Listening....Sort Of

I had a conversation with my son the other day and I hung up wondering, what Marty would have said to him, did I do the things she has taught me over the years or did I do what I too often have done, in conversations.  It happens a lot; I step back, replay a conversation and reach for the things Marty has taught me.  

When you are married to a psychologist, you better remember your talks.  I do.  I remember listening to Marty and interjecting with my best direction and most trite advice.  I hear her telling me, demanding, that I not tell her how to fix her problems.  I remember her chaffing at me trying to tell her how she feels or that what she is feeling is a small thing; “it’s no big deal”, I would say, stupidly. 

She would say, “Well I’m not experiencing a little thing; don’t make me convince you how important this is.”

She was right of course, we can’t tell others how to feel, we can’t tell others how to experience life, we can’t tell others it’s not a big deal if it’s a big deal to them.  That demeans how they feel and man it used to piss Marty off.  I was really quite good at that.

I listened to my son and I heard myself offering platitudes and banal stuff.  I found myself reaching to my fallback position of offering platitudes and sports metaphors, neither of which really helps but it makes me feel like I am doing good work for the world.  

Remarkably I caught myself and tried mightily to quit offering brilliant gems like, “Short time, long life,” you know where you try and bring perspective.  That’s almost as brilliant as, “It is what it is.”

After we disconnected it occurred to me I really was doing one of the things Marty taught me to do in our relationship, listening.  It’s not as easy as it sounds because I’m a fixer and I want to make things all better, I want to participate in a solution, I want to tell you what to do.   

I used to do this with Marty as she would unload her day on me and I would offer sage and learned advice.

Marty, “I don’t want you to fix it, I want you to listen to me and understand me.”

Me, “But I’m just trying to help.”

Marty, “You can’t fix it, I want you to listen and understand.”

I got it.  Sit and listen, really listen and make sure you use affirming words indicating you haven’t drifted off to lala land.  And, please, don’t offer a cure unless asked for a cure.

That’s not exactly it either, using the affirming, listening words is a good thing, but there is that whole understanding thing, you have to listen to understand, you have to pay attention, you have to stop thinking about what pearls of wisdom will come flowing from you long enough to really listen and understand.  

Daughter Erin, the frequent recipient of my pearly wisdom, has tried to coach me up too.  She hears me say too often, “Well, you need to….”  Yes, I admit it I tell people what they need to do.  Marty did that too.  The funny thing is she hated it when I did that to her or our children. 

Erin, the social worker, said, “Try saying to people, “It might help if you”,” instead of, “You need to….”  She’s right of course; she’s her mother’s daughter.

Truth.....what I must do, what I try to do is listen, that’s what Marty would have tried to do, she would have listened, she would have ferreted out feelings, thoughts, ideas, possible solutions, all kind of things.  She would have encouraged conversation, listened and drawn out information and helped whoever she was talking to center their own thoughts.  

Then she would have said, “You need to….”  

She taught me how to do it; that doesn’t mean she necessarily believe just listening applied to her.  She still says, “Rules are for someone else.”

Thanks for the Hook-Up

My head has not been there in a while.  The past months, really the past couple of years have been too good to dwell on what was, what happened and what might have happened.  Encounters make me think back.

I went to a wedding and saw the minister that sat with us the morning April 4, 2005.  That was the morning of Marty’s surgery to stop the bleeding from her ruptured cerebral aneurysm.  That was the morning I began to understand mortality.

That Sunday the minister in question sat with us, first in a small room, then a larger room.  She sat with me, with Erin, with Matt, with Sarah, with Wesley as we paced, as we waited anxiously and hopeful for word on Marty after her hours’ long surgery.  It was a long, painful, exceedingly frightening wait.  It was one of those did she live kind of waits.

At the wedding I talked briefly to the right reverend Fran and thanked her for being with us that day.  I didn’t do a very good job of saying thank you and telling her how much her presence meant to me and to my family.  I don’t think I explained how much comfort it brought to be connected with our faith at a time when every part of my life, every fiber of my being was shaken and my faith was being pulled from me little by little with every tick of the clock.  

It’s taken me years to understand that Fran’s loving and calm presence that day did more than just offer spiritual solace.  Her presence that morning connected me to my church and to our larger church. Actually, it was more than that, the connection Fran brought helped me tap into a faith that all too often wavers and all too often is led by my doubts.  

Sitting in those rooms, waiting for news, good or bad, I needed something big to hold, Fran brought that.  That connection to the church universal has kept me coming back to my faith in spite of my doubts and fears and anger.  It is a connection to something larger and more important than me or a single congregation.

Fran came to us that day through Matt and Sarah’s church, but it is my church too because as Presbyterians we are connected.  My church is connected to their church which is connected to my parent’s church which is connected to my sister’s church all of which is connected to the faith of the thousands of doubters in the past and the future.  

We are a connectional church and that is what my faith needed that day, I needed to feel joined to my church 100 miles away, I needed the faith of my parents and sister who happened to be in Ireland at the time, I needed the faith of all of those who had gone before Marty and I, and I needed the faith of all of those who would come after us.  

I am sure Fran has sat with countless people, some in better situations, some in worse.  I did not know her, Marty didn’t know her, but she made me comfortable, she gave me comfort.  On that day, at that time Fran was a part of my larger family.  On that day at that time Fran brought a modicum of peace to me and mine.  On that day at that time Fran represented something, for me, that was much larger than her, than me, than Marty, she represented the love and the history our faith.

Our world has changed in the 9 ½ years since that April in 2005.  I have changed, my base of knowledge and understanding about our life has been expanded and I think, I think, I better understand myself and my place in our journey.

I now understand how much I need to feel connected to the greater world.  I understand today how important it was to me then, on that day.  On that day I don’t think I recognized what was going on, that Fran’s presence, for me, brought the power of presence of our faith and congregations.

Thank you Fran, it really meant a lot then, it means even more today.

Finding Myself at Home

I asked Marty, with just a tinge of guilt and remorse, “Do you mind if I go this weekend?”

She looked at me and immediately said, “Not at all.”

“Does it make you mad, does it bother you that I’m not taking you?” I probed, trying to assuage my ever present guilt.

“Yes, but only because I’m not well enough to go.” she replied, letting me off the hook just a bit.

As I drove through central Texas to west Texas that brief innocuous conversation played in my mind repeatedly. Going to my high school reunion has always been a great trip, with Marty. I was going alone, flying solo and I wasn’t too sure how that would feel, I wasn’t too sure if I would be too sad, too melancholy, too lonesome to enjoy my return to my home town.

As the hue of the soil around me began to change from dark brown to red, as the oak trees began to shrink and diminish and the mesquite trees began to take over I got a little antsier, a little bit more anxious. “Yes, but only because I’m not well enough to go”, kept playing in my brain. I already felt a little lonesome; I already felt like I had left my wife behind and alone, I was building to a great pity party for myself.

I’m not a solo kind of guy. Marty and I have been married most of our lives and she was always a great security blanket and name rememberer at social functions. She was an anchor for me keeping my grounded. One of my best buds in school, Skip was going to be there so I designated him my weekend date to avoid the potential feelings of insecurity and loneliness. I didn’t consult him about the whole date thing, but what’s a best friend for anyway?

I discovered a couple of things at this reunion. No massive revelations, but a couple of things became clearer to me and made this past weekend almost an epiphany. I came to understand, by sitting and talking with old friends, where so many of my thoughts, feelings and opinions were born. I remembered, as we relived old days and talked of current days, how we would spend hours talking about life, about people, about God, about nonsense. I remembered how we wanted to reshape our world. I realized in this talking, in this arguing, in this exploring we were really developing our own thoughts and personalities; we were starting to become real people.

It wasn’t what we talked about so many years ago that was important, it was that we talked. It wasn’t what we argued about, it’s that we argued, it wasn’t what we discovered as we explored it’s that we explored. These people, these same people from 40 years ago helped me develop a way of thinking, a way of exploring and the freedom to think outrageous thoughts. This is where the parts of me I most value started.

I also discovered that it’s really hard to feel alone when you are with and around the people who helped shape you who know your foundations. I realized that regardless of the years and time this town, these people, has had a permanent, indelible effect on me. While feelings of loneliness are an inevitable part of all of our lives and certainly more present in mine than ever before; while I did miss Marty, while I often thought of how she would have enjoyed herself, I was with friends and felt a sense of community and common bond I have not felt in years. Personally, I had a great time.  In fact we had such a good time, just like years ago, our hostess with the mostess had to ask us to leave, both nights, it was worth it.

I lived in Colorado City for 12 years, for my first grade to graduation. I haven’t lived in this remote, dusty west Texas town in almost 40 years. I hadn’t been there for any time at all for 20 years. It’s a long way away, a long time ago, it’s in the middle of sage, cactus and mesquite trees and I have very little reason to visit. I lived there only 12 years of my life almost 40 years ago, but somehow this remote outpost of Texas is still my home, I’m from west Texas.

The Marty Test

Before Marty's strokes, before she was relegated to a wheelchair, before her ability to communicate was burned away by the brain injury from the strokes I never really paid attention to people in wheelchairs. I was like most of the rest of the world, I saw someone in a wheelchair, I saw someone debilitated in some capacity, I saw someone who was different, and I looked past them. I wasn't necessarily afraid, I was unnecessarily uncomfortable.


I see it a lot now, almost exclusively with adults, a lot with young adults. It's a bit scary for them to see Marty, to see someone like her who can't move for themselves, who can't really take care of themselves, we are completely dependent on others. Some do as I did and look past her, some avert their eyes, the very young often stare because the wheelchair, the broken body is new to them, it's foreign to them.

I look to see how people react to Marty in her new condition. It's become something of a test, the Marty test. It's funny and a little bit sad the people who flunk the test. It's not a hard test, it's really pretty easy, you simply have to recognize that it's Marty, be able to engage with her on some level and touch her; so simple yet so hard for some. I do understand, though I no longer have sympathy for the failure to reach out and touch the least of us.

I've seen how a few, just a small number of her old friends, have been washed away by the discomfort. I'm not sure if it's the change in Marty from gregarious, engaging and physical to her new quiet, internal reflective self. I'm not sure if they think the stroke is communicable and they are afraid they will suddenly be "stroked". I suspect it is a little of both. I'm not sure I would act much differently if they were the ones in the wheelchair and I was one who just simply didn't understand the beauty of touching Marty as she is now.

Lyle, Erin's boy, and Sammy and Luke, family friends, always pass the Marty test with flying colors. Lyle is an adult who had to pass the test to move into our family, the other two are children who simply revel in the company of others. Since Lyle first came into our home he was never afraid to talk to Marty directly, to touch Marty, to kiss her cheek when offered. Lyle laughs with Marty, he jokes with Marty, he treats Marty as his prospective mother-in-law, and he passes the test easily. His comfort with Marty is part of who he is.

Luke and Sammy are kids. I’m not sure if it’s because their mother is a physician or simply because they are kids but they talk to Marty, they ask Marty questions and are thrilled when she answers them. The comfort they both have with Marty, and I suspect anyone like Marty, is what gives them the passing grade, they aren’t afraid, they aren’t restrained, they treat Marty like a regular person which is all that’s really required.

Here’s the truth. Marty is different. She is different in many ways from what she was; she is different in many ways from the norm, whatever that is. What so many overlook, what so many don’t understand is that Marty still feels, she still is very intuitive, she still knows who is comfortable around her, she still listens and understands clearly, she just doesn’t carry the conversation anymore. I don’t think that kind of thing is that important to her any longer.

The test, oh, there really isn’t one. Maybe there should be. Really it’s just a way of saying and recognizing some people who have difficulty relating to people who are different. I can tell you, if there was test, all you would need to do to pass is treat Marty like a real human being, like the person she has always been, and then just maybe touch her a little bit, she likes that, so do I.

They Know and Still Love Us

Mothers, Moms, Madres, Mamas’ or Maws’ are the life givers. They carry you inside their bodies, willingly accepting the abuse to their own bodies. They give birth to you, they wash your face, brush your teeth, teach you how to tie your shoes, sit through really bad band concerts, bake in the sun cheering you as you sit on the bench at games, cry when you graduate and rejoice when you finally leave. They are Mothers and Mothers keep the world alive.

The story goes that the day after I was born the nurses at the small hospital in far west Texas where I was born sent the wrong baby to my Mother and sent me to the wrong Mother. My Mom knew something was up and pointed out the mistake to the nurses. Fortunately, the mistake was immediately corrected. The telling part of the story is that my Mother “just knew”, she “just knew” she had the wrong child in her arms that day.

That’s part of the charm, the mystery, the power of Mothers. They “just know”. It’s why as children and even adults we behave ourselves. Forget the whole moral center thing, it has to do with Mom knowing, it has to do with Mom’s having this special intuitive power of knowing if you are doing well, if you are doing right, if you are doing in a way they would approve and be proud. It’s just one of the things my Mother taught me and I saw repeated with Marty, Mother’s know.

As I grew up, before I went out into the world and after, the one thing I knew for sure, the one thing I always carried with me was that my Mother loved me. It was never in doubt. In spite of what I did or didn’t do, I knew my Mother would take me back, I knew my Mother would love me. It’s just one of the things I took for granted with her and I have seen repeated with Marty, Mother’s love unconditionally.

I know I was fortunate. I know not everyone had my family experience. I know I never had to worry about my Mother’s love; there has never been any doubt in my mind that my Mother loves me and always will. Even in the worst of my adolescent angst I knew at my core, my Mother would always love me. Even as I grew and struggled for maturity and independence, I knew I could always step back and find my Mother’s love. Even as I had my own children, my own job, my own life and the constancy of our contact waned, in the back of my mind, I knew, I felt, I was confident in my Mother’s love.

It’s what I hope Matt and Erin, our children know, feel and experience. Even as their Mother struggles on a day-to-day basis to live her life, even though her cognition is diminished, even though her energy is all directed to simply getting through the day, her love for them is something that is palpable, constant and very real. The strokes have not diminished her love and her passion for her children.

Mothers made us who we are, they gave us life when we had none, they gave us understanding when we were not worth understanding, and they gave us love when we were unlovable. It’s been amazing to grow and understand all of this of my own Mother; it has been inspiring to watch Marty as she passed these lessons to our children. It has been intensely rewarding to watch as Matt’s wife Sarah passes on the same unconditional love and acceptance for Noah, and I know, because of her Mother’s love, at the right time Erin will do the same.

Our Mothers, good and bad, are why we are all here today. We are forever intrinsically linked to them. I’m really glad my Mother and I have both lived long enough for me to grow enough to understand and say this to her.