The Boy, The Girl, And Us

Deb: We just came back from packing up the boy in Montreal. He is finished his four post-secondary years. He is now entering the world of work. His New York years were wonderful for him and he grew as a person in many regards. He learned how to pay bills, care for apartment and self, and he gained a huge amount of smarts and independence. And most importantly he learned how to live alone and like it. To live alone and like it is a wonderful thing. In my twenties I lived alone and adored it. Although I am a very social creature I never wanted a roommate and, as a result, the only thing I had to sacrifice to accomplish this was space. I always had a tiny bachelor apartment, but it was blessedly all mine. The value of enjoying your own company is such a boon to your self-esteem. But, of course, no man or woman is an island, so when the boy got lonely, we would go down or he would come up, either to visit us or the girl.

We are a very close, loving team we three. And although I know he adores us and gets along with us, I also know in my heart what he will want after living independently for so long: to have his own place. I figured this would not happen immediately as he would have to save money, but I knew it would be his goal. The concept of this does not hurt me in the least, nor does it hurt my husband. We understand and remember that fresh feeling of adulthood with its accompanying freedoms. I remember like it was yesterday that proud feeling of locking my very first apartment door with my very first key. Those first months after moving out on my own, I walked three feet off the ground proudly knowing I was coming and going as I pleased and answering to no one but myself. I should add at this point that the “apartment” I was bursting with pride over was so small, that if you stood at the end of my pullout couch when it was a bed, you could both open the fridge and do the dishes.

These last four years have been the “holidays” stage of our lives together where the boy would come home “officially” for holidays and breaks between school and camp councilor duties. The three of us always look so forward to these visits.  So we weren’t sure what these next few years would bring. We knew the boy would be working and writing and trying to start his career. We also thought that he and the girl might be traveling. Then the girl got into the University of Toronto for her chosen course and, well ... long story a tad shorter ... they are moving in with us!  Yes, we jumped at it. There wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation. Not only does the boy love this girl, but over these years we have grown to love her like a daughter.  Add to that, she is leaving her parents for the first extended period of their lives and I think it may help them to know she is being loved and cared for as they enter their “holiday” years.

I also know that they could get a little apartment somewhere in Toronto together. Some little postage stamp hovel to call their own, and I know at some point, they will. But right now we wanted them to have a kick-start home. We wanted them to know that we are there for them as they start phase two of their lives. We have talked over the pitfalls and potential problem areas, as is my wont. I am a great believer in laying out the groundwork so there are as few surprises as possible. As Colin said to them, “We are now officially roommates and as such we treat each other and the host house with mutual respect.” And I know they will. For our part, we plan to live together and let live together. We are making some changes to the house to make it a larger breathing space. Not a renovation, just some strategic moving around of stuff. We want them to feel that this is their home too, where they can entertain their friends independent of us. And we will savour their time with us because we know that somewhere along the line they will want their own little place and we’ll be fine with that. And we will never regret offering them a loving transition.

So we are very excited because there is going to be lots of giggling and love in the house, and it won’t just be Colin’s and mine.

Barbara: So sweet, Deb! Now that I’m seeing the end of “communal living” here—because that is surely what we’ve come to: our girls now share all the grownup chores and act like adults (most of the time!)—I am watching your next stage with interest. On the one hand, we’ve just brought the younger daughter home for the summer (and it is bittersweet for her: she loves being home, she misses her true independence), on the other hand, when she leaves for university again in the fall, our older daughter, the one who has just graduated, will probably be moving out of her childhood home. Quite possibly (and according to her, absolutely for certain), this move will be for good. And so I face the next year with more quiet, more aloneness, fewer dishes. I am not afraid of it, but it does loom. I am sure I will quietly envy your games’ nights and your family meals. Until the holidays, that is, and my own full house again. In the meantime, I will drink in this summer of noise, mess, and laughter!

Invisible

Deb: Throughout these last years as the care of my parents has become a more regular part of life, I have made some tragic observations. The most distressing of these is that my bright, funny, interesting, charming parents have become invisible. They have quite faded away in the eyes of most people.

I have been watching this with growing sadness at every social function we attend. As befitting their age and stage of life, they are always greeted by everyone in attendance. I have watched people ritualize them as if they are a King and Queen. They are treated warmly and enthusiastically, but also like figureheads who must be welcomed and respected but not lingered over. The respects are paid with very good intentions. But there is no “engagement”. They are no longer the people with whom you have an “interesting” conversation. So “hello” becomes enough. They aren’t up on pop culture references and what they have to say is outdated. So instead they are asked, “How are you doing?” in a loud voice. They are asked if they can be given more food or beverages. They are asked what they think about the weather and how they are enjoying the early spring. Of course there are those who go beyond this cursory greeting, but I would be lying if I said these were not the rarer breed.

I am not angry as I write this rather; I am heartbroken. I have noticed more and more how people just look right through Mom and Dad and other people of their age. I find it even more distressing given the contrast of my own experience.

When we were growing up, our grandparents were the centre of the visit, the reason you looked forward to going at all. I remember visiting my Granny, her Scottish tablecloth laden with sharp cheese, crackers, bread, canned corned beef, scones, jam, raisin bread, shortbread, and tea. Always tea, lots of tea. And that was just when I visited alone! Every visitor would have the same feast laid out before them. I can feel, smell, and taste those visits. I remember the light from the kitchen window and the sounds from the alley as we sat at that table, Granny and I. We would talk about life and her garden and the family gossip and when I left I felt that we had visited, really visited.

When I see any grandchildren of the invisible, it makes me so sad to think that they are not getting this visit of my past. And they are not learning about their past through these wonderful people who love them so much and just want to be loved in return. They might be surprised to learn for example that the things they think their grandparents are out of touch with are the very things their grandparents are fascinated and in awe of and would love to hear more about. And these grandchildren, without really truly knowing their grandparents, might never be able to say, “I do that, just like Papa” and be proud of their lineage, their connection.

I do know this. Paying respects to your elders at the beginning and ending of an event does little towards building a bond. The most painful thing to observe in these moments is the invisible noticing that they are invisible.  And you can scramble and rush to their side and try to fill the void. But it’s too late. They have already noticed and the hurt of it makes them a little harder to see.

Easter weekend, Colin, the Boy and I hosted an 85th birthday for my parents. We had a casual afternoon gathering and it was lovely. The only gift asked for was one of conversation with each of them. Now this particular gathering is what I would call, preaching to the choir. These are people in my parents’ lives. But even so, they took the invite to heart and chatted ones and twos and threes with Mom and Dad. And as a result, each of them who engaged my parents came away with a new story about their lives or an experience that had previously been unknown to them.

My parents for their part, had the best night. I could tell. Because at that party, on that day, they were the first people you saw when you walked through the door.

**One of my favourite John Pryne songs ends with this lyric:

“So if you’re walkin’ down the street sometime

And you should spot some hallow ancient eyes

Don’t you pass them by and stare as if you didn’t care

Say Hello in there. Hello.”

Barbara: As my parents and their spouses aren’t yet of this age (and by that, I mean they are still mobile, which means they can control their engagement), and as my grandparents, who are older, live so far away, I’ve never consciously observed this heartbreaking trend from centre-of-attention to invisible. But I can feel the truth of it, especially if people are in the mindset of not knowing how to greet our older generation—or even that they should and MUST. Have I engaged Deb’s parents before this celebration and Deb’s gentle request? Of course. And I have loved speaking and laughing with them. But there was something sweet—and not the least bit forced—about doing it consciously at their 85^th. In fact, this is an excerpt from the thank-you letter I sent Deb after the party:

Thank you so very much for the absolutely lovely celebration for your parents. It was a gorgeous and wonderful day. Your parents are such loving and amazing people and deserve every bit of revelry and honour they get! You are a doll and wonderful daughter to always make sure they get their due. I love that you asked us to chat with them and I love that they had so much fascinating stuff to share. I had no idea your dad was such a Western buff and how he only really has patience for non-fiction. He regaled me with some great facts and stories about the wild west! Your mom is just so lovely and honest, telling about her frustrations and concerns, but also her love of life and for her family.

All this to say that by consciously making an effort, by consciously being aware of engagement and taking interest, I got so much out of the experience, so much more than just a superficial exchange of greetings or observations. And I think it’s a worthwhile bug-in-our-ears to make sure people like Deb’s parents get more than just a courteous greeting, but get their real and deserved due. And I guess in order to do that, especially as we get older and older ourselves, we need to remind and teach each other and our children to be aware of it. Open ears, open hearts. It’s another one of those win-win situations we love to embrace here!

Between A Rock And A Heart Place

Deb: When we are going through tough times, the lucky among us have so many safe havens in which to unload and unwind. But even those who cannot attach a friend or loved one to their worries and stresses, can reach for a multitude of platitudes. Multitude of Platitudes. Try saying that three times fast.

We all know how to cure what ails our worried souls. We all know how to sooth our panicked hearts and how to allay our fears and calm our tethered nerves. We know how to do these things because thanks to sappy over-sharing baby boomers (yes, I include myself) and the internet, they are everywhere, these quick and long fixes. And they work. Work wonders sometimes.

Right now I am stretched to the nines emotionally and have been for some time. I did not want to blog about the details and still don’t. I think anyone who knows me and who reads this blog knows that it is the sad and quickly changing stuff of my parents’ lives. But for now, that is all I will say on that subject. I am not prepared to divulge the details as many of the details are their own private business and, as a result, not mine alone to share.

What I will talk about is the getting on with it. These are the things I know. I know that frustration can be healed by breathing, stepping back, and seeing things from another point of view. I know that anger can be abated with meditation and chocolate and a glass of wine. And I know that my husband can make everything disappear with a gesture and a loving ear. This week my son responded to my cries on the phone with the most empathetic, “Mom, talk to me.” And I did. And like his father, he is a good listener. And he allowed my reservoir to drain a little. And my friends are there for me when I ask them to be, and sometimes when I don’t. I am an odd beast when stressed and sad. I tend to—very out of character for me—retreat and hide. Times like that, the only welcome guest outside of my husband is Doris Day. I wish Doris knew that she has served me better and more often than any guru could. She has been my rock. Not Hudson, mind you, but rock nonetheless.

The other great leveler in grasping times of need is the serenity prayer, which in itself is a wonder. I discovered years ago that the Twelve Steps are great rules for life in general, and they work for all things, not just addiction. And because I am not in any “program” a dear friend gave me a wonderful book called “The Twelve Steps For Everyone”. It has been a good friend.  I know the serenity prayer is well known but I will repeat it here.

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Great words. Perfect. True. And they work.

But ... what if I have accepted the things I cannot change, and I have forged ahead with blind and open minded courage to the things I can change, not only knowing the wisdom to differentiate, but appreciating that I am good at doing so.

And then ... what if you employ all these things and what if nothing works? What if I wake up every day thinking it’s going to be different and hoping we are going to take five steps forward and none back? What if every day I put on an optimist’s face and every day the steps retreat so far back, it makes the road itself harder and harder to see?

Well, I thought about this and I thought about this and I decided without a lick of a maudlin overtone that the fact is that there are some times in life that just have to be gotten through. Times when you are in the muck. And when you are in the muck, must you make mudpies? I don’t think so. I think sometimes you just have to be in the muck until it is dried up.

But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t diamonds to be grabbed and that’s exactly what I am doing. Desperately and voraciously I am grabbing at every damn diamond I can find. Some are hidden diamonds like the boy saying, “Mom, talk to me.” The gift of his openhearted time was diamond enough. Let alone that I got to drain the reservoir a little more. Then there was the dear friend who arrived, in her jammies, tea in hand, very early in the morning to just let me tell my tale. Then there was Barb with her emails saying, “I am here if you want to talk, I am here if you want to just know I am here. You don’t have to talk but I am here.” Then there was my husband, knowing how low I am and knowing how my daily workouts keep me sane, who showed up today with the first two seasons of Downton Abbey to watch in our home gym. Diamonds all!

And then there are the diamonds you have to seek out for yourself. The “Where’s Waldo?” of gleaming moments. The first crocus of the spring, the buds multiplying on the trees, the Facebook status a friend posts that makes you laugh, the fresh berries you bought today that tasted like July. The dogs who greet you every day like you have just won the Oscar, the lottery, and a lifetime supply of underwear. Am I being corny? Yes. Right now, corny looks lovely. Right now, “I’m as corny as Kansas in August.” Because to be corny is to be Doris Day. Doris who, on screen and in her real life, presented us the ultimate in cockeyed optimist and yet had muck up to her eyeballs in most of both. So what would Doris say? Que sera sera. What will be will be. And it may be muck sometimes.

It’s the keen eye in us that makes it the diamonds.

Barbara: Almost too emotional to respond, Deb. This was its own diamond to me. A diamond of blog-dom. A diamond of intimacy and heartfelt connection. A diamond of honesty. Yes, I do know it’s been tough on you and it’s heartbreaking for me to not be able to platitude and love it away. But such is life. And even if my own troubles and concerns aren’t of this tall, difficult order, you’ve given me enormous comfort today when I too am feeling down and out. It IS in the looking for diamonds amid the muck. That’s the only—ONLY—“trick” I’ve ever been able to absolutely count on in times of life-suckage. And all that aside, Deb: “I am here if you want to talk, I am here if you want to just know I am here. You don’t have to talk but I am here.”