Grudges

I gave her a drink of her berry flavored G2 Gator-aid.  It’s not necessarily her drink of choice, but it is one she tolerates to keep me placated. I tilted the bottle up at her mouth and a little bit leaked out of the bottom and dripped down her chin and trailed to her neck.  I dabbed at it with a towel.

“I’m sorry, “I said, “I got in too big a hurry.”

As always, the woman whose new normal is unparalled levels of tolerance says, “That’s okay.”

Playfully I say, “So you forgive me?  You won’t hold a grudge?”

“You have to remember to hold a grudge.”

There it was, once again, my wife, she of two major life altering strokes, she who has suffered major brain trauma, tells me what’s real, not just for her, but for me. 

“You have to remember to hold a grudge.”

I’m not a big grudge holder, partly because I don’t remember some stuff, partly because I manage to get over fluff stuff, and partly because I’m a hell of a guy, yeah right.  Truthfully, I do have some grudges, some over real stuff and some that are stupid.  I should try to forget.

Yes, there are a couple of people out there that I’m still a teeny tiny bit ticked off at over slights to me or my family, slights they probably never knew existed, slights that still stick in my craw and make me want to remember and carry around a rock in my shoe so I will remember and carry a grudge like some self-righteous badge of defiance and strength.  

Brilliant, ain’t it?

Marty is the one who should hold some grudges, grudges for all of the indignities she has been forced to suffer, for all of the painful procedures she has endured, for all of the times people have looked past her because she was sitting in a wheelchair.  She should carry a mountain of grudges, but mostly she can’t remember the bad stuff.

“You have to remember to hold a grudge.”

When she was in the ICU after the aneurysm she lay comatose in her bed for six weeks, rarely responding to anything.  They did stuff to her, they poked her, they prodded her, and they ran tubes in her and caused her great discomfort.  She was terribly sick and I can only imagine how horrible it would have been to feel, to have been aware.  The doctors said she wouldn’t remember a thing.  She didn’t, I’m thankful.

Marty does remember some stuff; she particularly remembers the good stuff.  She remembers the grand kids, she remembers their names and when they have been here, she remembers the visits from family and friends (maybe not the details), she is aware of and remembers important moments.  

Bless her she has forgotten most of the bad things and bad times we have had before the strokes and after.  She has forgotten my impatience, my slights, my errors and my sins, and because she has forgotten, she has forgiven.   In her own way, in the way of the new normal, she has forgiven me, she has forgiven others for the countless miscues in life, she doesn’t remember and thus she holds no grudges. 

It’s simple really; you can’t really hold a grudge when you move past the past, when you forgive, when you really no longer care about the small stuff that stacks up in your head and heart. Okay, maybe it's not that simple.

Marty used to have an amazing memory, it was scary good.  She doesn’t have a great short term memory any more; the strokes took that skill away.  But, that’s sort of okay; I like to think she saves her brain cells for the best parts, the things that make her smile.

Stuck in a Time

Marty’s first stroke was in 2005, the next came at the first of 2006. Because of this assault on her brain her frame of reference for all things coincides with those the stroke dates. She is aware of all of the changes around her and knows new people have been added to our family. She knows the world has changed, she knows what has happened to her but when you ask her here and now questions she reverts back to her base of knowledge prior to the strokes, and that is 2005.

In 2005, Matt, our son, and his wife Sarah had been married only a couple of years, Erin was a senior at the University of Texas, I had just been divorced from my job of 25 years, we were both a tick over 50 and George Bush was president. That is Marty’s mental starting spot.

That’s why when I first told her about Erin’s pending nuptials Marty’s first reaction was that Erin, our baby daughter, wasn’t ready to be married, she wasn’t old enough to be married. Marty’s frame of reference for Erin is that she is still at the University of Texas and still 21, that’s her last anchor point for Erin. In Marty’s mind, Erin is stuck in 2005. This explains the “Oh Shit!!” comment when I told her Erin was with child (my daughter can’t be pregnant; she is “with child”).

Marty knows, she sees Erin as a young adult, she knows and she sees Erin as more mature, older and ready to be a mother, but she struggles to move past the really solid memory of Erin six years ago.

Marty knows Matt and Sarah have baby Noah, she knows Noah is a wonderful and miraculous addition to our lives but I think, in her mind’s eye, where we all develop critical basic assumptions, she still sees Matt and Sarah as young married faux adults still going through those first married years.

If you ask Marty how old she is she will almost always say 50, her age when she had the first stroke. If you ask the year, she says 2005, if you ask the president, she says George Bush and yet she voted for President Obama and knows who he is.

When you are on the dark side of 50 thinking of yourself as perpetually 50 is not such a bad thing. Seeing your children as forever young and new to life can be a bit disconcerting but is okay, especially if you still get the benefit of grandchildren; having George Bush as president forever, not so much.

Marty was always pretty apolitical, for years I had to insist she go vote, until President George Bush invaded Iraq. She did not like him, at all, she was adamant in her opposition to all things George and his policies, and yet somehow she is stuck with him for perpetuity. It’s a “Divine Comedy” level of hell.

I always gently help her when her memory gets stuck in the mud of the past. I simply remind her how old the kids are, how we love Noah, how gracefully we have both aged and that she voted for our current president Barack Obama. She at least feigns understanding and then moves on to the next thing.

In reality, I don’t think Marty really gives any of this much thought, she is much too focused on handling what is in the moment. She doesn’t dwell much on what was or what should be or what should have been. That saps needed energy from what is happening right now. I wish I could do that.

An Excellent Day for an Exorcism

It’s almost a daily occurrence. I’m talking or doing or puttering and the sentence or phrase just pops into my little pea brain and the dialogue returns, a picture flashes in my mind’s eye and eventually the whole movie returns from the dark recesses of my head.

I like movies, good, bad, sad, funny, dumb, I like movies. It’s one of our activities. Marty and I go to the movies on almost a weekly basis. She enjoys being out, I enjoy the big screen. I’m not particularly sophisticated or discriminating in my film tastes so we go see everything and anything that meets our criteria, which is mostly the time of day it starts at our favorite theatre, the one where they recognize us and have our popcorn and drinks ready for us as we walk in the building. We do best with 1 pm to 2 pm start times, no one goes then so we are often alone in the theatre, very cool.

The thing about watching a lot of movies is you get some stuff stuck in your brain, some dialogue, some snippets from the different films that are triggered by different moments. I never fail to see Billy Chrystal standing and waving and saying, “Have fun storming the castle,” as I bid family or friends adieu. I just want to say it every time someone drives off from our house.

At church, when our minister Jimmie stands at the baptismal font and puts his hand in the water and lets it run through his fingers as he greets the congregation I see a river and hear a low haunting voice say, “I’m haunted by waters.” I’m haunted by the end of that movie.

Every time I see a Robert Duvall film I can’t help but think of him, mounted on his horse with his hat over his heart look down at a young Diane Lane and say, “Lori darlin’,” and then ride off into the proverbial sunset. I may tear up just a tad.

Maybe my two favorite lines come in the way of a very brief dialogue between two of my favorite actors. Robert Duvall, “I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man.” John Wayne replies, “Fill your hands you son-of-a-bitch,” I say that daily to someone. It’s one of the great visual scenes in the movie.

Now picture the ubiquitous baseball manager, as played by Trey Wilson, livid about the last, most recent loss. He is at his wits end when the sage veteran catcher tells him to scare the young players. He throws a pile of baseball bats into the shower with the players and delivers one of the best motivational speeches of all time, “You guys, you lollygag your way around the infield, you lollygag your way around first, you lollygag in and out of the dugout. You know what that makes you.....That’s right, Lollygaggers.” I have loved the word lollygaggers since I first saw this movie and I try to use it every time it seems appropriate. It’s amazing how often I get to use it.

There are so many snippets of movies that have become part of the everyday lexicon of our society that you hear, that you think, that you say. “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse,” “Life is like a box of chocolates,” “Badges. We ain’t got no badges, we don’t need no badges I don’t have to show you any stinkin badges,” and “We’re going to need a bigger boat.” These are just a few, I’m sure as you have read this more have tickled your neurons.

I’m not sure why some of these words stick in my brain. I don’t know if it’s the juxtaposition of the words or maybe it’s my ears and my eyes combining to make an indelible impression on my head. All I know is every time I see Linda Blair I remember her stating in rather graphic terms, “ What an excellent day for an exorcism.”

She Laughed Me Back to Normal

She did it again. She did it, as usual in her new, understated manner, quietly, with very few words. She looks, she speaks, and she touches my heart. She makes me feel, and sometimes feeling so strongly is scary. Sometimes the feelings are so intense and sudden it makes me feel less than a man. Then, she laughs at me when I say she touched my heart.

I had errands to run, peppers to buy, letters to mail and bills to deliver. I wanted Geraniums, I wanted potting soil, I wanted to plant some color. Marty was with me as I ran down the list of things I needed to do. We had been playing. We had been at the computer playing Strike a Match, a computer game Marty always enjoyed playing with me. She says she likes playing and still contributes when she sees an answer before I do.

I turned to Marty and told her I needed to go run the errands and if she wanted, she could go back to her room with Renae her caregiver and lay down for her afternoon rest.

She said, "Why?"

I said,”So you can rest".

"I'm not tired", she says.

Then she touches me with the simplest words, "I want to go with you."

Her simple statement jolted me with memories from before Marty had her strokes; a previous normalcy gone more than five years. It reminded me of very simple times when we would just go to the car and take care of mundane normal business. Just that simple statement reminded me that even today, she wants to be with me, to go with me, to do with me, emphasis on the "with me". What can I say it touched my heart, I was reminded once again of the simple things that make us married.

I looked at Marty and said, "You touched my heart, I'm touched that you would want to go with me."

She looked up, paused, and then laughed, sounding kind of like Beavis of Beavis and Butthead. She laughed not to denigrate or minimize my moment but it's how she expresses emotions now.

Her laughter brought my heart back to normal, the tender moment there but past. What better way to move through some of the pain of remembering and some of those loving, simple moments. I just wish I could get over feeling like such a wimp.