How Everyone Loves People

There is clarity that comes from sickness.  It’s when we feel the wrath of ill that we truly appreciate the blessing of being healthy… physically, emotionally and spiritually.  The spike of a high fever can cause you to pray to the powers that be and ask for help in recovery, making promises and plans to be better, do better and change unhealthy ways.  It is also a time of understanding exactly where you are in the realm of others in the world.   We are all connected to others in some way but as we age we become more and more removed from relationships for various reasons.  

Many people come on our path along the way and at that time and place we both use each other for what we need.  It is the ebb and flow of relationships. For me in the past decade alone I have seen a  decimation of family, friends, business associates and acquaintances.  I have very few in my corner and as much as I pretend I’m fine I know I’m not.  It certainly has not been an easy process and the fallout has been extensive. Last Thanksgiving I lost an elderly neighbor who became a good and trusted friend to me and my family over the 23 years we lived across from each other.  Her husband passed a year before her and as we mourned him we stepped up our assistance with basic needs like taking garbage/recycling out and making stops at the market or putting aside a Tupperware of food for a meal.  She had been sick for some time on constant oxygen even when her husband was alive, but she needed additional help.  Their children and families live further/far away so they couldn’t be readily available.  We saw they had a need and stepped in. Taking my friend to the doctor/hair appointments or taking care of a shopping list was a new part time job for me.  Sometimes I was off put by it, but now looking back I should have never been, as I clearly see when someone needs you and they are alone you should just help. 

Last January I was sick for a month with a virus that was awful.  I was scared as I have never been that ill for that long.  During this time there was some clarity and a clear declaration that I am powerless for the most part and I need to accept help if provided, which I also acknowledge that people are rather selfish and busy, so at the same time you cannot depend on others.  It was especially apparent when I needed a cup of tea or broth and neither of my dogs were able to help out.  My husband would be at work and I had to muster up the energy to walk downstairs to get some nourishment.  Sounds simple, but the eventual bronchial pneumonia combined with whatever strain of virus was running through me made me incapacitated.  I didn’t have anyone to help, and it got me thinking clearly, we are basically at the mercy of the good graces of others. 

It is true and for the most part people shy away from being selfless.  I was always so perplexed as to why I would get praised for being so good to my friend.  Staff at a doctors office would say I was too kind or I would pick up a prescription from the store and was told how very nice it was of me.  I didn’t think much of it at the time but once I was in a depleted situation I understood the norm was different from my relationship with my friend.  I never thought of it as being selfless, just what decent people do for each other. During  this bout of sickness, I would have never asked, nor would I expect my children to come home for a weekend from school to help out.  It would be selfish of me to expect that, thus putting them in harms way potentially getting sick.  Right?

My children are actively in the process of college or recently graduated and they are venturing off in different directions.  I'm having most difficulty with their ability to be comfortably selfish.  Is it the epidemic of their generation?  Exposed to so much screen time, growing up with computers and phones, they are able to shift their focus extremely easily away from familial needs or the big picture to something that will provide immediate gratification and be easier for them.  It is uncommon for them, without being told, to assist in the mundane maintenance of the homes, easily leaving multiple mounds of mess for someone other than themselves to clean.  At a certain age I believe all understand the needs of being an adult.  They seem to piecemeal their adult responsibilities, leaving the less desirable to myself or my husband.  As I see them living their best lives and we are left with the burdens of the homes, which at some point they will inherit, it infuriates me to no end and I wonder when they will become better helpers.  I see their generous spirits with others extraneous from their immediate family.  When do they pivot with us?  How do we move forward, without becoming removed? Helping one another isn’t a burden, but an opportunity to appreciate and give back.  It is how everyone loves people.   

The Rubberband That Snapped In My Face

It's been over eight years.  I measure the time based on my son's current age and the seasons.  He was 8 when it happened and it was the summer.  It was the last time I saw my mother and father, as well as my brother and his family.  Our family trip to Cooperstown, New York did not go well, certainly not a home run.  There was constant discord between myself and my mother, mostly surrounding my son and his behavior.  Parenting your child in front of your parent can be daunting. 

My son had been typical for a boy, lots of energy, needs to be constantly focused, and mischievous, but not in an awful way.  Whatever he did or didn't do that weekend was quickly handled by my parents.  He was told to stop running, sit down, be quiet, stop splashing and more.  My attempt to guide him was thwarted by their need to control him.  I can only gather they did not believe my husband and I were doing a good job, thus their obligation to step in.  

Lunch at an overcrowded restaurant was the precursor to the nail in the coffin for these relationships.  My son ordered a plate of nachos as did my oldest daughter who was 11 at the time.  As soon as I saw the plate I knew my children would not like it.  The cheese was processed, the kind I grew up on but never gave to my kids.  I made nachos with real cheese. My two did not want to eat the meal, which was fine for my daughter in my mother's eyes but with my son she became quite angered and chastised him. He wanted his second choice of chicken fingers and fries and didn't want half of a half of her sandwich, which my daughter agreed to eat, as she wanted to please her grandmother.  This would delay our time at the table as well and there was no time for this in her eyes.  My son got his desired meal, I would have it no other way,  but you could see the sadness in his eyes that he had yet again disappointed her.  My heart was broken. 

We went shopping at few more stores.  As we came out of the store with bags in tow my son darted out and nearly got hit by a van.  The collective reaction was shouting to get his attention and that of the driver, who was speeding in a crowded parking lot.  Thankfully he was not hurt, but both my parents proceeded to yell at him, in his face, as though he was a dog they needed to train.  My son began to cry and looked at me with despair.   He was already shook by the near accident and now he was being shredded by their words.  I was done.  Let me remind you he was 8 years old.  

The remainder of the trip was difficult, yet familiar, as most memories I have of trips, special occasions and holidays are marred by a fight, disagreement or discord. Those were my memories and I didn't want that for my family.  This experience is not extraordinary.  My mother and I had serious relationship problems since I was a child.  It was not uncommon for my mother to stop talking to me for days, weeks or months.  Reconciliation depended on the severity of my infraction.  Both my parents had no or very limited relationships with their siblings, so we had no relationship with aunts, uncles and cousins for the most part.

Once home I called my mother to talk about what had happened and let her know what my son had said to me.  I knew it would not be easy to discuss, but the playing field had changed.  I now had to protect my son and honor his spirit which was being destroyed by his grandparents.  I would later find out more egregious punishments that were given to him the few times my parents watched my children.  The phone call ended with irrational screaming.  My mother's final words to me were, "If I die of a heart attack it's on your head." Soon after my father called to rip me apart, as my mother called him at work and said she thought she was in fact having a heart attack.  Instead of rushing home or calling 911, he decided to question me, never listening to my words, but cementing the obvious, our relationship was over.  

I think the game changer for this event were the words of my young son. He sat with me and said, "Why does Ma hate me so much?" It wasn't a reactive statement.  He put thought to this and had developed this idea over time.  It certainly struck a chord with me.  With honest intentions I shared this with my mother as we spoke for the last time.  I was not prepared for her explosive reaction, but expected she would feel disparaged that her grandson thought this for even one moment.  Instead she made accusation that he was being manipulative and the anger that erupted from her was worse than I had ever heard.  It was a rubberband that snapped in my face.  It stung for a moment, as it could no longer withstand the tension. The family ties that bind were severed.