Wisdom

When a ninety-three year old woman who has seen the world offers you advice, you take it.

I had gone over to Eleanor DeVito Owen house for lunch to discuss our writing.  After we had our chicken soup and discussed her work, she offered me some hard advice on dealing with Jack.  Of course, she said it in the most polite and cheerful manner ever.  Nevertheless, it was hard.

"Tell him you need him.  Tell him you love him.  Tell him you want him all for yourself.  He has been on a journey for the past two years and you want him home."

Oy.  I was still slightly (okay, not slightly) in the rage stage.  I was mad.  I didn't want him to fix these problems with a tweak and nudge when I knew he needed an overhaul.

"When he comes home tonight, you are there and you give him a hug.  Then you recite this speech.  He will come back."

Oy.  No, I thought.  I can't do this.  I am too hurt and injured and I am not sure he can change.

"Tell him this is the most meaningful relationship of your life."

Well, that was true.  Was.  I wrote a few days ago that our past held some meaningful moments, with Ada and Michael where he carried me through.  But that was then.  I need someone now in the present and hopefully in the future.  Where was he now as I am struggling with my own midlife crisis?  Hiding, avoiding me, afraid.  Not afraid of me, but buried so deep in his job that he couldn't see his way out.  He couldn't look up.  He describes himself as a racehorse with blinders on, only racing forward, not seeing what was on the sides.

I practiced my speech.  She made me.

"No, no, no!  Do not give him chores or tell him what to do!  Keep it simple and one message."

This was going to be hard.

The night before had been difficult.  I was in a bad mood.  In the morning, I was more reasonable, but more like a wet cat is more reasonable that a cat being chased by a bear:  better, but not good.

"You need to hug and hold him while you are saying this, not sitting across a table from him taking notes like you are in a business meeting."  She raised her eyebrow at me.

I've been guilty of that this week.

I argued that the books told me and the therapists agreed we should...

"Ack!  Ack! Ack!  Don't listen to the books!  You have to tell him you need him.  He needs to be needed."

I paused.

"You are not allowed back in my kitchen until you do this."

Sigh.

Before I went home, I responded to a few texts he had sent me during the day.  "I had a lovely lunch with Eleanor.  I'll see you when you get home."  I went home and did as I was told.  I had warmed him up with the text so he knew I wouldn't be loaded for bear when he walked in the door.  Over the past few weeks, I'll admit my mood was unpredictable.  Sometimes, I'd be in a good mood and kind.  Other times, I'd read something in a book that would set me on edge.  In fairness, these past two weeks have been traumatic.  Just when one wave of grief would pass, another would crash.  I've been thought the cycles and stages of grief before.  I know that the mind can only process so much information at once, and the heart has its limits, too.  I had been overwhelmed.  Unlike other traumatic experiences like when my first child died, this one I actually had some control and choice in terms of the outcome.  Jack did, too.

Nevertheless, Jack and I kept getting deeper and deeper into the pit.  Just when we gained some footing, it slipped away.  I was also uncovering much of the anger I had storing away for the past few years as he slipped away into work.  It was coming to the surface.

"I am not sure I have the strength to pull us both out of this," he said the other night.  I knew he needed me, but I questioned why I needed him.  And that was a legitimate question in my mind.  Why did I need a man who ignored me on and off for two years?  Who was self-centered and self-absorbed?  Would he change?

When I left to stay with my friend Susan, it was the best decision I had ever made.  When I laid in her guest bedroom, I was relieved to be alone.  I was and am grateful she and her family gave me a safe place to stay.  This eight day absence hit the reset button for Jack.  He was forced to reconnect with the kids and take responsibility.  His backstop who took care of everything was gone.  I was also mad that I had to leave for eight days to get his attention.  Why did he have to turn me into a bitch to change?  I was annoyed at that.  I don't like being a bitch.  Really, I don't.

Which was Eleanor's point.  Stop.  Get off the anger cycle.  Yes, you were right to be enraged, but you have his attention now.  Tread carefully.  I needed to do an about face.

Jack and I had been sliding deeper into the pit.  I started my speech, but he wanted to tell me about how he had managed his day.  He was excited to tell me how he was fixing things.  I interrupted, and said my three sentences.  He listened, and seemed to relax.

It was as if I had gotten out my ice ax, and slammed it in the glacier to stop the free fall.  We still have a long way to go, but hopefully we can get out together.