The Breakup

by Jason Hyland

Before we get started, I need to enlighten you with this...

I know you miss me, buddy. This is the longest we have ever been apart. The first week or so was terrible without you. I kept waking up sweating bullets and trembling in fear that this might really be the end to our decade long courtship. We started out like any other friendship, getting together during the weekends or on special occasions. We had some really great times together that is for sure. Breaking rules and hearts, running from the law, hitting triple digits on the freeway, and endless laughs at our rebellious life we lived together. I certainly will never forget our times as one, I promise you that.

Soon our weekend ventures turned into week night rendezvous'. Tuesday nights were dart nights, and, well, you cannot play darts by yourself, so I brought you along. And then we started hanging out every Thursday night so we could kick off our weekends early. We were slowly becoming BFFs; you really just made my life better. You were my one friend who was always there for me, who never argued with me, and who made me feel completely comfortable accepting the life we had built together.

It seemed like every girlfriend I had was very jealous of all our time we spent together. The countless nights listening to them cry angry tears and trying to keep you and me apart had little effect on our ever-building relationship. Girlfriends come and go, but I knew you and I had a very special bond that was destined to last forever and I was NOT going to let any girl get in the way of that

Remember when you moved in with me for good? Ah, the glory days when nothing else mattered. I even started to bring you to work with me every morning. I couldn't just let you sleep in all day and then have to wait until dinner time to see each other. My co-workers must have thought I had a real weak bladder with the amount of times they assuredly saw me up and leave the office. Little did they know I was secretly hanging out with you in OUR Jeep listening to sports talk radio? And yes, I call it our jeep because I would never go for a drive without you right by my side. We were truly becoming inseparable.

Doctors eventually tried their best to intervene, taking me away from you for days on end. Not once, not twice, not three times, but seven times total in one year alone. Like I told everyone else, "Sorry doc, but he is my best friend and I cannot live without him." They shook their heads in disbelief, knowing how unhealthy our relationship was fearing it could turn deadly. When they finally let me go home, I immediately ran right to you and we would be back to our ways together.

And how I could I forget my mother's feelings about our unbreakable bond? She treated it like a high school relationship, like it was just some obsession. She simply was unaware of how strong our bond together was. I thought she was just doing the motherly thing and did not want to see her only child get hurt. So, I told her you moved out and that we only hung out on occasion. But then when I would show up to see her she immediately knew I was still spending time with you and gave me a look of disgust. Again, I felt like she was just doing what any mother would if they feared for their child's safety. She even collaborated with the doctors and nurses and they all ganged up on me at once. I could see the gravity of the moment by the expressions on their faces, a look of desperation. I still did not understand, though, what the problem was with our growing friendship? You filled me up inside when I was empty, something neither they nor anyone else could do. So finally, everyone left us alone, and we had freedom at last. The phone calls ceased. No more texts. As long as I was with you there was no more seeing any of them.

You remember when you had finally taken my father’s life after a four-plus decade relationship? Our bond was too tight for that to happen so I knew you would never do that to me and we became closer than ever, spending every second with you right by my side, no matter the time of day. No more girlfriend to bother us, no more work to go to, and no more family to deal with. Everyone was completely hopeless that we were going to BFF's until the end. Their constant reminders of what my dad's best friend did to him and other friends slowly faded away. They all finally accepted our friendship as it was; indestructible. Nothing else mattered to me anymore as long as I had you.

Life went on without incident and the days turned into months. We had our routine and we were sticking to it. Right when I woke up I had to immediately find you. I couldn't start my day without you. We locked all the doors, pulled down all the curtains, and threw away every responsibility in life so we could go on forever together.

After a few months of monotony, I realized you were becoming an expensive friend to keep around for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But no person could ever get in between us so I certainly wasn't going to let money get in our way. I knew I had to have you by my side at all times so I did whatever it took to assure our time together would never end. I would take you with me at night and we scoured neighborhood after neighborhood in search of your empty friends. Once we filled up the back of our jeep we knew we'd have another day together. And we would repeat this day after day. But I was getting tired of this degrading process draining me. So, I had a solution. I knew my family would never help us stay together, and I came up with a plan to get them back and allow us to stay glued together. I found money, lots of it, and I took it when no one was looking. The plan was working remarkably!

With each passing day, though, your company was filling my insides less and less. And did you see what you had done to me physically? I didn't take you in and let you stay with me every single day for the past five years only to have you make me feel worse about myself. You never told me about the belly you were going to give me. You never said anything about it being harder to breathe the more we hung out. That it would affect simple things like walking up the stairs and doing dishes. You just laughed at me and even turned the shower off on me for days on end. But I still couldn't let you go. We had been together for far too long to give up now, so I pushed on. The bills continued to pile up, the loneliness become a daily thing, the same clothes entrenched my body day after day, my teeth were becoming more and more rotten, and even my dogs bellies began to get bigger. What did they ever do to you that you wouldn't even allow me to walk them?

If I tried to even cut back a little time with you, you would make me feel even worse, inside and out. You had completely taken over my life holding all the power. Every single thing I did was for you. And now the same people who I cut off for you wanted to talk to me all of a sudden. Their pile of money just didn't look right. It had dwindled down to the bottom, and I soon followed. You had won. Game over.

But then something miraculous occurred. Of all the things you had taken from me over the years and all the strength you possessed, you forgot about one thing. I am a child of God and He had finally broken through the never-ending pile of shit we had built together called my life. His words were simple, yet more powerful than anything you could ever do to me. I went to sleep that night knowing that I would finally say good bye to you forever when I woke up.

So, the next day, before saying our final goodbyes, I did something I was not able to do in many, many years. I told my family the truth. There were no more lies. Every single tear that I had been holding in because I feared your wrath poured down my cheeks. I finally felt free. Then, another miracle occurred. My family accepted me and wanted to help me. The same family that seemed to have drifted away, like Wilson did to Hanks, but fortunately for me my raft caught up to them in the nick of time. They realized the power you possessed over me was far greater than all of ours combined. They realized you controlled my entire life. They realized everything I did was for you. And they knew that your plan all along was to take my life. And they knew, I alone, could not stop you from achieving your goal.

I packed you up into my jeep and off we went. You knew something was up when I took you down to the beach, solo. We had many great times down there during our time together, but all of that was about to finally be put in the rear-view, for good. After we had one last moment together I did one more thing that I hadn't done in many, many years, something I had never been able to do since the day we first met nearly twenty years ago. I finally freed myself from your no longer impeccable grasp and watched the ocean waves take you away. Forever.

About the Author:

I am an alcoholic and my name is Jason. I am also a son, a brother, a grandson, an uncle, a friend, a daddy to two amazing dogs, a college graduate, a former professional baseball player and author of "Stop Thinking Like That".  https://www.jason-hyland.com/

Saying Goodbye

by Terri Mcfadden

It’s safe to say that goodbye can be the hardest of all words to voice. The worst, of course, is when we are forced by death to say it. Almost as hard is when we say farewell to a dream.

Our dream, that of my husband and myself, started in 1990 when we took our four children on a trip to the mountains in western North Carolina. We fell in love with those mountains and there and then decided we wanted to live there some day. Quite unlike our usual deliberation, thinking about pros and cons, what goals and plans we had both for short and long-term, we contacted a real estate agent that very day. The next morning, we set out to look at property, He showed us three parcels. The drive to that third piece took us up a steep and windy gravel road; I thought we’d never get to the top. When we made it to 4400 feet, where the land lay, the views were so spectacular that we could only gasp.

That moment we fell in love with our own little piece of the Great Smokies. Years passed, the children grew up and left home. Now it was our time to plan our new retirement home. To take advantage of the views of the mountains we built a house with floor to ceiling windows – the ceiling soaring to 25 feet. When we moved in, late in 2001, the house wasn’t even completed, the builder deciding he had other projects he’d rather be working on. It became a labor of love for us to finish the house. With some help, we added an Irish pub in the basement, granite facing to the fireplace, built a stone wall and spent many hours landscaping our six acres. We scoured antique stores for the perfect furniture and decorative items. Our niece painted two huge paintings especially for the niche above the fireplace. Bit by bit the house came together. I even enjoyed house cleaning, it was so beautiful.

New friends and old came for parties. We hosted a family reunion for my extended family, enjoyed learning about Germany from exchange students who stayed with us. Sharing the house and our little corner of the mountains was one of the great pleasures of those days. While on our own we enjoyed ourselves, playing games at the table overlooking Mount Pisgah, and nightly pulling out banjo and guitar to take advantage of the Great Room acoustics. Our voices have never sounded so good again!

Times however have a way of changing. The home that we thought we’d live in for the rest of our lives began to seem a burden. Our first granddaughter was born and we were so remote from her little life and that of the rest of our family. We rented a small apartment in Beverly, and for a while the mountain house remained our main residence. But the 1000-mile journey three or four times a year became challenging. We started using the house for vacations only, but discovered it impossible to maintain a house in the country without living there. Finally, we were left with no true options. It was time to say goodbye. We sold the house in 2014. Most the furnishings were sold as well, with just a few items coming back to Beverly with us. I remember standing on the deck outside our bedroom, watching sadly as the movers loaded the elegant cherry table that had seen so many wonderful meals, knowing it was time to say goodbye. It was time to move on.

St. Patrick's Day

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

I grew up in South Boston and experienced many years of historical commemorations of Evacuation Day and St. Patrick’s Day. The day was a bright spot in the winter/early spring calendar bringing a holiday between Valentine’s Day and Easter, usually smack dab in the middle of the Lenten Season( on which day the lenten fast was lifted for resident Catholics).

Families prepared foods and beverages for their own and visiting relatives and friends. Crowds flocked the streets early to “reserve” choice spots to view the enormous parade.  Armed forces units and bands marched proudly along with police walking or mounted on their handsome steeds, firefighters on their gleaming red trucks, sirens blaring loudly. Schools, colleges, church and fraternal organizations had pride of place with their bands along with noted bands hired to perform. 

The “pols” were there, strutting down the streets with all the swagger they could muster, waving and running to the crowded sides to shake hands with their many supporters. For many people my age, the sight of John W. McCormack, Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives and John F. Kennedy as a young Representative and Senator was a highlight.The big political breakfast held each March 17th morning was broadcast on the radio and TV. The banter, jokes and ad libs were appreciated by most, but not all listeners.

My mother loved the day as a chance to open our house to visitors who could enjoy a special lunch and for dessert, her famous fruit tort, homemade brownies and Italian cookies or Irish bread from the local bakery.  Hot coffee, tea and hot chocolate as well as stronger spirits for the adults, plus a respite for many from the cold, snow or rain as often happened in mid March. 

Married and living in Beverly never prevented me and my family from heading back to “Southie” each year for the parade. One year in particular was special. Pregnant with my third child, I had prepared to go with my husband and two daughters. I never made it as I began to have intense labor pains and was taken to Salem Hospital. My husband returned to pick up the girls, five and seven, at our neighbor’s, and brought them to my Mom’s to watch the parade. My husband called the hospital at intervals to check on my progress until he left to bring the girls and Nana back to Beverly. A quick stop in Salem pleased my Mom - she was on tenterhooks and urged him to run in and see how I was doing.  A huge surprise for all - I had just delivered a boy. A memorable St. Patrick’s Day, but the parade had been postponed to March 19th due to inclement weather so it was March 19th - the feast day of St. Joseph!   We were happy with the fact that all went well and he was healthy! 

Celebrations continued in Beverly for there was a large circle of Irish American friends and neighbors who celebrated March 17th at wonderful dances sponsored by St. Margaret Parish and Hastings House (Community Center) in Beverly Farms.  Terrific Irish bands from Dorchester were hired and all enjoyed a lively, fun evening of Irish songs and dancing. We seemed to know the words to many classic Irish songs (at least I did, learning them in Southie) and were eager to learn more and to watch the set dances which were a performance unto themselves. Irish breads and many, like cakes, were set out, baked by the ladies from the “Counties across the sea”, so proudly offered, so unbelievably delicious. (I have a few treasured recipes which I do make). The Commodore Restaurant was the place to go for the  traditional corned beef and cabbage lunch and maybe to stay until evening for the non-stop Irish music. Many a Happy St. Patrick’s Day there!

The best of South Boston or Beverly was the camaraderie of all - no barriers existed. We were all striving to be good citizens, raise our families well and contribute our best in all we did.  We knew we were blessed to live in the greatest country in the world, the United States of America. Our commonality was and still is triumphant in this regard. So as it happened in South Boston or Beverly - on Saint Patrick’s Day, everyone was a wee bit Irish!

Image courtesy of www.ForestWander.com

March

by Beth Alexander Walsh

March is desolation,

And yet it is growth.

A lion? A lamb?

Perhaps it is both!

Today we wear boots and

Button coats to the top.

Tomorrow comes t-shirts,

No socks and flip flops.

We celebrate St Patrick

And soon after Easter,

But first we endure

Another nor’easter.

And so here we are

At a time in between

Of hills white with snow

That soon will be green.

Thirty-one days till

Winter becomes Spring,

So happy to see what

Warmer weather will bring.