the donuts made me cry

Today was Fat Tuesday here. It has something to do with Lent, or some religious tradition that I don’t celebrate or follow, and the Pennsylvania Dutch heritage. I’m not entirely sure of the purpose of Fat Tuesday other than it marks the beginning of that tradition, and they use fat to fry the fastnachcts (which are like an old-fashioned heavier donut). Luckily I don’t have to observe lent to enjoy the fastnachts! For the first time ever, today I’m having a dilemma about Fat Tuesday. You see, it’s not the donut itself, causing the problem. It is the person who brings them in. About 8 years ago, I suggested to Cottonmouth [as I’ll refer to him in this post] to bring in the fastnachts, because he lived near a small bakery that made “the good kind.” He embraced this opportunity and has brought the fastnachts almost every year since then. But this year is different. I am still trying to figure out how to approach Cottonmouth about how deeply wounded I was, and still am, by his responses and lack of support to my loss last September. ( I can’t really go into all the details here in a public place, but it hurts to think about, and doesn’t help that my office is near his .) All I can say right now is that Cottonmouth is one of my ‘former friends’. He is among a handful of people who became invisible last year during that very dark time. He and they have been scratched off my friends list. This morning I was hungry as I drove into work, and my mouth watered as I thought about all those tasty fastnachts that would be there. However, my gut got all knotted up thinking about who I would be accepting them from. My preference was to refuse them, because I did not want ANYTHING from *him*. Yet, I wondered if I would even have the will power to resist the smell of them all day long? (I actually did resist and went to a store at lunchtime and bought my own.) Thinking about those stupid donuts on my way to work of course had me replaying the events as they unfolded last year. I felt isolated and so alone. So many people who claim to be my friends – where did they all go? They cowered in the comfort of their own safe little world. Cottonmouth not only knew about my son lost to adoption, but he knew how much I regret it, he knew me when I was suicidal because of the adoption, he knew how the agency scoffed at me when I needed help. He listened and agreed that adoption agencies only being in it for the money. He knew that adoption was like a strangling burden that I carried every day, and that it constantly gnawed at my soul. He knew how tormented I was at the thought of “trying again’ after all those years. In other words, he already saw and was keenly aware of the hurting side of me; the part that not many people in real life ever see. When the unthinkable happened last fall, his seeming apathy cut through me like a knife. By the time I got to work, I was in tears. My mind unintentionally went to the “should be” timetable…. Fat Tuesday, and there I sat, thin as a rail. But I shouldn’t be thin as a rail …I should be 7 months pregnant! I should be getting the nursery ready with baby clothes, blankets, crib, and diaper bag, all that stuff. Should be getting things in order, ya know. Instead I'm trying to keep it together. I’m trying to deal with the sadness that's become part of who I am lately. I guess I don't really deal with it, so much, I just let it win... I don't really even fight it. And all of this was triggered by donuts??? All these feelings and emotions and tears??? By donuts! How ridiculous!

Warning: Fastnaghts may trigger emotional meltdowns