February 28, 2012 (this day)

Last year at this time I finally lost faith in my car and its ability to take me on the 23 mile a day one way trip to work and back, and the 300 mile trip to my daughter’s, and I bought a brand new car for the first time since 1992.  I’ve driven 11,000 miles since then and it’s prompted me to change the oil once so far.  And almost every day I remember to be grateful and to appreciate the fact that I’m not worried it will break down.

Someone I work with got hurt.  This isn’t unusual, because the people I work with, both the staff and the clients, are fragile.  It’s troubling and sad and frightening, because often they don’t recover.  There’s all that every time but in addition, this time, I’m worried it could be my “fault.”  Did I fail to do something I should have done?  It’s not out of the question.

So along with having my reactions, I examined my reactions.  Hope for her well-being is my number one reaction.  But after that . . . is it my fault?  Should I cover up?

Should I cover up?

With 27 years of sobriety?  No, I should not cover up.  Should I admit it?  Yes, I should admit it.  But what if I admit to something I didn’t do, and everyone likes and accepts that explanation, and it goes down as being my fault when it isn’t?

It would crush me to lose my job, but I would survive.  I’m in a very enviable position of being able to be supported by my wife, though that would be at her discretion, of course, since legally we aren’t married.  Still our relationship is good and I can believe in that right now.

So, what if I’m wrong and I don’t admit it?  Will I eventually drink?  I was thinking of psychological “baggage” and that this situation is like being handed a suitcase full of crap.  I have to unpack the crap in order to get rid of it, and then I’m flinging the empty suitcase into the fire.

I had another interesting thought about it, which is that I might want to try and trust the process.  There is actually a formal process that seeks to explain these things and to see if someone actually is fault.  It may be that no one is.  Then let’s say that there is someone at fault, and let’s say it’s me.  I could then trust the discretion of my bosses to decide if I should stay at work or rent a U-Haul and clean out my desk.  I’ve been there for a very long time.

Trusting the process and trusting the bosses and trusting Carole are the most soothing thoughts I’ve had about this.  And I do wish someone would update me on the actual situation.  I glanced at a newsletter this morning that said something about “absolute honesty.”  Those are the kinds of newsletters I receive!  Well, one kind.

Carole’s on her way home from a few days away.  She’s helping the folks I work with protest budget cuts tomorrow.  Then, we’ll take our son for a birthday dinner.  He’ll be 24, or 6, depending on your calendar.   Twenty-four years ago I spent the day in labor and just about anything I do now will be better than that, but without such a reward, obviously.


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