Middle of the Night Fight

I just wanted to share a few thoughts as your marriage and family therapist in training. 

 Because when was the last time you got to hear every word of someone else's fight?!

I had an intense observational session with my hotel neighbors between midnight and 1am this morning. 

No, it wasn’t scheduled.  

But, I showed up anyway because the wall was so thin, they may as well have been sitting on my bed.

I'm not sure who she called, but there was a strong opinion it wasn't her Mom, like she said.

My takeaways:

1.  Don't talk over your significant other, or anyone.  Ever.  This is verbal bullying and very disrespectful.  Let them finish.

2.  You may be able to cut the conversation length in half, if you simply acknowledge what you allowed your person to fully express.

3.  Consider saying, "I think you're lying" rather than "You are a liar!"  

4.  Go old school.  Use the phrase I really, I strongly, or I passionately fill-in-the-blank instead of I f-ing fill-in-the-blank.

5.  Avoid mocking your beloved in the tone or phrases they communicate with.

6.  Always and Never should not be your friends.

7.  If it's late and you feel like you are not making any progress, say "I'm done talking about this, now.  I love you.  Let's revisit this in the morning."  *Your neighbors will REALLY appreciate this one.

That is all.

Thank you and have a great day!

Bridging the Gap

Our Mom was paralyzed in a car accident 29 years ago today.  She didn’t realize that today was the day because she was playing Bingo.  But, her kids did.  

My younger brother and I remember the knock on the door in the wee hours of the morning.  We were the only ones still living at home.  I was 16, he was 14.  My sister was newly married and my older brother was in boot camp at the Naval Training Center in Illinois. 

It was our Uncle and Mom’s best friend at the door.  Mom had been in an accident.  She hurt her back, so she was flown to the nearest city with better doctors, is what I remember.  But, I also remember thinking she just wouldn’t be able to lift anything heavy for awhile.  

That turned out to be true.  But, how true, I had no way of knowing.  

My brother remembers a yellow envelope with her belongings, cut rings, and money covered in blood. I remember seeing her in the ICU, how bad the room smelled, metal coming out of her head and arm, asking her how she got some random abrasion, and hearing her robot voice say she would walk again. 

I left the next day for Disney World for my planned Spring Break trip with my high school choir.  I didn’t want to go, but staying wasn’t helpful to anyone.  She came home from the rehabilitation hospital three months later.  My brother and I became caregivers, and adults who looked like children.

Today, 29 years later, I’ve been very unlike me.  Fighting tears most of the day, actually.

I heard River of Dreams on Saturday while I was making dinner.  I heard it because I put it on my Spotify playlist awhile ago, because it reminds me of my Mom.  She used to play it on the piano and the piano itself would come to life.  But, Saturday, while standing in my kitchen, it brought my walking, piano-playing Mom and my little girl self into Room 167 at the nursing home, and I wept for all of us.  

So many losses over such a long period of time.  If you’re 29 years of age, you’re still young.  But, if you’ve been in a wheelchair for 29 years, or caring for and loving someone who has, it seems like a different kind of 29.  Maybe like dog years, where 1 year is really 7 years.  Or something like that. 

But, I need to write today, because I’m still surprised by my emotions, which tells me I’m not as smart as I think I am.  Especially after sooo long, and after Saturday.  I thought I got “it” out of my system.  Whatever “it” is, exactly.  

After talking to Mom today, and realizing that today is just another day for her, I think I am figuring it out.  

Today, I am sad for me and my brother, and for losing the last few years of our childhood.  I am sad for my older siblings, too, but in a different way.  We all bear and have borne different kinds, levels, and layers of suffering because of our Mom’s accident and the upside-downness that follows.  Where we went to college, or not.  Where we lived, or not.  How far we dared to dream, or not…

Even now, she is often at the center of our thoughts.  Our emotions vary widely, depending on what is happening with her, what she needs, or what we wish were different.  

But, because her suffering is and has been so great, her children’s suffering, as it relates to her own, remains unseen.  She is like a ship making her way through the ocean.  We are tied off in little inner tubes bumping along behind her, riding the waves as they come.  

It’s not that she doesn’t care, she just can’t see us back there. 

I was recently trying to convey some uneasiness I had about some changes in her health.  She said, “Well, how do you think I feel?”  

She’s right, of course.  

But, that didn’t keep me from feeling my feelings, just like it hasn’t for 29 years.  But, there’s often no place for them because her suffering is so giant and unending, it hogs all the room.  So, I stuff them, and cry for her instead because there’s plenty to cry about.  

And now I know something else.  I am familiar with pain created by a gap in understanding.  

I am writing a story about what life is like after losing a spouse.  I am an interesting author for such a story, because I have not lived that life.  I hope I never will, but am not naive enough to think I won’t.  But, I meet weekly with people who are.  I hear their stories and recognize their great suffering because their spouse died, but also that their suffering is unnecessarily greater because it is not seen nor understood.  

After today, I understand my motivation and my ability to write about someone else’s suffering a little better.  I see them and I see a gap.  

I don’t like gaps.  They’re unnecessary.  Love and compassion and listening and trying to understand can close them, or at least come close.

Dear Mom, Josh, Mike, and Michelle, spouses missing their spouses and all who live with a gap in understanding,

I see you.  I hear you.  I love you. And I want to understand…

P.S. Heidi, same goes for you…

Love, 

Me

 

Givers and Takers

A friend recently pointed out that we are givers or takers.  Overall, I think I am a giver.  Except when I go home to my parents' house where I become a taker, like the child I really am.

It is so nice to go there.  Meals are provided, my bed and pots of coffee are made, and towels are set out.  With chocolates.  Like VIP treatment at a fancy hotel, I imagine...

We often hear it said that "it is better to give than to receive."  But, if we don't learn how to receive, we remain poorer than we ought.  Not only that, but we increase the poverty of the giver.  For they are deprived of the joy of giving and the satisfaction of a gift well-received.

I think one of the whole points of living, beyond knowing, loving, and serving God, is to grow the other side of yourself.  Takers must learn how to give and givers must learn how to receive.

I realize that some of the greatest tension in my life comes when I am unable to love people the way I want to.  Because they are unable to receive it.  Walls are built for self-protection and fortified through the years.  Efforts to become invisible are rewarded with invisibility, and intimacy keeps paying the bill that never shrinks.  

 As I make my way from Kansas to Texas, from the family I was born into to the family that gives life to me daily, I look for silver linings. (I wonder if this is also something I have learned or if I have always been this way.)  As I see it, the silver lining is that aging brains and bodies, disability, and decline help us shift the eternal balance between giving, taking, and receiving.  The side we keep in the shade is forced into the sunlight and given one option only.  

Grow.

These hard things disguised as ugliness and decay are more like old friends coming unbidden - to help you move your old upright piano, because you can't move it by yourself.   And they're glad to do it.

Don’t Let an Aisle Be an Ocean

Posting a little late due to travel, but I captured a few thoughts on New Year’s Eve for myself and anyone else who cares to read them…

It’s the last day of 2022.  I’m with the fam, heading to Steamboat Springs for our first family ski trip – Senior graduation/20^th anniversary/Because we’ve-been-talking-about-it-for-years ski trip.  We’re on the second flight of the day and I have fresh inspiration for 2023.  

We’re flying Southwest, so seats are catch as catch can.  I sat between my youngest, who called dibs on the window seat, and a man who was sitting across the aisle from his entire family.  

 

But, the aisle may as well have been an ocean.  His wife, across the aisle/ocean had a kindergartner on her left (by the window), an autistic son who kept hitting her on her right, and a newly-walking, very antsy toddler on her lap.  And this man literally got his book out (Letters from the Stoics) and put his headphones on.  

 

I learned the husband’s name fairly early on, but heard it more often than he did.  I even got to help her get his attention once…After he didn’t hear her saying his name or see her waving her arms.  But, he did put the book down after awhile.  To watch a movie on his phone.  

A couple of us offered to hold the little one, and she took the lady behind me up on it, when things just got to be too much. 

 

The edge in the woman’s voice would have made my ears bleed, but my heart was already bleeding from imagining the rest of her life – when she’s not vacationing (Ha!) She was doing it by herself, just like she said (when he seemed annoyed that things weren’t being handled better over there).  I was afraid the only departure from normal was us going on a ski trip.  

 

I read and I colored, wondering what I could do without a hot poker and a good dose of courage.  I did nothing, but smile at the Mom whenever I could catch her eye, and silently loathe her beloved. 

 

I thought about writing her a little note, too.  But, LEAVE HIM! isn’t exactly in line with my beliefs about marriage.  And HANG IN THERE didn’t seem very helpful.  And ENJOY IT, IT GOES QUICKLY downright ridiculous, and unbelievably insensitive.  Perhaps the most validating, but still unwritten… I SEE YOU.  YOU ARE JUSTIFIED IN YOUR FEELINGS. P.S. I’m going to be a marriage and family therapist in two years.  Call me if you can’t find anyone between now and then.

Well over halfway into the 2-hour flight, he came around, and offered to cross the aisle to help.  She eagerly accepted.  

Hallelujah.  Lord, have mercy.  Maybe I should have given him the benefit of the doubt.  He certainly provided a lot of timely inspiration for 2023…

 

Take your headphones off.  Hold a kid.  Make eye contact.  Be a partner and a friend.  Anticipate the needs of people you love.  Don’t make them beg or plead.  Look at your spouse and your kids- Many are wishing they could do that very thing.  If you can’t do your share, be appreciative of the one(s) who are.  Express your gratitude, and don’t let an aisle be an ocean.   

In the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, Don’t “miss your appointment with life.” Happy New Year!  Thank you for flying with Southwest.  

 

Circling Sea Glass

Some people think the world is going to hell in a hand basket.  But, not me. Because, there’s Mitch.

I’m tagging along with my husband and son on their hunting trip, which happens to be 15 miles from Surfside Beach.  Seems like a weird combination to me, but no matter. 

The guys left early this morning to hunt, and I walked out behind them to have a cup of coffee on the beach and watch the sunrise.  I’m not a morning person, so I haven’t seen a lot of sunrises, and I’ve seen fewer on the beach.

Without planning to, I got up with my empty coffee cup and started walking.  After awhile, I started looking where I was walking.  After another while, I noticed that someone had drawn what looked like eyes in the sand. One here, one there.

I assumed someone up earlier than me, needed to mark a moment of some great vision or insight.  

But, then there was one close enough to my feet, that I couldn’t miss what was inside of it.

Sea glass.  

It took me a minute, but it dawned on me that someone was walking this beach, circling sea glass for others to find.

Really?  It’s only 7 in the morning, and somebody has already been here, pointing the way to a treasure that a later traveler might miss? 

It doesn’t seem like a thing of great magnitude when you write it, but it is dumbfounding when you discover it.

I kept walking, but now, I was walking and wondering “Who is doing this?!”  

I stopped long enough to take pictures of the evidence, but never took the glass.  I was too eager for someone else to find the treasure I found.  Evidence of the person who found it first, and wanted you to find it, too.  

I only saw one other person coming from the direction I was going, so I stopped her.  “Was it you?”  “Did you draw the circles around the sea glass?!”

She, Michelle, head of beach clean up on their "4 miles of heaven", smiled knowingly.  “No, that was Mitch.”  

Mitch?

“Yes, he walks the beach every morning at sunrise.  He’s 85.  He couldn’t walk and was near death a year ago.  But, now he walks two miles every morning and volunteers to clean up the beach. He only wanted a bucket and a grabber, so that’s what he got. His wife Susie goes when he gets back, so she can use the bucket and grabber, too.”  

She said, “If you’re here tomorrow morning at sunrise…”

But, I won’t be.  I’m leaving soon. 

But, I’m taking Mitch with me.  Along with all of the treasures I found (outside of his circles).  But, leaving knowing Mitch walks the beach at sunrise, picking up trash and circling sea glass for others to find, is the greatest treasure of all.

 

A Case For Marriage

Today is our 20th wedding anniversary.  Yes, we can believe it.  And no, we can’t believe it!  

Once upon a time, a ranch foreman who had given up on women and a horse trainer with a boyfriend back in Kansas, met on Valentine’s Day in the Hill Country…

“Your boyfriend let you come to Texas without a ring on your finger?!  Your boyfriend is a fool.”

We were engaged a month later and married eight months after that.  St. Isidore’s Catholic Church.  K-State campus.  November 9, 2002.  A fall wedding in Kansas is a bit of a gamble, but it was 70-something and sunny.  Because, why wouldn’t it be?  It was a game day and there were a lot of happy Wildcats honking and cheering us on as we crossed the threshold as husband and wife.

20 years later, we have three teenage boys, good jobs, and all we need.  I just finished my second class in my graduate program, and my husband has been unbelievably supportive.  Not only like not complaining when I’m holed up on the computer, or saying “You’ve got this!”, but also like…

Plate delivered, meat cut up, potato mashed and buttered with salt and pepper, and salad with just the right amount of the right kind of dressing.  I mean, freaking amazing.  

I could go on and on and on about all of the reasons I love my husband and why he is the best and why I am so glad I married him.  But, you might think your husband is better than mine and then we might have to fight, or you might think your husband is a loser compared to mine and then I would have to console you, so I’m going to switch tracks, because as much as I want to celebrate our 20 years, which I will, with him, tonight, I want to encourage you in your marriage, right now. 

Marriage is one of the best and hardest things there is.  I have talked to three different people this week who may or may not have used the “D” word, but are wondering if their marriages are going to survive, or if they’re going to die trying to make it work.  I’ve never forgotten what my married friends said, both having been married twice before…

“We could have made our first marriage work, if we had just known how much work marriage is.”  Yesterday, she lived through the date of his death for the fourth time.  It’s hard to call it an anniversary.  

I no longer have the privilege of celebrating an anniversary without thinking about a time when celebrating them might end, and dreading them might begin.  Grieving spouses are great teachers.  They help me believe in the depth of my husband’s love for me.

Two years after her death, a grieving husband told me on Monday, “I still look for her.”

“I know she’s not there, but I still look for her.”

This helps me to know that if I should die, I will not be dead to my husband.  Even after a long time.  It also reminds me that he is looking for me, now.  

And this is a really good thing to see and know and be reminded of.  Because sometimes my husband is bringing me a plate of bite-sized meat and buttered potatoes, and sometimes he’s gone for two weeks, and I feel like an acquaintance on a good day and a beggar on a bad one.  Please, sir, can you spare just a little bit of time?  Under the right circumstances, I can convince myself that I am destined for leftovers, and it’s embarrassingly easy to despair.

As much I would like to say this is old news, I just about blew it again this weekend.  More time away for him, a big paper due for me, and patience, charity, and anything that feels like love at all seems to fly right out the window.  We were supposed to overnight in San Antonio to watch a boy and a band march at the Alamodome and go for a hike the next day.  Storms were coming in, I was on the fence, and he didn’t want to spend the trip in silence, so…

So, after 20 years, I realized something.  I realized that I was withholding my love because in my wounded and selfish heart, I didn’t think he deserved it.  When I actually admitted this to myself, I was ashamed.  I was ashamed because that is not who I am.  I believe in giving my love to everyone, especially to those who don’t deserve it.  And he does deserve it.  Every bit of it. 

I assured him the weekend wouldn’t pass in silence.  We went, and had a wonderful time.  

I cringe at the thought that I almost bagged the whole thing.  Over seven miles, we walked and talked about the meaning of life and happiness and the two times in our 20 years of marriage I told him to go-fly-a-kite with fewer words and no kite.  He’s forgiven me, but he still remembers how many times it happened.  Twice…

I was reading a book about parenting teenagers yesterday because it’s so easy and I love reading about how easy it is.  (HA.Ha.ha)  Anyway, I came across this great quote.  I think it fits nicely here, as we own our mistakes, and let the good and bad all go together somehow, like they do…

One of the most widespread superstitions is that every man has his own special, definite qualities:  That a man is kind, cruel, wise, stupid, energetic, apathetic, etc.  Men are not like that…men are like rivers…every river narrows here, is more rapid there, here slower, there broader, now clear, now cold, now dull, now warm.  It is the same with men.  Every man carries in himself the germs of every human quality, and sometimes one manifests itself, sometimes another, and the man often becomes unlike himself, while still remaining the same man.      -Tolstoy

The only thing harder than living with someone in marriage, is living without them.  Yes, it is normal for it to be “this hard.” Keep fighting for what is worth fighting for.  Find the good and circle around it.  Forgive the rest and begin again.  

Happy 20th Anniversary to Us, and Love and Encouragement to all… 

Look Through the Kaleidoscope

I facilitate a grief support group for spouses, every Monday. I'm sorry if I sound like a broken record. I feel like I say this more than I say any other thing, except hopefully, I love you.

Facilitating this group and getting to know the people and their stories have become part of who I am and a highlight of every week.

This week, I planned to discuss bravery, feeling pretty brave myself after camping on the beach with my teenagers over the weekend.

But, this is their group, and more relevant this day were love letters written during courtship, mailed in time to meet their muse (who was a flight attendant for Pan Am) at her next destination, somewhere around the world.  These letters were kept, mostly forgotten, and found 50 some years later, right around the one-year anniversary of his passing.  These letters took six hours to read, all in a row.  This day, they were neatly bundled with a bow and shared with cupcakes.

More important this day, were songs sung by a cowboy who once sang for hundreds, but only for his dogs since his wife went Home.

And more important this day, were dreams of spouses-gone-ahead by spouses-left-behind.  Dreams as real as the realest thing there is.

This Monday morning, one woman greeted another.  She'd met her a few times before, but couldn't remember her name.  So, she asked her again.  She needed to know her name, because she needed to thank her.  And give her a toy kaleidoscope.

On the second anniversary of her husband's death, she dreamt.  In her dream, she was at one of our meetings.  When our meeting ended, the woman (whose name she did not know) handed her a kaleidoscope and told her to look through it.

When she looked through it, she saw her husband coming down from heaven.  (When she says this, her hand extends to the sky and her eyes spring with tears.  It feels a little bit like you were there, too, and like it is happening right now.)

Her husband looked well and happy.  He came near, walked past her, got on his horse, and rode away.  

The joy of seeing him seemed to outweigh the pain of not being able to talk or touch.  Seeing the one person you chose above all others.  Your other half...

We dabbed at our tears and marveled that someone you barely know (and who doesn't dream), could give you an opportunity you would give anything for, and yet, could not give yourself.

I wonder if Rose Marie had not been there to hand Melissa a kaleidoscope, if it would have been someone else?  Would Melissa have seen her husband on the second anniversary of his death, no matter what?

 It's hard to say.

The thing is, Rose Marie was there - giving kaleidoscopes and instructions, and by doing so, connecting her with the person she loves the most. 

Does this mean that simply by showing up and tending to our own needs and making ourselves available to others in real time, that we create unlimited possibilities for future connections - inside and outside of time?    

It seems like maybe, um probably, I'm going with yes...

I am beyond hopeful that relationships continue after death and in awe of the synchronicity of a well-timed dream and heavenly visitation.   I am also exceedingly grateful for the small, but irreplaceable parts we play in one another’s lives, knowing or unknowingly, and that a kaleidoscope can connect strangers, lovers, worlds, and us.  

I hope a peek into this Monday morning can do the same for you.

Sweet Dreams.

.