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couple things got me thinking


I stumbled across a marriage blog via someone’s commenters the other day. The couple appeared to be relatively well-off financially, young and not together all that long. The post that caught my attention was about the myth of sacrifice in relationships, the idea that couples should be willing to give up or go along for no other reason than it benefiting the other person. They believed that value for the “sacrificing” partner should always be a consideration and the idea that every give and take should have a value to value thing going on.

In theory I agree. If one can’t find an upside for both partners the majority of the time, a relationship isn’t likely to last (although, my parents’ marriage flies in the face of this having lasted fifty+ years wherein neither of them ever really saw value in the give/take they engaged in). But like most theories, this value added relationship thing doesn’t fly when the clear glass window of reality rears. There are times when a partner is called on to “suck it up, buttercup” while the other is largely unaffected or the clear beneficiary.

I used the example of my care-taking years when Will was sick. Ms. ModernWife replied that I made a good point but that she felt that if Will had been a good husband then my “sacrifice” in terms of the toll those years took on me physically and emotionally and in terms of putting my life on hold were his due. I owed him that. At least that’s the way I read her reply. And to me, that negates the value-value thing and makes it a “score-keeping” thing which the site felt was “bad”.

I made a commitment to Will and I honored it despite the personal cost to me (and to Dee – my parenting suffered and she bore the effects). I supposed one could argue that I gained from the situation in terms of gaining perspective and inner strength and all that touchy-feel good about myself psycho-babble. But I would counter with the fact that if I hadn’t possessed much of this before, I’d never have done the things I did. I wouldn’t have had the tools. I’ll admit to having been changed somewhat but not to the idea that it made me a better (or worse) person. It built on what was already there.

But Ms. ModWife has clearly never been put to much of a test in terms of having to do something for someone that didn’t benefit her at all. That, in my mind, is the true test of character. Value for value is fine, but it’s not real life.

The other thing was a post Alicia wrote about a friend who lost her brother to a 12 year battle with cancer. It was a case where the outcome was never in doubt. Doctors never claimed to be able to cure the man, just lengthen his life span. This kind of thing usually exacts a huge toll on the patient and his family/friends. Her friend had expressed exasperation with her sister-in-law (the dying man’s wife) from time to time saying that she was never around. Never took an active role.

It reminded me of an incident that took place the summer before Will died. He was in the nursing home still. He was completely blind. Bed-ridden for the most part. Couldn’t speak. His movements were spastic and involuntary. I really haven’t any idea of what, if anything, he could hear or comprehend. Just going from the autopsy results I got the next spring, I would say if he heard people at all – he wasn’t able to make sense of what was being said.

I was taking classes all that summer, getting ready to start my thesis paper. In the morning I still took Dee to daycare for half a day because she needed to stick to a schedule she knew and she needed the interaction. It was also one of those instances where I chose Will over Dee in terms of my time. During the school year when I taught, Will often lost out to Dee. Her needs trumped. But that summer was going to be his last, I knew that, and so I opted to pawn Dee off and spend as much time as I could with him.

I would drop Dee off about 7:30 and drive across town and out to the bedroom community where his nursing home was located.* I would feed Will breakfast and get him set up in a nice spot for the morning, go home to work on school work or get whatever yard/house work I needed to out of the way and then drive the 30 minutes back to the home to feed him lunch. I did this every day except for the days I was in class.

There was a pastor from a local church who came into the home to visit people and run little programs. I later found out that he’d baptized Will at the insistence of my MIL despite the fact that Will was adamant about his lack of interest in such a thing before he became ill.

“Will’s accepted Jesus as his personal Savior, ” is what MIL told the hospice chaplain months later.

“When the hell did he do that?” was my reply before I assured the chaplain that Will had no real interest in organized religion and that anyway his last religious act had been to learn the Hail Mary and insist on wearing a medal of the Holy Mother with Infant.** I got quite a bit of satisfaction out the pained look her son’s interest in Catholicism gave MIL.

Anyway, the pastor was there at lunch, and I saw him often before the day he walked over and asked if I was Will’s physical therapist.

“I see you here all the time with him,” he said. “You are so good with him. Are you his therapist?”

“What?”

“His physical therapist.”

I think it’s because he saw me feeding Will, taking my time and coaxing. Will really only ate more than a mouthful for me by then. No one else could really get him to eat at all. And I was always touching him. Smoothing the front of his shirt or running my hands through his hair. Patting him. Which begs the question of what kind of a therapist was this pastor used to observing?

“I’m his wife,” I said.

You really should have seen the double-take this man did. And I know why. He was a “friend” of Will’s mother, and she made it her mission to tell anyone asked, or didn’t, about her poor dying son’s appallingly neglectful wife. 

“She hardly visits and when she does it’s only for  a few minutes. She just lives her life like he’s dead already. She can hardly wait for him to be gone.”

Well, maybe not those exact words but I know they were awfully close. Later she would be convinced that I was dating again almost as soon as he was dead. In her eyes, I was not worthy of sympathy in the same way she was. And maybe I wasn’t.

I had a full time job because the bills had to be paid and we (Dee and I) needed health insurance and couldn’t get it through Medicaid as Will did. I had to keep a roof over our heads, food in our bellies and clothes on our back. I had a child to raise – by myself really from day one. And as I mentioned earlier, I often had to choose between visiting Will and what was best for Dee. Sometimes my little buttercup had to suck it up and go to the nursing home even when she was tired from having been to daycare/preschool all day long or would have rather gone to the swimming pool or on a playdate, but as it became clear to me that it was traumatizing her to go to the nursing home to see this husk of a person who didn’t know her, couldn’t interact with her and she couldn’t really remember any other way – her needs became priority. I couldn’t ruin her for his sake and he wouldn’t have wanted me to. I took comfort knowing that he would have been proud of me for taking care of the basics and putting Dee’s needs first because he would have done the same.

This friend’s sister-in-law is a stranger whose story I don’t know. But I do know what it is like to be the wife of a man who is essentially walking dead. It changes your outlook. It changes the way you interact. It makes you think more about the future beyond than the immediate future with. Did I shut down? No. I wish that was possible. But I compartmentalized and walled people off, becoming very picky about who I shared my hurt with. I certainly didn’t share it with my MIL and actually became more steely and indifferent in her presence and around her family and friends because I knew they were judging me and I felt I didn’t owe them a peep show of my soul for that reason because it was unlikely to change their views.

You can’t walk around for years on end as an open wound. You won’t survive long if you do. And a person can only put life on hold for so long before the force of it simply sweeps you away like the dams of rocks and sticks my siblings and I used to make in the gutters were after it rained. Life is a force that will not be denied. You can swim along or be swamped and carried, there really is not another option.

 

 

*At one point I was hitting all four corners of Des Moines in my daily commutes. We spent more awake time in the car than we did in our own home.

**Will was quite frightened in those last semi-cognitive weeks he had between July and late August of 2003. He asked me to teach him to pray. I taught him the Hail Mary because that’s the first prayer, aside from Grace at supper, that I learned as a little girl. I got him a rosary and the medal, and because his insomnia – its a symptom – was so bad he would be up half the night, so he took to praying the rosary with Mother Angelica on EWTN. He really believed that if he learned the rosary and prayed hard enough and often enough he would get better. He really did. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that prayers really aren’t for that. Prayers are for sharing confidences, and struggle and saying “thank you” . They won’t save you from what is supposed to be.

Thou Shalt Not Go Commando to Work – in Florida


The city of Brooksville in Florida recently updated the dress code for city workers to include, among other things, the wearing of underwear and deodorant and prohibiting obscene messages on tee’s and provocative undergarments that show.

I am all in favor of not having to see thongs leering at me when women bend over or squat down. I saw plenty of that as a high school teacher and more ass crack than should be considered reasonable in an educational setting. I am still caught off guard and a bit disgusted when I run across the mothers of my daughter’s peers with thongs on display and visible crack issues when they sit down. Obscenities on clothing are out of place in most workplaces too though I won’t rule it out  entirely. Deodorant is just a common courtesy in warm environments or if you are the kind of person who sweats a lot. But underwear?

Why is it necessary to wear underwear? Could it be the bra-less woman thing? Some people are put off, or simply befuddled to the point of being unable to concentrate, when confronted by a woman who isn’t wearing a bra. But I can’t see how shunning underwear impedes work or productivity overall if it’s not apparent to the naked (yeah, I am attempting a bad pun) eye.

A friend of my late husband’s claimed to be able to tell when a woman was sans panties. At the time, I was about half and half on my panty wearing, so I was curious to know how he could tell.

“It’s the panty lines,” he said. “Doesn’t matter what they do, they can’t really hide the dimples and bulges.”

Of course anymore, bulging and muffining are givens regardless because no one seems willing to wear the proper size of pants. And he was right. Even the thinnest, most toned women have the tell-tale creases of underwear when they are in dress pants or Lycra.

But I still don’t understand the “underwear” edit. Is it more sanitary perhaps? That extra fabric layer between the bum and the office chairs? Is it an absorbency thing? Catching the “juices” and holding them so they don’t leak into the air or through the pants or skirt. Is it a skirt thing? Are women in Florida going all Basic Instinct with beaver flashing?

I so seldom wear a bra that my daughter comments when I do,

“Why are you wearing a bra, Mom? Is something wrong?”

I think she equates them with band-aids.

And I don’t wear underwear. I just can’t stand the restrictiveness and have yet to find a brand that doesn’t dig or slide around. I guess the city council in Florida is okay with its employees digging underwear out of their cracks or constantly readjusting in some other way. 

I know you can test for drugs and aberrant personalities before hiring someone for a job, but how does one test for underwear? Are they going to use those new full body scanners they have in some airports now? Will they put cameras in the washroom stalls? Or will the boss just grab your ass every morning for  a quickie inspection?

It’s a good thing I don’t need employment outside my home right now. And that I live in Canada – where the people are free thinking enough to allow same sex marriage and just say no to the RIAA – rather than Florida. But I will keep my eyes open for  underwear scofflaws like myself. Just to see if I can see them.

The Results of Asking Me


On Monday I asked and some of you responded. Today I will reply to the questions my gentle readers put to me about myself.

Silverstar asked,

What is your dream vacation? If you had all the money needed, where would you go?

I don’t dream about vacationing. I find vacations stressful and physically/emotionally draining. I always have, which is why I am so poorly traveled at my age. One would think that a 45 year old woman who lived on her own until ten years ago would have been all over the world or her own country at the very least. Not true. And the reason? The act of traveling rattles me. And if I were rich beyond worries and the pesky inconveniences of mere mortals? It would still rattle me. However, since Rob is once again in the running for an overseas project, I have been thinking about places we might visit. There are the obvious suspects – London, Paris, Spain but I would like to see Greece. My friend Leslie traveled a lot and ended up summering in Greece and nearly settled down there when a local woman took a shine to her and offered to take her into her business. She didn’t have any children and wanted Les to help her run her shop and take it over someday. Leslie was tempted but in the end returned to Iowa and finished school. I wonder if she ever thinks about that anymore? I would like to spend time on some tiny island. Real time. A month or more. Just kick back. Eat fresh and local and walk everywhere I went – no mad tourist rush to see ruins or anything. Just live.

Daisyfae wanted to know,

What is the strangest, or most unexpected, thing you’ve ever done in public? That thing where your friends, or you, have to say “I can’t believe you (I) just did that!”

I was in university and there was this frat boy who worked in the dishroom of the dorm cafeteria where my friends and I lived. His name was Scott and he was a body builder. Very tan. Very buff. And as white blond as Boo Radley. Back in those days, I swore like a long shoreman (that is the expression, right?) and my girlfriends and I strove to be as crass and unflappable as any of the guys we knew. It was a point of honor. I think it may have had something to do with all the “having it all and frying it up in a pan” feminism thing that was going on at the time.

Scott made it a game to try and one up us or embarrass us, but he lost the game more than he won. When he didn’t, his scalp would get so red his hair looked like it was in danger of catching fire and his ears looked ready to combust. So we had more incentive than he did to win in our war of dirty words.

One Friday night though he got the better of Sarah’s friend Laura. I don’t remember the conversation now but he did his little snoopy dance taunt as she swore revenge. And he professed that we would never again get the better of him.

I saw him out that night at one of the dance clubs (actually we called them “bars” then). He was surrounded by a gaggle of sorority girls. We referred to them as “muffs”. Short for “muffins”, of course. Scott was the kind of guy who wouldn’t acknowledge you in public when he was with his fraternity or sorority peeps because it would have meant ‘fessing up to the fact that, unlike most of them, he had to hold down a job to bankroll his lifestyle rather than simply phoning home to the parental units for funding.

I’ll confess to having had a couple of kamikazees and I came up with a brilliant plan for ending his little contest with us forever. Something I knew he would never have the balls to top. I flounced over to him in my best muff imitation, wiggled past the entourage and sidled right up to him, draped an arm across his shoulder and purred – loudly – into his ear,

“You were great last night. I hope we can do it again tonight. You know where to find me when you’re done here.”

And then, for good measure, I nipped and licked his ear. ‘Cause that’s the way I rolled.

And, he never did find a way to top that.

Lora asked,

what is the bravest thing you’ve ever done?
what do you miss most about America?

Brave is subjective. But in my opinion, the bravest thing I ever did was put my late husband into a nursing home when he become too much for me to care for without quitting my job, which was never really an option. I was lucky that my own family was very supportive because his wasn’t and even my BFF, who was wonderful and a rock, commented that she could never have done that. She would have quit her job if she’d had to but could never put someone in a home.

And America? I miss HyVee. It is a grocery chain and the stores are open 24hrs with a pharmacy, diner, deli, and a Starbucks. Dee (aka BabyD) and I often ate their during the week and always on Sunday mornings. During the months I took off after Will died, I went to Starbucks every morning after dropping Dee off at school. The clerks all knew me. The young man at the Starbucks had my order started as soon as he saw me. The pharmacists knew my allergies and would phone the DR’s for me to get refills if I forgot. Oh, and there was a bank open there seven days a week. Nothing as capitalistically wonderful exists here in Canada.

And then my dear Sally threw this spanner into the works,

Where would you be in your life if Will was still alive and healthy? What would your life look like if you and Rob had been together from the outset? How did you and Will get together?

I almost saved this for last. It reminded me of my sister, DNOS, asking me last fall if I thought Will and I would still be together today if he hadn’t died. I don’t entertain myself with those types of daydreams or fantasies. I know that a lot of people do spend time mourning what should have been or what was supposed to be, but I don’t believe in that kind of entitlement. There is no such thing as should have or supposed to have been. Our futures are not set in stone. The future is mutable and dependent on events that are occurring right now and that is all we have control over and even that is sometimes not a given.

Will and I had talked about moving back to my hometown because it was clear to us that we needed physical distance from his mother and that in order to raise a family, a couple really needed to be in proximity to extended family. If he hadn’t been ill, we wouldn’t have needed IVF so Dee would not exist, but we’d likely have a couple of older children – eight or nine years old at least. And beyond that, I can’t say. I am not the same person ten years on and he wouldn’t have been either.

As to Rob, the fact that he and I were not even born in the same country and met as a direct result of dead spouses begs the question of how fate could have brought us together in our late teens or early twenties in the first place. I would say that we wouldn’t have happened at all, but let’s say that destiny had other ideas. When we discussed Sally’s question Rob pointed out the fact that he is not the man he was at nineteen when he and Shelley married. I am certainly not the girl I was at nineteen , and in spite of the fact that I was at school and taking care of myself – I was hardly a real grown-up.

I didn’t think I’d have been as likely to have children had it been Rob and I, simply because we are both so lukewarm on the soul-fulfilling wonders of parenthood. He didn’t agree, but I think the longer we’d have been childless – and it could have lasted as long as the mid to late twenties because I think we’d have both pursued school, degrees and careers – the less likely we’d have been to trade the idea of “us” for the idea of “family”. Beyond that, I can’t say.

When Will got sick, I shut down that time line. I mourned it heavily for the first year and less and less and by the day of his death, I considered it closed and was interested only in the real possibilities and not lamenting “what if’s” or “it’s not fair” or “we were supposed to”.

And though I wonder about Rob’s past – because it seems so much bigger in terms of what he accomplished than my own life – I think of us from here on.

How did Will and I meet? One of my very first blog posts is a recounting of “our” story that I wrote when I was about four months out. The story is there.

Sharon wanted to know,

What book would you write if you knew that, no matter the genre or topic or length, it would be a success?

I wish I could write an epic. Something hardcore science and trilogy length. I have an idea and even titles, but I don’t have the stamina for the research to make it happen. But if none of that mattered, and I could  half-ass it like say, the new book The Strain, or take something that was a cool idea, but I didn’t have the chops to make it more than mediocre, like The Twilight books, I would go for it.

Alicia‘s question was about books,

What book have you owned the longest? Not exactly what’s the oldest book on your shelf, because that could be a hand-me-down or a collector’s item… but which book among the ones you currently own was the first one you bought/received?

This was exactly easy. I have three picture books that my Uncle Jimmy gave me in 1969 for my birthday. One is Peter Pan. I love the pictures. Especially the one where Tiger Lily is nearly engulfed by the rising tide in the lagoon but still refusing to tell Hook where Peter is. I also have Cinderella and Twas the Night Before Christmas. They are in terrible shape. Which is sad, but I keep them anyway.

I also have a complete collection of the Through Golden Windows collections of short stories and novel excerpts for children. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have them, so I must have been three or so when my parents got them for us. I have them because no one else wanted them. I have read them all, even the collection of poetry.

Uncle Keith’s inquiring mind wanted to know,

Would you rather be a vampire or werewolf? Why?

Another easy one. Werewolf. Why? Because it is a once a month thing and as a woman, I have been dealing with an affliction once a month since I was a young teen. The hairy thing is something I deal with now as I go through menopause and I am totally okay with spending some down time all alone in a small windowless room because – aside from the windowless thing – I do that already as a writer.

As a werewolf, I would retain my reflection and the ability to have garlic, which I love. I would not be restricted to the night or have to worry about bursting into flames. As long as Rob took care to have me secured during my monthly, I wouldn’t be a danger to anyone and wouldn’t arouse any angry mobs or hunters.

And, of course, I would not have to die, be buried and dig my way out of a coffin and grave with my bare hands. Or be more pasty looking than I already am.

Cindy asked two questions,

How do you motivate yourself? In writing, blogging, and just in general.

There is nothing tangible that drives me to write or blog. I have always written and for most of my life my audience was limited to non-existent. I think writers in general are compelled to write.

Like most people, however, I am motivated by the results. I blog. People read and, hopefully, comment. I do yoga, and my legs and bum look better. I walk daily and I do not get fat(ter). I give things away and the universe seems pleased with me. I offer friendship and (in most cases) get some back. Cause/effect is the oldest motivator.

So do you feel like it’s true? And if so what would be the new challenge and complete life change?

I am not colorful or charismatic. Gray is my favorite colour and I wear a lot of black and earth tones. And no one follows me really. I am a very small fish in the pond who watches more than she interacts or is noticed. However, I do like people who are deep thinking and have passion for something that is evident from time to time. And I am quick to react but bold and courageous only when I need to be and that is, thankfully, not often anymore.

I’ve had a complete life change really. The States to Canada. Working to SAHM. Teacher to writer. Widow to Wife. I am shifting to novels from short stories, which is a challenge.

Minor life change things? I am not disciplined enough. I haven’t pared down to the essentials-only yet. I still care too much about what other people think of me. I am not yet fully content with my body image. But really, I haven’t anything to complain about – aside from the weather. It just isn’t sunny enough or warm enough yet.

Marsha wanted to know,

Great minds are similar–don’t you think?

In my opinion, kindred spirits find each other and exchange ideas that are clearly simpatico. Rob and I had that kind of connection from the start and I still seem able to “read his mind”.

“Get out of my head,” he will say when I anticipate something he is about to say or finish a sentence for him.

I don’t know that being on the same wave-length makes minds great because some hive mentalities are not healthy or productive, but generally, birds flock by type.

 

So there you have it. If you have follow-up questions, leave a comment and I will get to it later today. I have a field trip, yoga and novel revising filling up most of my morning and early afternoon today so be patient.

I asked Rob if he was going to do this meme thing and he didn’t think he had readers enough to bother to ask for questions. You could leave him a nagging suggestion to do this on his blog today while you wait for me.