Happy Thanksgiving Darling

Thanksgiving again already, I'm thinking to myself, wondering what the dinner table will look like this year, in a melancholy kind of mood. I know it will be mostly empty chairs around the table this Thanksgiving dinner - no visitors or friends, no family either, except perhaps my son. I always find this time of year sad and depressing, but this year even more so. Summer is over and it feels like someone yanked the carpet out from under me, yet when I look around outside, there is no need to be sad and depressed. The view of the lake is still beautiful, I try convincing myself, although the leaves on the trees are changing color now, and when the flag is blowing in the wind, I know the air has coolness to it at this point, and it's no longer a warm summer breeze. Most of the fishermen have put their boats away for winter, the lake looks empty and lonely, and all but a few docks have been pulled out of the water, ending another summer fishing season. Fall has arrived, with the days getting obviously shorter and cooler now, and winter is gently whispering about its arrival before too long.

I hear the front door open and it brings me back to reality, pulling me out of my trance-like daydream. The anxiety inside me begins churning up a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach when I look around to see him walking into the kitchen, but I quickly suppress it and maintain my poker face, trying to read his expression, waiting to hear the tone of his voice to predict his mood. He's friendly at this moment, thank God, but it's only 2:00 o'clock in the afternoon so I know that can quickly change, especially if I choose to release my salty comments into the mix, so I stay quiet. I finish wiping down the countertops with my dishcloth and watch the soapy dishwater swirl down the drain. I notice that the dishwasher is almost finished its cycle too. Perfect - all the dishes are clean.

I feel like pouring a drink but I know that's not a good idea, and besides, it's still too early. That's how trouble starts between us. Happy hour isn't a real thing around here anymore. That's over now. Over the course of the past few years, it's been replaced with bitter and senseless arguing and shouting, trailed by humiliation and embarrassment, because the neighbours are frequently imposed upon with our aggressive fighting and yelling at each other, which spews loudly out the open windows. They pretend they don't hear it. For the past three years this home environment has become contentious and egregious and the energy is extremely negative. Retirement isn't necessarily the golden years and we have come to a point of trying not to spend too much time together anymore.

Words inside my head keep repeating 'this isn't gonna work out. Nope. It's over.' Just the same, I keep ignoring those dark thoughts; it's my mind racing and playing tricks on me. I've been feeling quite depressed for the past month or so; maybe even longer than that, but I can't bring myself to mention this to my doctor because I feel that it makes me appear weak or silly. Yet every time I leave the doctor's office with my usual thyroid prescription refill, I'm disappointed with myself that I didn't mention something to him about my depression and anxiety.  

For the most part, he never shows any compassion or sympathy in any kind of situation. It's always been about him. After six years I realize this now. He has a way of disregarding, or paying little attention to conversations or topics that require him to exhibit any empathy or compliments towards anyone else other than himself. He loves to be the center of attention at all times. I've overheard his friends telling him he brags too much. He often reminds me that he is the best thing that ever happened to me, and in return I frequently retort back that that doesn't really say much about my life. In fact, it makes my life sound very dismal. It's a constant dysfunctional cycle that has been threatening and controlling this relationship for a few years now, causing it to become a tattered mess. 

"What's for dinner?" he inquires insipidly.

With an equal lack of interest, I tell him I don't know; I haven't made any decisions about dinner yet.

"I've been thinking about Thanksgiving dinner plans", I add.   "Are you going to call your kids and ask them if they would like to come for Thanksgiving dinner?" None of our sons are kids anymore. They're all grown up and a couple of them have kids of their own now.

He shrugs and tells me he hasn't talked to them yet but he'll give them a call. Not surprisingly, they have made dinner plans with other family members. My sons have a similar response when I reach out to them. One is working overtime that weekend, so they're having a quiet family dinner, and the other one has made his own plans too. Thanksgiving is down to me and him. Despair and depression sink in further and the psychosis begins silently creeping up. 

I've always been intrigued by the notion of large family gatherings around a big dining room table to enjoy a delicious Thanksgiving feast consisting of roasted turkey, fresh vegetables grown right there on the farm, and all the trimmings that accompany such a fine meal.  I can smell the tantalizing aromas wafting around inside the happy family home.  In my ideal vision, each family member is eager and delighted to devour such a fine meal, and so grateful to have the opportunity to gather as a cheerful family at this time of thanksgiving. Furthermore, in family tradition style, they each take a moment to share something they are most appreciative of, and its one big joyful family delight. They all raise their wine glasses to toast such a momentous occasion.

But this family isn't like that at all. It's a blended family that never really blended. There are no family dynamic interactions, it's more like me and my two sons, and he with his two sons. Although "the sons" have met, their lives don't interact and this has never become a blended family pattern. Outside of that disappointment, the hate and animosity between us continues building and mounding into a hill of poison that seems to have taken on a life of its own. It feels as though it's trying to entice me to act on my deep dark thoughts, like an evil murmur in my ear. And the words inside my head keep saying 'Not this year. Nope. No more.' The burden of carrying toxins and venom around inside oneself can manifest in many different consequential behaviours. My manifestation was madness.

I start thinking about baking a pie and poisoning it; pumpkin pie to be exact. It's the time of year for pumpkins and it's one of his favourite kinds of pie. He prefers his pumpkin pie chilled rather than warm out of the oven, which works out great because everyone knows revenge is a dish best served cold anyway. I can prepare it the day before our Thanksgiving dinner. I watch too many investigative reporting TV shows to know not to ever do a Google search on my computer for ways to poison someone, specifically in their pie, but with the insanity that is penetrating my reckless thoughts, I reason to myself that a half a cup of sweet antifreeze in a pumpkin pie should do the trick and be easy enough to pull off. I'll use less sugar and replace it with antifreeze. I know just a small amount of it can be lethal for dogs or cats and I have a great pumpkin pie recipe which is always a hit when I make it. At this point, it's perfectly logical to me.

The constant bickering and bantering has become ridiculous, continuously hurling nasty comments back and forth between us. "You're a bitch"...... "You're an asshole".... "You drink too much".... "You've spent $5,000.00 on the credit card".... it's a never ending go-around between us.  My moral standards have stooped to an all-time low, along with my self-esteem. I'm not the same person I was at the beginning of our connection.  But, there are still some times in between, although far and few between, when things seem good and I still feel a reason to be here. But it always digresses backwards into the trenches and I'm unravelling now because I'm just tired of it all. The voice in my head is still drumming "No more. Not this year. Nope".

I gather all my ingredients to make my much-loved recipe for pumpkin pie but my mind is racing with devious thoughts as I methodically begin creating a perfect pie for our dinner. Outlandishly, I follow through with my plan and replace some of the called-for sugar with antifreeze, and pop the pie into the oven. While it was baking I was cognizant of the aromas floating out from the hot oven, which smelled like a normal pumpkin pie to me. I pulled out the baked pie and set it on a cooling rack, my mind still battling itself. A bit of time had passed before I truly thought about what I just did and I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the poison pie. "Oh my God", I mutter to myself. "What have I just done?!" Immediately, I throw the pie in the trash can in the garage so he will never find it. After I recompose myself, I begin making a proper pie for dinner. Apple this time.

We finish our turkey dinner, and although it wasn't a big family gathering, nonetheless, the turkey was as delicious as it smelled while it was cooking, and the meal was fine. The fresh vegetables actually came out of my own garden, satisfying part of my ideal vision of Thanksgiving. As I predicted, the chairs around the table were all empty except his and mine. Thanksgiving dinner was lonely this year, just the two of us, sitting silently at the same table. My silence was mostly due to a deep feeling of guilt and regret about my sinister plan, a plan which actually became a reality. I had really baked a poison pie for Thanksgiving dinner. What the hell was I thinking? Have I really gone so mad, I wondered to myself, staring down into my plate to completely avoid any eye contact with him. It didn't really matter; he wasn't looking at me either. I guess, I thought to myself, what I have to be thankful for this year is that I didn't follow through with my delirious plan to poison him. Can you just imagine?  I feel utter remorse for such poor judgment and disregard for someone else's life. 

I get up from the dinner table to make a pot of green tea for myself; he doesn't drink tea but he's still drinking beer. While my tea is steeping, I get the apple pie that's been warming in the oven, grab a couple of plates, and bring it back to the table to cut into slices. At the same time as I'm doing that, he gets up to use the bathroom and after a few minutes comes back and joins me again at the table. I look across at him, taking in a good long look, and I contemplate apologizing for my part in everything that's gone wrong in our relationship. After all, Thanksgiving is a time for gratefulness and maybe even reconciliation. I consider the possibility of trying one more time before dissolving a relationship that we have each invested six years of our lives into. I resolve to break the silence between us, and try showing some compassion to make another effort to fix this mess we're in together. I want to take the high road and be the first to speak up to admit my faults in this convoluted relationship. I clear my throat to speak.

Suddenly my throat is constricted and I can't get any air into my lungs. I can't breath. I'm confused and thrashing out, grabbing at nothing, just trying to suck in one tiny breath, but I can't and I knock my tea cup flying off the table in my attempts to gulp in a breath. My head begins swirling and the lights around me begin fading as I glance across the table at him, aghast. I recoil in horror as I realize what has just happened. His expression is cold, his black eyes are empty and spiteful, but I can still distinguish that evil sneer on his face, for the last time, before I gradually slump down in my chair and succumb into a dark unconsciousness, and eventually death. 

"How's your tea dear?" he asks snidely. 

He gets up from the dinner table and throws his slice of pie into the trash can. Then he throws the rest of the pie into it as well.