The day started out well. I had the reception for Kristin Beck, the transgendered Navy seal at the Vets Art Center. She’s a lovely woman, and my trans friend that I’d told about Kristin Beck came with her daughter. They met and were talking at a table when I left. My friend was a paratrooper, so I think she and Kristin had a lot in common.

When we got home, I made us some food, and just as I sat down to eat, got a phone call from my old neighbor. My ex has deteriorated quite a bit. He’s holed up in his cottage, won’t talk to anyone, or answer the door. He’s quite paranoid. Apparently the police got involved again, and an intervention worker. They got him to hold up food in the window so that they’d know he has food.

She told me it’s so sad, he sits on a big boulder at the end of the driveway and stares down the street, looking for my son. He asked her husband if someone dropped off the key to his new car, and they just told him no. Because they know he doesn’t have a new car.

She really wanted to know if it’s ok to give the intervention worker my number if they need further information, and of course I told her it was.

When I hung up, I was freaked out, again. As I’ve been the last two times this has happened. I’m not really equipped to deal with mental illness. I talked to Dan about it for about an hour, then we just kind of rested. I knew I had to process and absorb it.

When all was said and done, I’m really feeling a little angry about it. I’m pissed off that I have to deal with this, 8 years after I divorced the man. I have compassion for him, but his situation is entirely his own fault, by his own choice. I’m not even family. I’ve decided if and when the intervention worker calls, I will give her any information that I can, but refer her to my sister-in-law.

I guess one reason it bothered me more than it should have was that it’s been about a month since his last episode. I had hoped that the appearance of the police at his door might have sent him back to reality. No news is good news, right? Apparently not always. But honestly, he’s not my responsibility any longer. Nor is he my son’s. His sister will have to manage his affairs, or the state.

Whatever. I have made a concerted effort to leave that old life in the past. I resent having it surface and try to interrupt the life I have made here. So, this time, I may push back a little.

Maybe that’s the lesson. For me to learn that what happens to someone else is not necessarily my responsibility. My responsibility lies in my own future, and not in correcting the problems that he’s made for himself.

Love and light, even to him.