Easter...A Do-Over

Easter, for Christians, is the big one.  It’s about loss, atonement, redemption and salvation, it’s the really big one that defines our faith.  For me, it represents, among all the other things, second chances.

If I could, if dreams were real, I would have my crazy, angry, passionate, driven, brilliant Marty, the one I loved so long ago, warts and all, back.  There is one caveat, I would want to have the experience, the knowledge, the what I now know of the last 11 years.

I guess most of us would like some do-overs based on what we now know. 

Before, before our life was changed by a pin prick sized hole in Marty’s brain vein, I wasn’t a very patient guy, I was an impatient intolerant ass, at times.  Honestly, at times I was selfish, short tempered, self absorbed, too focused on work and maybe a little emotionally distant. 

I was an okay husband, I treated Marty, okay.   I listened, at times, I participated in the home, I worked hard to provide, I wasn’t out running the bars at night and I took my turn bathing the kids. 

I suspect I was an okay father, listening to our children at times, reading to them, taking them to functions, teaching Sunday school, going to ball games and band concerts and all that family stuff.

I’m not sure how engaged I was, I’m not sure I wasn’t constantly distracted by my work and my own angst about life, and I know I was living with too much fear of failure as a husband, a father and an employee.  Fear does weird things to your brain.

As awful as the strokes have been they did give me a do over, they gave me a chance to atone for so many of my past short comings as a husband, and I hope as a father.

It took a cataclysm for me to finally re-order my priorities.  Work went completely away and there has not been one day, not one when I have wished to have my career return.  I miss people; I don’t miss being pulled away from my most important responsibilities, being a partner to Marty and a father to Matt and Erin and their broods.

I still struggle with the whole patience thing and too often I’m not tolerant of change and according to my wife I’m still way too controlling.  To quote Marty, “You tell me what to do, too, too much.”  I’m guilty. 

I am better at waiting; I am better at letting the old lady fiddle with her coupons in the grocery store check-out line, I am better at waiting for Marty to process what she is thinking and translate the thoughts into words.  I think I am anyway.

Mostly, I hope I have learned to focus on what to fear, I hope I have learned to only major on the major issues and not fret about the little stuff, because there is a whole lot of little stuff.  I hope I have learned to give my time and energy where it’s really important and to ultimately fight only those battles that are important.  The little fights eat up your energy and your life and you really need that energy and life for the big stuff.

My do-over, my Easter, is really about showing a woman I fell in love with 40 years ago how much I really love her and how much she is really loved.  My Easter is being the best father I can be to my adult children and their mates.  My Easter do-over is not losing fear, it is finding the appropriate things to fear, facing that fear and acting against it.  My Easter do-over is very simply having this amazing opportunity to use what I have experienced with Marty and our kids and being a better man than I was, being a good man. 

That’s why Easter is the big one for us Christians.  We, the world got the biggest do-over ever.

Simple Conversations

For us the Easter weekend passed unmarked but not unnoticed, there were no Easter eggs, bonnets, white gloves, church, or the Toccata. Marty did get some ham for lunch, on her sandwich. Instead of the usual Easter trappings we passed the weekend at the lake, fishing, talking, and to quote Marty, “just being present in the moment.” It was good.

It was a simple weekend with simple outcomes, nothing profound, nothing earth changing, simply living for the day. In our world simple times are often the very best of times. Simple lets you breathe, lets you listen, lets you feel your life and lets you be “present in the moment.”

The wind was blowing much too hard to get out on the boat so Marty and I found ourselves sitting on our boat dock fishing and talking and enjoying the sound of the water as it fought against the wind. Our kids gave Marty a rod and reel for her last birthday and we finally got to christen it. The rod and reel is pink, it’s small, it’s ultra-light, it’s pink, yes, it’s pink and Marty likes it just fine and as it turns out it’s a fish catching machine.

We caught white bass, black bass, crappie and catfish. We sat on our dock sheltered from the sun, with the wind blowing hard across the water. The wind kept the air from becoming too hot for April and pushed against the water creating waves which kept the fishing bobber bobbing constantly

Marty and I sat, fished and talked about life, about our life before and after the stroke, we talked about our kids, our grandson, our two expected grandchildren (I’m still shooting for one named Larry Bob) and how much we enjoyed being at the lake together. I was writing our last blog post about her 2nd stroke so I recounted to her all of the tales of both strokes. She’s heard them all before but she forgets which is okay because I repeat myself all of the time.

We moved from talking about life and living to death and dying and then to all of the things that have changed and what we have lost because of the strokes and even found some things we have gained because of our renewed need for each other.

While we were watching the waves move past, the tips of our fishing poles move up and down with the rhythm of the water and the wind Marty said, “I wish I could have a conversation again.”

This is not news to me, it’s a part of her she really misses, it’s a part of her I really miss, but it’s a part of her that’s not altogether gone.

“Like what we are doing right now?” I replied, trying to point out that we were having a great conversation.

“Well, you’re doing most of the talking,” she said, looking at me.

That’s the change, I never really carried our talks, I never really was the conversationalist in our partnership, Marty was.

“Okay, I got that,” I said, “But we are having a great conversation and you are a part of that and I love it.”

She paused, looked at me, checked the bobber on the end of her line and said, “Yes I am too.”

The conversation slowed as we sat and talked quietly as we watched the sinking sun slid just over the horizon and cast a colorful orange and blue hue across the sky. Simple moments often make life time memories. This was a memory for our life.