Even When You're 75

Betrayal is such an onion of a feeling. There are so many layers to unwrap. The outside layers can be tough and crunchy. Some of the deep inside layers can be rotten and smell really bad.  But most layers just make you weep.

I did something last night that Pen never lets me do. I treated her to a night on the town so that, if we wanted to, we could really talk. Or we could just pretend that all is right in our world and say nothing at all. It was just the two of us, like old times, and like old times, we drank more than we should have and talked till the wee hours of the morning. I confess, I don’t remember much about our conversation. (I used to be able to drink and remember, but that skill slipped away sometime in my late 60s.) What I do remember is that our time together was deeply personal and thoroughly connecting. I remember that we talked about betrayal and how it can totally derail you from your path in life. Even when you’re sure of yourself. Even when you know exactly where you are headed. Even when you’re 75. 

From my experience with betrayal, the first feeling I have is a stab of disbelief that a person I love/know/care about willingly hurt me--behind my back. Unfortunately, I quickly move into deep embarrassment. How did I not see it coming? Then I feel ashamed that I let it happen. Self-doubt and recrimination end up obscuring who started it in the first place.

So I get why Pen is thrown by her siblings’ total disregard for her wishes. However, the truth is that they have never considered Pen once while making any of their life choices. And she has never asked them to—until now. Now is different. Now she is making decisions for the last chapter of her life, making things a little more immediate, more important. She doesn’t have the time or desire for accommodation or compromise.

Maybe that is one of the blessings of old age. Your ability to smile and please slowly transforms into a snarl and a fuck off.