Running to Stand Still

"I wonder if there is a freedom from financial worry to be had by having enough money," Delores pondered.

"Well, of course, that's how you make it...isn't it?" Agnes snapped. She didn't like deep thought or unsweetened tea, both favorites of her best friend.

"I don't think so. The rich worry about losing what they have and they often do just that. It's worse for the middle class. When I was young and poor I had a lot more freedom from financial worry. Nothing to worry about losing...but, I don't know," Agnes furrowed her brow, "It changed when I became a mother."

"All that responsibility," Agnes concurred, stirring more sugar into her tea.

"Yes, exactly. Although my daughter is seventeen now and I don't think I'll be one of those parents who keeps supporting her children long after they cease to be children."

"You'll kick her out?" Agnes arched her eyebrows in question. She still semi-supported her children and grandchildren. It was why she worked.

"No, no, not that, but I think I may end up more of a roommate. I hate the bitterness of always giving and not receiving and that bitterness is souring my thoughts on parenting," Delores frowned, getting to the real point. "Entitlement and feeling like whatever I give is ever enough...well, it makes me want to run away."

"Then run. I always thought we should travel more," Agnes said in support. "Next year run. I'll help you move back home."

"But even the prodigal son, after wasting his inheritance, came back home and found a place and his father's support. I am likely a bad mother," Delores sank deeper into her funk and sipped her too hot tea. "I don't know what to do. About anything. I want to love, I want to run, I find myself thinking that dying -- not that I'm suicidal mind you -- but that dying wouldn't be such a bad break in the day."

"Honey," Agnes said, laying her hand over Delores' slightly trembling fingers, "a trip to the Big Apple would be a much nicer break, don't you think?"