Love Is Like a See-Saw

I saw this “cartoon” on Facebook recently. I don’t know where it originally came from, so I can’t give proper credit to the humorist who developed it, but it reminded me of something that happened about 25 years ago. 

My husband and I had just married about two years before this occasion. I certainly didn’t consider myself a newlywed because I’d weathered marital difficulties previously in what I call “my former life,” but it was in something I will never forget.

I worked for a small family-run business. It reminded me of the Ewing family from the old Dallas series. The patriarch had passed away, leaving the matriarch to preside over her three squabbling sons who consistently jockeyed for priority, attention, and authority within the business. Only three of us in the office were not related to the family: the accountant, the receptionist, and me. At least that was the situation at the beginning of this story.

The receptionist was a gorgeous red-haired young woman. I’ll call her Diana (names have been changed to protect the innocent). She was a living doll, but unfortunately not one of the brightest bulbs in the box, as some people say. I quietly marveled each day that she managed to accomplish the simplest tasks. Nevertheless, she was beautiful! That beauty caught the eye of most men who came to the office, but particularly one of the grandsons, heretofore referred to us Rob. He immediately began pursuit. 

It didn’t take much to woo her. He was rich. She was not. She dazzled with her beauty, he dazzled with his wealth. It wasn’t long until they were married. Unlike most newlyweds of the era, they were immediately able to move into a big farmhouse purchased by the family for the freshly-minted couple.

Over lunch on the first day of Diana’s return to work after the honeymoon, she shared with me that the evening before she had prepared everything for Rob’s morning. She pressed his shirt, set out his shoes with appropriately coordinating socks tucked into them, and laid out his wardrobe for the day. She was up at dawn, dressed, and put on full make-up and hair for herself. In his bathroom, she set his toiletries out, conveniently arranged for his convenience, including the dispensing of the appropriate dollop of toothpaste on his toothbrush (lest he have to do it for himself). Then she went downstairs and prepared a massive breakfast for him.

When the Night has Come, and the Land is Dark*

June is a wise woman. She’s bright and educated. She’s a mover and shaker, a talented writer and poet, working all of her life for one worthy cause or another, and with a strong faith commitment. Yet she struggled for years in the relationship with her husband. His chronic depression was as present in their marriage as a mistress. Her faithfulness to her marriage vows kept her moving through her life with a person that couldn’t or wouldn’t live his with her. 

In that great *Ben E. King hit that we grew up with, the question is asked, “Won’t you stand by me?” But can you? At what cost to you?

¹If you are an adult aged 45-64, you are more likely than any other age group to have a diagnosis of depression. If you are a woman, then you are twice as likely to have depression, and symptoms of depression, as men of the same age. Depression is a condition that affects 1 in every 10 Americans.  

According to ²PsychCentral, “Depression has a much greater impact on marital life than rheumatoid arthritis or cardiac disease.” However, aren’t our lives so much better when we share them with someone we love? So what do you do when the one you love goes into that dark place and won’t let you in? 

I invite you to read June’s poetic telling of her own experience as she wrote it titled Married for Life. I post it here with her permission. 

Married for Life

It came to her in a dream nearly twenty years after his death. Neither physical abuse nor infidelity, at least not the kind that involved another person, took the breath from their marriage.   It did not end with a Big Bang of emotion that skyrocketed both of them into new orbits, into being new creations.  Like the creation of the Grand Canyon, their marriage eroded from tiny drops of dripping indifference falling on the bedrock of their life together.  Death came in infinitesimal amounts of unshared moments. Their marriage died of benign neglect.  

There were moments when she could feel big chunks of her fall away.  He would be driving, then begin laughing softly to himself.  She could see from the light of the dashboard that his lips were curved into a smile.  For the moment, his face would light up.  How she yearned to be a part of that joyful interior world. 

“Tell me what is so funny,” she would say.

The smile would fade, the light disappear from his face, as he re-entered a shared world.  All joy, good humor had flown from his face and the blank, lifelessness of depression returned. 

Startled out of his interior scene, he would take a moment to make the transition from his world to hers. Upset that she would interrupt the fleeting moment of escape. 

“Nothing,” he would curtly reply, usually, spoken so softly she could barely hear it. Other times, he would just look straight ahead and say nothing. His unspoken resentment hung in the air. She had brought him back to a world he found hard to endure.  

All the frustration of living with someone who would not or could not help themselves tore another big piece out of her soul, leaving her helpless, hopeless, and terribly alone. Such is the price of depression, of mental illness.  Without intervention, the erosion continues until the one who holds the fragments together, gives way. January 15, l992, she left.  She left for good.

The dream had brought back that all-too-familiar sense of inadequacy, of helplessness, the futility of living in a marriage alone.  The someone you are traveling with becomes a vapor, a spirit slowly disappearing, evaporating into non-existence. He was no longer available to her as a partner, in any sense.  She hadn’t known she could live without love for so long and probably wouldn’t have if it had not been for her son. 

 She didn’t remember or record the day it finally happened.  That momentous day when the eroded rock of despair fell away and a new self began to form.  She had been at it so long, numbed by it, that at first, she did not recognized that she was changing.  After all, she married for life.  Then, one day, she knew.  She knew that if she were to live, she would have to leave.  

Twenty years later, the dream visited upon her, came to her clearly. Which was a surprise since she remembered those days as days she lived in an uncertain mist and unmapped fog.  As she looked back, she could clearly pinpoint events the two events that led her down the road.  Her father had died and roads were muddy.  If that had not been so, she was sure she would not have had the strength or felt the rightness of it.  She might never have left, but her father did die and the roads were muddy.  On reflection, she could see that those two events had been the tunnel of opportunity through which she propelled herself into a new life.  She re-birthed herself.  

If you know someone who may benefit from this article, please forward to them. They and you are welcome to join the conversation at wisewomenofage.blogspot.com . You can also enter your email address above and you will receive an email each time I post a new topic on this blog.

You can learn more about depression and marriage at:

¹http://www.healthline.com/health/depression/statistics#1

² http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2013/05/13/being-married-to-a-person-with-depression-or-bipolar-6-survival-tips/

* "Stand by Me" is a song originally performed by American singer-songwriter Ben E. King. It was written by King, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, inspired by the spiritual "Lord Stand by Me",^[1] plus two lines rooted in Psalms 46:2–3. There have been over 400 recorded versions of the song. The song is featured on the soundtrack of the 1986 film Stand by Me. - Source Wikipedia

 Through compassion, you will find that all human beings are just like you. - Dalai Lama

The Color of Christmas: Elvis or Bing?

Cigarette smoke floats in front of the viewfinder as the movie camera records my three children entering the living room to see what Santa has left under the tree for them. My grade-school daughters are in the flannel granny gowns, gifts from me they opened the night before. My toddler son is in a yellow footed sleeper. Despite the feet in his jammies, he excitedly pulls on the cowboy boots that are under the tree for him, and begins kicking his sisters with them. The camera pans the room, and there is my mother, cigarette in hand, with a big smile on her face, watching the grandchildren she adores. There’s my dad wearing his typical flannel shirt with pipe clenched between his teeth. He’s smiling too. My husband (at the time) is silently admonishing the son for kicking, and pointing here and there around the room. It’s a wordless scene because our movie camera didn’t record sound. It appears that most everyone was enjoying that Christmas morning.

It was the mid-seventies and that was our Christmas. We all smoked back then. If camcorders existed then, we didn’t own one. We just had our old movie camera. It never occurred to me as I was filming the scene that morning that within five years both of my parents and marriage would all be deceased. The film would be my only “moving” memory of my parents.

With my divorce began our tradition of having fractured family Christmases. Back then and even now, schedules require juggling because of parents/step-parents visitation arrangements. Holidays were tough then. Money was tight. My parents were gone. I spent time wringing my hands, feeling sorry for myself, and bemoaning my life. Elvis cut my heart out each time he sang about “blue Christmas.” 

It’s the next millennium. The Christmas promotion season begins before the Thanksgiving turkey is on the table. For some of our wise women, the 3 “D”s (death, divorce, distance) and family estrangements will make the long Christmas season not so merry and bright. 

Looking over the statistics collected and notes from the private interviews of the Boomer Babes Survey, 65% of respondents have lost their parents. If you shared holiday traditions with your parents, it will seem particularly difficult. What do you do now? According to *ComfortKeepers, “knowing what to do about family traditions is one of the hardest things people face after the death of a loved one. Don't be afraid to tell family members that certain traditions will be too hard. Plan to do only what is special and meaningful to you. Most people experiencing grief during the holidays do find creating some new tradition to honor a loved one helps.” 

Losses through death are devastating, but particularly when children are involved. Six percent of those who answered the survey have lost children. A few have shared their personal stories. 

Gayle has lost two sons and a stepson. She grieves them all every day. A second particularly touching story is that of Rose. I’ve mentioned her in another blog posts because her story is so remarkable. Like the biblical Job, Rose suffered loss after loss. Within six months of each other, Rose lost her mother, her only son, and her husband. It is a heart-breaking burden to tolerate, but Rose soldiers on with support of friends, and the love of her daughter and grandchildren. I stand in awe of her grace and her faith.

Marital status can color your Christmas too. Divorce has claimed 13% of those who answered; separation claims 1%; widowhood accounts for 8%; and 6% are single, and never been married. 

Family estrangements add a whole other dimension to holidays as empty chairs speak loudly for the person who isn’t there, and loyalties divide family members.

Geographical obstacles coupled with a tight economy and high traveling costs can cut family members out of holiday celebrations too.

My first “divorced” Christmas alone with no spouse or parents presented its own challenges as I struggled alone to bring a live tree up three flights of steps to my apartment. I never knew Christmas trees were so unwieldy. My ex-husband was always responsible for the tree. For some reason, I felt it was particularly important that year to have a live tree. I suppose I was trying to maintain the live-tree tradition for the sake of the kids. I sat alone in the glow of the tree’s lights that Christmas Eve slugging down hot chocolate laced with amaretto while the kids were visiting their father’s family. Yes, you can add “loneliness” to the list. 

If you are one of the wise women that fit into the statistics covered here, please know that I don’t want to be a “downer.” None of us can ever say “we know how you feel,” because everyone feels something different. Some people find that simply accepting the fact that the holiday season will be hard and painful provides more strength to cope. By being one of our “wise women,” I assure you a sorority surrounds you that are here to comfort and care for you. 

Here are a few suggestions for changing your Christmas from blue to white:

•  Lower your expectations of the holiday season.
• If death caused the absence of your loved one, develop a way to honor that person over the holiday.        
• Accept that there will be emotional triggers and decide ahead of time how you’ll deal with them.
• Make new traditions or revise the old ones. 
• You may be lonely, but don’t be alone. Make plans. Find ways to fill the most stressful times like Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. 
•  Attend worship services. You may find comfort there. 
•  Stay connected with friends. Grief and loneliness can drive us into isolation.

·         Losses are a part of life. Those of us who have lost loved ones or must experience the holidays alone will have no choice but to experience and express sadness this holiday season. But I want to share how our wise women answered question #30 during their personal interviews. When asked, “How much control do you have over the bad or unpleasant things that happen to you,” many responded similarly by saying that you cannot control what happens, but you can control how you react to bad things. That response strikes me as especially wise. If I had known then what I know now, I could have/would have reacted differently. As they say, hindsight is 20/20. 

You can honor your grief and loss with dignity and grace, and still have a blessed Christmas holiday. So please don’t let Elvis drag you down with his blue Christmas. Let Bing Crosby whistle his way into your holiday so that your days may be merry and bright, and all your Christmases be white.

If you know someone who may benefit from this article, please forward to them. They and you are welcome to join the conversation at wisewomenofage.blogspot.com

*http://www.comfortkeepers.com - Seniors And Grief Coping With Loss