Avery and His Mother

My head had been cleared during the 45 minutes I’d spent with Dr. Drexel Carrington. The anger I felt toward Jack had all but subsided. Don’t get me wrong. I was still hurt. But in conversing with the good doctor I was able to, however temporarily, see through my emotions and view Jack’s actions and our entire seven year relationship from the perspective of an unbiased third-party.

I was not the best partner to Jack. I didn’t always listen as well as I should have. I wasn’t always as supportive as he needed me to be. But the same could also be said for him. Jack didn’t listen as well as he should have. He rarely was as supportive as I needed him to be. He alienated those around us, embarrassing me in the process, more times than I can remember.

Not very long ago, maybe a month or two, I met my mother for our quarterly afternoon of lunch and shopping. We catch up during these outings on all of the every occurrences that we’ve missed in each other’s lives—work, vacation plans and that sort of thing. She’d help me sort out many of life’s dilemmas on these excursions. My mother is direct and to the point, even if it hurts my feelings. And she’s usually correct.

This meeting, however, was different. As we browsed the shops of Oakbrook Center, her conversation was very light in tone. Something was up. She'd never before spent two hours making idle chit chat. Not her style. Something was on her mind. I finally confronted her after we’d taken our seats at Maggiano's.

“What’s the deal, woman?” I asked her in a playful tone.

“Well, Avery,” she replied slowly, clearly choosing her words very carefully, “Daddy and I a little concerned, as are some of the other members of the family.”

Mother explained that all anyone could talk about since our family’s large Christmas get-together was Jack. More specifically, Jack's attitude. Apparently, the most important people in my life had come to determine that he was impolite and condescending. While I don’t remember the conversation verbatim, I do remember the word “bully” being used.

I immediately took the offense. How dare she insult my life partner? How dare she attempt to assassinate the character of the man I love? Realizing she’d hit a nerve, mother changed her approach.

“I just want you to be careful, Avy.”

She spoke in the same calm tone she’d used when comforting me a child.

“The most important thing in life is for you to be treated well," she continued, "with love, kindness and respect. Anything less is unacceptable.”

We finished our lunch in silence. Her words were honest and accurate. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready to receive them.

This conversation was revisited during my first session with the good doctor. The anger I felt toward Jack was not all his doing. I had been mistreated. Correction. I had ALLOWED myself to be mistreated. Even worse, I’d never properly communicated my feelings to him. Now it was too late. He’d moved on. And so would I.