but I do remember finding my Babalouie Bear. I was really glad about that because I couldn’t find him after we moved. I thought he was gone forever, and there he was, stuffed into Dad’s boot at the back of the hall closet.”
“Oh, yes,” said Joyce. “You wouldn’t go anywhere without Babalouie.”
“I’m sorry we moved to that house,” continued Joyce. “It was hard on you, all the upheaval when there were so many other changes in our lives at that time. It was not a good choice. Remember, we only stayed there a few months and then we had to move again.”
“Yeah,” said Jim. ”I really liked the new place at Richmond, though. I’ve always wished we could have stayed there until I finished high school.”
They talked as they walked, reminiscing and sharing fears of that time and the present. Regrets were shared, resentments aired, pains uncovered, and viewpoints discovered.
“Life is tough,” admitted Joyce, “It would be nice to do some things over.”
“You got that right,” agreed Jim, “I love you, Mom! I have to go into the city on Tuesday to pick up some stuff for work. Do you wanna come? We could stop for coffee.”
by Andrea Kidd
