Stalled

I feel stalled and impatient. My emotions have been on lockdown for almost three years now. Who knows? They may have checked out years ago as a way to survive the 'surprises' of my time with Bill, keep the family intact, and not let my child see me upset, or worse, angry. Was it a conscious choice at some point? Did they give me some kind of notice they were checking out? Or did this happen at the break-up? As I sit here writing this stream of consciousness, I think perhaps the correct answer is the second one. They probably gave me notice and I was probably relieved to hear the news. In order to simply survive and not unravel, my emotions had to step out. And I think I knew this happened. Many years ago. The question now is: Will they be coming back? Because my gut feeling is that this had been a means of emotional survival for me for quite some time. It's how I forged ahead with raising Laura and keeping the peace in the house. It's how I insulated myself against the emotional impact of the 'surprises'. In this manner I could steel myself for anything and not be knocked over by unexpected events. It enabled me to successfully and even adeptly walk on egg shells. The upside is tremendous personal strength and the ability to generally look at things logically before, or sometimes instead of, reacting to them. I created a distance with my emotions. I became more logical, less reactive and, I think there is a nice piece of maturity in that. The downside is that I am not open to starting any new kind of relationship. I meet men and I feel nothing. The thought of even the remotest possibility of dealing with a demanding, idiosyncratic, and most frighteningly, critical male companion is currently outweighing all other considerations, and I am losing patience with it. I don't want to give up the logical and self-controlled qualities I've developed. I would say they almost give me wisdom. In fact, when I was touring Russia and Ukraine with a group of Christians, the leader called me the Voice of Sanity, but I don't want to live my life without being open to something that might enhance what I now consider to be a very full life. Now the need for caged emotions is no longer in my best interests. How do I invite them back into my life, and to what degree? Do I have much control over this? What's the procedure? How do I let go and open up? Unfortunately, I think I still have a long way to go.

A Gesture

At times I reflect back on some things that happened with Dad. My thoughts are all over the place. Sometimes I remember things that happened long ago. Sometimes it's something that happened only recently. This past week I have been overwhelmed by the memory of something that happened a few days before Dad passed. I went to visit him in the hospital. It was a Saturday and he was with the relief caregiver who, despite his intense desire to please, could never seem to 'get it'. He would do whatever Dad told him and never overrode the requests. So, as time went by, the faux pas became more and more dangerous to Dad. On this Saturday morning, Dad was very ill. He couldn't really speak although he seemed to be trying to tell us things all the time. If I bent my head down close to his mouth I could make out some words. It seemed that this day, Dad may have been coming to the conclusion that he wasn't going to beat this case of pneumonia. It was the day I had to ask him if he wanted specifically chest compressions, intubation and paddles if he were to go into cardiac arrest. But before I asked him that, I was standing next to his bed. And he did something he had never, ever done before, not in any of his illnesses or hospitalizations. He reached his hand up and stroked my right cheek. It was a tender gesture. And in his eyes I could see love. Somehow in that moment all pretenses were dropped. In that moment his eyes told me that he loved me unconditionally, more than any other human, for no other reason than I was me, his child, his firstborn. I was the person with whom he felt the deepest connection. I was someone he loved without hesitation, without exceptions. In that moment I had a shot to the heart. This was why he didn't criticize me. This was why he told me I could do or be anything I wanted. The depths of the emotion I felt at that moment were almost too profound for me to describe, and I find myself grappling for words as I write this now. It was a moment I shall never forget, a moment I was privileged to have, a moment I will treasure forever. It encapsulated sixty-one years of my life as his child. Yes, like my sister says. I was always Dad's favorite.

Why Am I STILL in Therapy?

I'm sixty-one years old. I am intelligent. I have had a career and a family. I am educated. I have friends. But I am still in therapy! I think that when I embarked on the psychotherapy journey, I thought I'd do it until I came through whatever that current crisis was. Trying to remember. What crisis was that? Ah, yes, the old standby. Gambling. 1995. Go to therapy. Go to a therapist who works in collaboration with husband's therapist. We have a few months of separate sessions, each with our own respective therapist. Then there is a night when he and I go out to dinner and are supposed to have a joint session with both therapists after. I enjoy myself at dinner. He apparently doesn't. We get in the car to go to the joint session and, on the way, he seems tense. When we get to the session. BAM!! He tells me he's been gambling. Does he do this of his own free will? No. I later find out his therapist was going to call off all the sessions unless he came clean with me. I thought I'd only be in therapy until that crisis was over. Nope. No dice. Every time I thought things were settling down and I could quit, there would be another crisis. More gambling. Or the kid became a teen with the body of a Playboy bunny and the face of a goddess. Or Bill had a heart attack. Or a parent died. What happened over the course of eighteen years is life and its problems. The calms were only brief respites between crises. Does this mean I can't handle life's problems? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm still hopeful there will come a day when I don't need a professional to help me walk through the bumps in my life's roads.

January is Over?

January blew by. On the last weekend of the month we had a memorial service for Dad. Per his wishes. He had even designed much of the service. He had selected a photo he wanted used, he had selected the 23rd Psalm and something called 'The Indian Prayer', and I knew without asking him that he wanted neither modern praise songs nor guitars played. He wanted our friend, June, to sing. He had always told June he wanted her to sing at his service, she just didn't think he'd make her wait until she was 84 years old. He wanted the pastor to speak but told me I could deliver the eulogy. I had a friend play the organ, chose a good hymn to sing while my friend accompanied on the organ (#98 from the pew hymnal "Great is Thy Faithfulness") and then, because this friend has a fabulous voice, had him sing a solo ("The Prayer" a la Andrea Bocelli and Celine Dion). For my part, I did a PowerPoint presentation of photos from Dad's life. I had accumulated a great collection of photos during the time Dad was living with us. I let the photos guide my talking points and just supplemented with a few notes on my iPad. If this sounds 'techie', it's only marginally so, because I eked out the slideshow and the pastor had to stretch the pictures to fit the screen on several of the shots. My old scanner would scan a photo to full size; my new one doesn't. June found a video of Dad and her singing a duet from 1994. They were cute and funny and they both had beautiful voices. Dad's voice sounded very good up until he was in his 80's. June just stopped singing solos very recently. 'The Indian Prayer' I had printed on the back of the memorial folder. It didn't seem like it was really 'Dad'. He had seen it on a friend's and liked it. Under its title I put: Our father specifically requested that this prayer be included in the program. For the weekend of the memorial, I had 8 family members stay with me at the house. I loved being able to host them and particularly loved that no one had to leave the gatherings to go to a hotel to sleep. Beth's family had Dad's room, my aunt and her husband had the middle bedroom, my niece and nephew and the niece's significant other had the guesthouse. I couldn't have been happier with the arrangement. Did everything go well? Yes! The family was helpful and easy-going, the service went smoothly, the deacons provided a light luncheon for everyone, and only two things had to be fixed, but were done quickly: I had forgotten a guest book and the pastor somehow started off the service reading the 23rd Psalm, completely forgetting that my brother-in-law was going to do that. So, Mark had to quickly find a backup scripture and settled on one of my favorites: I lift up my eyes to the hills where does my help come? and so on. Psalm 121. Good pinch hitting, Mark. My aunt and her husband zipped over to the local stationers and picked up a guestbook in minutes. I kept wondering what I was not remembering. Where was I dropping the ball? I called Dad's secretary and had her call some of Dad's friends in the medical community. I asked Beth if our half-siblings were coming. She said she had spoken to our brother who was not going to be able to make it but hadn't spoken to Sue. I decided that this might be an area where I had messed up. Another place I missed was re-publishing an announcement for the memorial service in the newspaper. I had published it on November 25 but had wanted to put it in again the Sunday before the service. Yes, the sister and the newspaper. Those are the places where the balls had dropped. I had thought we'd talk about it at length in Idaho but she didn't show up. After speaking with friends, I decided that the only way I could come out somewhat unscathed with the sister was to write what we'd called a fall-on-my-sword email to her and not mention her absence in Idaho.. I saidHey, Sue, Wow! I think I may have really dropped the ball on this one here. Dad's memorial is this Saturday and, although I thought you knew about it, it occurred to me that maybe you didn't. And I realized that if you didn't know, it is totally my fault. it meant so much to me to have you with me when Dad passed. You have such a gift for caring, and you were so tender and sweet to him in those last moments You knew exactly what to say and do for both me and him. Dad was so very fond of you and was so impressed with the woman you became. He truly like and cared about you. I know this is late, it's my fault, and I know you are busy busy busy but I wanted to let you know it would be great to have you here. I love you and hope you are well. I received a response from my sister the day after the service. She said: Hey, Cindy, I'm really sorry I didn't know about the memorial or I definitely would have been there. Hope it was a blessing for you and Beth and the rest of those who attended. I will not drive myself nuts trying to read anything into this note. Just take it at face value. There's another memorial for Dad in Ohio in May.