(S)park!

Mike and I have been together for 12 years and married for six. That's 48 seasons. While I understand that's a drop in the bucket for some, it's a wonderfully long time in my book. I love our relationship.

     Of course, like all relationships, ours needs to be nurtured. Relationships are living breathing entities like the people in them. They change over time, because we change over time, so it's important to always be paying attention. In order to do just that, I've been doing some research.

     First stop, writer, activist, and internationally syndicated relationship columnist, Dan Savage!

     Dan Savage was the first to use the abbreviation GGG - Good, Giving, and Game - to explain what partners should strive to be in order to nurture and sustain a successful, healthy relationship.  Savage promotes being up for anything... within reason. Hey, there are as many proclivities out there as there are people. It's important to be open and willing to explore.

     And genuine science backs Savage up. Dr. Amy Muise's Psychology Today article, "Are You GGG?" acknowledges that "people who are more motivated to respond to their partner’s needs report higher relationship satisfaction and feel more intrinsic joy after making a sacrifice for their partner.” 

     Now, I'm not trying to brag when I say - I've been pretty darn GGG over the years. Years of damaged boyfriends and comedy improvisation taught me to always say, "Yes, and...," and I think there have been more winners than losers in my relationships when all was said and done. I like to think that my husband benefits from my high GGG level. I try to keep the magic alive, as magazines and talk shows like to say. 

     But.

     Mike has been asking for one thing over the years that, well, I've never felt completely comfortable with. Full disclosure - I've done it before. I started doing it early (14?), and I'm pretty good at it (even if I grow impatient and tire of it quickly). Ultimately, I don't enjoy it. To be fair to Mike, it's not a deviance; more of a desire... a desire that's morphed into a necessity. The requests that started as sweet and subtle suggestions became more frequent and pressing entreaties.

     My husband wants me to park the car.

     No, that's not a euphemism.  

     He wants me to actually PARK THE CAR.

All of you outside major urban areas are yelling a collective WHAT?! Yes, I hear you. But city dwellers, back me up here. 

     Like most sane New Yorkers, I do not like driving - let alone parking - in New York City. I don't need to drive here. It's easy to get anywhere I have to go by foot, by bicycle, or by MTA. When Mike and I first got together, he owned a car, but I didn't. Several years and vehicles later, we took over one of my parents' cars when they downsized and moved to Florida. While our car became a jointly-owned asset, the responsibility still remained solely Mike's.

During the school year, I had a strong defense. My devoted husband may have had an itch for something different, but he knew that NO was my answer. He didn't even bother to ask, and that was the end of it. Most often, Mike could be home early enough from work to beat the neighborhood parking rush. Sometimes he was able to work from home, so he could take part in the alternate side, double-parking ballet.  He was still the master of his domain.  

     Things changed, though, when he started a new job this year. He returns home in the evening, and late-night parking really blows. 

     So when summer rolled around and my schedule became less demanding and more flexible, Mike began to press a bit.

     He'd lean in close and purr in his best Barry White, “Hey, if you’re around at 12:45…” 
     I'd stiffen and pull away. “Mike, I'm really not comfortable with that.”  I'd remind him that he is a master at parking!  He’s got magic parking space radar and surgical precision. He can squeeze into a space with nothing but a sigh between bumpers. I am not as adept. Of course, he'd counter that I just don't do it as often, but that if I would just give it a try, I would see it really isn't a big deal. My protests would continue until finally he would drop it, but I knew he was undeterred... maybe even more resolute. He was gonna wear me down, all right!

     And wear me down he did.

     The first time, I was truly panicked. I envisioned myself driving around in an endless loop. "But did she ever return, No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned..." But heaven, and a parking space, opened right up. I felt a surge of confidence run up the steering column and into my very being as I turned the wheel to the curb. I DID IT!

     It has become easier. I've even begun to initiate. It doesn't matter how good I am at it, I get the job done, and Mike is just so incredibly grateful that I'm (finally) willing and able.  

     Something has shifted since I've started to help park the car. My husband has been more attentive.  Often my texts are met with radio silence, but look at how quickly and enthusiastically he responds when I text about the car:

  

It's incredible! I feel like finally surrendering to this request has brought us closer. We're back in a honeymoon phase. Seriously, look at the love here:

 

Lesson learned? 
The way to a man’s heart is through a parking space.

I'm doing it twice today. How's that for GGG in the NYC?

It's messy...

Yesterday, I finally caught up with a close friend, a woman I love, respect, admire, and always wish I could spend more time with.  We try to see each other for a monthly dinner, but time's gotten away from the two of us.  Life always seems to get in the way of our plans.

There are very few people I like to talk with on the phone, but she's one of the few.  This friend is someone I can talk shop with for hours, because she knows her stuff about teaching, and her excitement and willingness to brainstorm ideas is never-ending.  Her voice is so animated over the phone that I can hear the speed with which she's wildly gesturing on the other end.   She'll stand in front of her bookshelf and yell out titles of books I MUST read - the woman's a treasure trove.  I am so lucky to count her in my circle.

After a solid hour of unit planning, text sharing, and getting generally fired up about the work we do,  I asked about the rest of her life... and the air left the conversation.  Her answer was stilted and obviously uncomfortable for her.

I knew her mother had been battling sickness for a while, but my friend confessed that it's come to the end.

"The end."  The time when lawyers and doctors enter the picture, when plans are put on hold, when vacation time is reviewed, when calendars are cleared for the imminent.  The eminent.

To say the relationship between my beautiful friend and her mother has been complicated is an understatement. It seems the brilliant, generous, accomplished woman I know has never been enough for her mother, and her mother has always been sure to tell her ungrateful daughter how disappointed she's been with her.  That selfish girl moved away and never calls or visits or supports enough.  After all her mother did for her... gave her strict discipline... a good beating when necessary. It must have been necessary.

The hard truth is that some relationships can't be mended or resolved.  Sometimes we have to resolve those relationships on our own, no matter how much we'd like them to be a joint effort.  My friend has been trying to do just that for years.  But "the end" complicates an already complicated situation.

My heart hurts for my friend. I know that the death of her mother won't be the end of the pain, it will be a new chapter of it.  It will entail not only dealing with her own complex grief, but helping others with their own, of trying to reconcile who her mother may have been to others while not being a loving mother to her at all. It will be the beginning of sifting through what is left and trying to rise above.

I don't know how a person does that.  I know that she will, because my friend is exceptional, but it humbles me to know that even with support around her, she will still experience part of this mourning alone... there are personal dragons that must be slain by one.

...

Today I came home from work to find a large manilla envelope for me in the mail pile.  I picked it up and immediately recognized my dad's handwriting.  Opening it, I found my copy of a cover letter addressed to my brother and me, signed by both of our parents.

The letter outlined their most recent estate plan and newly executed End Care documents. I sat down and read through the documents with my hand unconsciously over my heart.  What could be a more loving and heartfelt gift from our parents than to try and make their departure from this world as easy as possible for us, their children?  They've made sure that every situation has been laid out and considered.  They've cleaned up every possible extra mess.  Oh, don't mistake me, my mourning the loss of my parents will be very, very messy.  It is inconceivable to me as I write this.  But it won't be messy because of anything they've overlooked or forgotten or refused to deal with.  They are handling all of their business.  They will simply leave us, and that is as unbearable as I think I can manage.

Our parents have offered us something that is utterly invaluable.  My brother and I have been adults for many years now, and our parents have treated us as such, but ultimately we all know we are still their children.  They are still taking care of us.  There is a logic to what they have done.

How I wish my friend was blessed with a parent who can lead, who can be the strong figure who takes care of her child the way my parents still thoughtfully care for my brother and me.

I am so humbled by their gift.

Jay

When I was a kid, I wrote extensively in my journals (which sounded much more mature than "diaries") about how much I wished for an older sister, an older brother, and a younger sister.

I had a younger brother.

God's punishment to a 10-year-old girl, apparently.

I was not a nice older sister.  I played pranks on my brother, I said horrible things, I tortured that kid.  And I don't remember his deflecting my cruelty very well.  I remember a lot of yelling for Mom, crying and running away.

That all ended the day I was 13 and he was 11 when I pushed him to the breaking point and he punched me in the face.  (I'll pause so you can cheer.)

Something shifted for us.  Or more, something shifted for me.  I can't say my brother changed because he'd always been a sweet kid.  I guess I finally started appreciating what other people already did. Maybe the punch knocked some sense into me.

(Disclaimer: Do not try this strategy at home.)

In high school, Jay was involved in community theater and took classes at a local performing arts studio.  His encouragement got me involved too, and pretty soon, he and I had a common group of friends.  We hung out together.  We actually had fun together.  My brother became my friend.

I went off to college - to Syracuse - to major in theater.  When it was his turn to look at colleges, I lobbied for him to join me.  My brother decided instead to go to Florida State where all theater majors were tan, in-shape and happy.  (Not only was my brother kind, he was smart.)  Since this was pre-Internet, we wrote letters, sent cards, called... He was a grounding force.

My first professional theater job after graduating from college was in Roanoke, Virginia, and wouldn't you know, I got to work with my brother.  It was pure summer camp! Man, we had a blast.  In the fall, I moved to NYC to live the dream and Jay went back to college.  Surprise, surprise - The theater world wasn't as psyched to see me as I thought it would be, and when I visited Jay at school, I conjured up this hair-brained idea that I'd move down to Tallahassee to write while he finished school.  I told him how cool it would be if we got an apartment together.

(Doesn't that sound like fun?  Have your sister invite herself to join you for your college experience?)

But my brother is kind and smart and compassionate.  He let me down easy and said I was just scared of the transition.  Hang in there, he said.  I did and it ended up working out pretty well, I think.

Fast forward 20-some years and a lot more life transitions and huge events.

So here we are now.  Jay lives three subway stops away with his great family (wife and 3 kids).  Last night I went to his sons' school's fundraiser, which Jay had not only helped to organize but performed in.  I watched him onstage with such... awe.  I was suddenly so overwhelmed by the rich lives we have lived and our shared experiences in them.  Who would I be without him?  I am amazed and humbled by the person he is... I guess at the person he has always been.

I am SO glad that God didn't read my diary.  I may not deserve him, but I like having the brother I got.

Mom

I asked my husband, "What do you think is the best quality I inherited from my mom?"  Without pausing for breath he quipped, "Well, you definitely didn't get her patience."

Very true; painfully so. But ha ha.  Yes, I laughed at that.  I tried to show I had a sense of humor, but quickly (remember the patience problem) moved back to pressing him.  He said, "Give me a moment to think about it."  I stood nearby, patiently waiting a whole few seconds, thinking that he'd be able to connect my mom and me somehow, but time stood still.

This didn't look good for me.

I'd like to say I left the scene to give him space to think, but I was feeling a bit prickly.
After 90 seconds, I approached him again.  "Any luck?" I asked.
"Still thinking," he said.
"You do think I have some good qualities, don't you?"
"Well of course, or I wouldn't have married you."
"Huh," I grunted.

Later I spoke with my mom.  She was on her way back from her 50th year college reunion.  Imagine?!  She was on a layover at the airport and texted me to say hi.  (By the way, I love that my 70-something year old mom texts 45-year old me. How cool is that?) I texted her back, nonchalantly saying that she could call me if she wanted; I was home alone because Mike had taken a drive.

God, I wanted my mom to call me.  I wanted my mom.

She called.  She never fails.  We talked about her weekend, which sounded reflective in a way I can only imagine.  What is it to reflect back 50 years to when you were in college?  What is it to tick off the successes, but also the deaths, the illnesses?  What is it to remember youth and to see decline?  Talking with her reminded me of a time I was speaking with her mother, my grandma Erickson, and Grandma was saying very matter-of-factly, "I'm one of the last of my friends.  Everyone has died."  Grandma Erickson volunteered at the senior living center and helped people far younger than she was.  She watched people wither and go. It's a brutal reality.

At that moment, I didn't want to be a voice on the end of the phone. I wanted to stop time, to sit across from my mom and hold her hand.  Not that she needed me, but that kind of reflection - one of really seeing what's in front of you - seems too honest and cruel.  My mom's nowhere near there.  Right?  She is vibrant and lovely and ALIVE for a long, long, long time.

I listened as my mom dealt with this somewhat painful reflection.  But shamefully, as I listened I wanted something from her.

"So, Mom, what do you think is the best quality that I got from you?"  It felt dirty to even ask; to plead for something good.

After a moment, she replied, "Your empathy."

And I wanted to cry.
Because my mother had said what I wished for most,
because she valued that part of me so much,
because even while in her own emotional churning, she was as generous as ever.

After I got off the phone with her, she texted me.
"Kindness would also apply! xoxom"

I will never be the woman my mom is, but I know I will die trying.

May you all know the love that I know from my mom.