The Pain in Fragile Human Connections

Life has a way of reminding us of how fragile each of us and each relationship connecting us can be. As I’m working through my recovery from surgery and ongoing chronic pain, I’m trying to support a younger cousin to hold her life together while it disintegrates in front of her. She’s pregnant with her third child and her partner walked out on her and their two young children, who are five and two, days after her doctor ordered her on bed rest. From the sounds, and looks of things, he’s been planning to leave for some time but failed to mention it to my cousin who is now eight months pregnant.

As much as I’ve seen and experienced in my life, this shocks me, and I don’t understand – even with my parents’ history – how someone can walk away from his or her young, and unborn, children. I don’t understand how one person can believe they have the right to make such a significant decision knowing it will negatively affect the lives of four other people and move on with their life without missing a beat. I don’t understand what he tells himself when he chooses not to answer his phone when my cousin calls him in the middle of the night because she might need something for one of their children or she might be experiencing severe cramping, or be in labour – premature or active. I don’t understand how he can cut himself off emotionally from having any interest in knowing how the child she is carrying in her belly is thriving – or not. He doesn’t attend her prenatal appointments, he doesn’t ask about test results, he doesn’t ask about her pain or if she’s resting and he never asks if she’s eating well, or if she needs help caring for their other children.

I know that no relationship is perfect – and I certainly don’t believe my cousin has no fault in the breakdown of this one – but I don’t understand how he could choose now to leave. What did he tell his five-year old daughter when she asked where he was going as he packed his things? How does it feel not to be there when his children wake up in the morning and when they go to sleep, when he has been there every day of their lives since they can remember? How did it feel when he walked out the door leaving the heavily pregnant mother of his children behind?

I’ve been speaking to my cousin every day since this crisis erupted in her life a few weeks ago. I don’t believe the pain I’m feeling because of my illness is anywhere near as severe as the pain she’s feeling from the breakdown of her family. To ease my pain I can take pain medication but there is nothing I can offer her to reduce her pain. She speaks of her heart breaking. I can offer no cure, but because I’ve had my heart broken, I know the only balm that will give her pain relief, and possibly heal the rupture, is time.

I also know I must show her that our connection is not fragile. However, the only way my fragile, pained body can show that is with open ears and open heart, and I hope that’s enough to help keep her whole and strong.

 

The Five Stairsteps – O-O-H Child

Sudden Rainstorms and Laughter

I had forgotten how good it feels to get caught in the rain – until yesterday. My friend M, who is one of my oldest and dearest friends, sent me a text yesterday afternoon asking if I wanted to hang out. I asked when. He said whenever I could be ready. I told him I needed an hour to take a shower. Then we were on. Just as things used to happen before I was ill. After taking my shower, I was in my closet searching for something to wear and it struck me that I own a lot of clothes that I never wear anymore. It’s as if I allow my illness to dictate my wardrobe. In some respects, it does because wearing a belt or something with a tight waistband is extremely uncomfortable, but aside from that, I can wear anything. So yesterday, I picked out a summer dress I’d bought but never worn. It wasn’t shapeless or loose like the clothes I’ve become accustomed to wearing; and it felt good to put it on.

When M came to get me, he was impressed with my effort. I got in the car and we started to drive with nothing in mind but getting something good to eat. Then it became something good to eat that we could get to take-out and eat by the lake. We decided on burgers and landed at a burger joint where the owner added character, a history lesson, and laughter to our ordering experience. Once we had our massive burgers, fries with homemade gravy and drinks to go, we headed toward the water. We went to a familiar place that we’d been to before on hot summer days. When we got there, M opened the trunk of his car and pulled out two folding chairs he bought on his way to pick me up, which is such a typically impromptu thing for him to do. In the past, it might have been running into a department store to buy shorts because the pants he wore to work that day would hinder his enjoyment of the warmth of a patio somewhere that was our destination to sit, have drinks, laugh, and talk about whatever came to mind.

His preparedness made me smile. We started walking across the sand to find a spot to plant our chairs and dig into the food we earlier watched being made on a grill and was now sending wonderful aromas floating out of the bag. We settled on a spot close to the water’s edge where we could watch kite surfers and kayakers moved across the water by the wind and the waves. M set up my chair and made sure I was comfortable – going as far as draping his jacket over my bare legs to keep them warm. Then we each bit into the best hamburgers we’d ever tasted. The meat of the burger – that’s right I’m eating meat as ordered by my doctors – was so tender and juicy it required little chewing, and the gravy for the fries added another layer of delicious.

We were sitting for a short time when we noticed a line of dark clouds moving steadily over the line of trees behind us. We knew that a storm would hit soon, but we may have underestimated its arrival time. After snapping a few shots of the clouds with my phone, the wind picked up and started to whip the sand. M decided it was time for us to start moving back to the car. While I finished my burger, he began packing up the remaining food from our meal and our chairs. When I swallowed my last bite of burger, he told me to head for the car. By that point, the wind was fiercely stirring the sand and we had to shield our faces as we pushed our way in the direction of the car. Steps away from our target the skies opened and released big, heavy drops of rain that soaked us as soon as they made contact with our bodies.

We started laughing as M got me safely inside the car then worked frantically to get everything else into the trunk. We were laughing because this was one more incident to add to the long list of antics we’ve collected over the span of our thirty plus years of friendship – a nice day at the beach ending with a sandstorm and torrential rains. While I sat drying in the car, I could see M through the rear window struggling to shield himself with his golf umbrella while he tried to get what he needed in and out of the trunk. Finally, he made his way to the driver’s side of the car and as he got into his seat, the wind nearly ripped the green and white umbrella out of his hands. This only made us laugh more. We sat out the rainstorm in the car and watched lightning flash across the grey sky through the moon roof, as drops of rain pooled on the glass.

When the rain finally stopped, we went for a short walk. There was a point along the shore that M wanted to show me. From that vantage point, it’s possible to see the entire skyline of our city, and it was beautifully framed by breaking clouds that allowed a golden glow of setting sunlight to shine through. It was the perfect end to a day spent with one of my favourite people.

 

Eddie Rabbitt – I Love A Rainy Night

A Welcome Jolt of Energy

I had the best day today. My cousin brought her two young children to visit me. Her daughter is five and her son is two. They were such a delight to be with. They climbed all over me, gave me hugs, and made me laugh and smile uncontrollably. When they sat still long enough, they drew pictures using every colour from the boxes of crayons I put out. Otherwise, they were running around my place and climbing on every piece of furniture I own. At one point – I’m not sure how he came up with it – my cousin’s young son decided that the straps on one of my purses should be used as the reigns for his imaginary horse, which he rode while lying on his back on one of my couches. His sister, unknowingly, might have inducted me into a Māori tribe because all afternoon she kept coming close to me and either touching noses with me or doing what I think might have been the facial gestures and sounds of the Haka Challenge Dance.

I’m exhausted now, but I think it was worth it. I catered to their every whim. I was amazed at how much they ate because their bodies are so small, but no matter what snack I produced they wanted more. They talked and moved so quickly it was hard to keep track of where they were or what conversation had started or ended. When the time came for them to go home the little one, my cousin’s son, didn’t want to leave. She said that it was very unusual behaviour for him to want to stay with someone other than her. I felt honoured. I held him in my lap and cuddled with him until his sister was able to convince him they had to leave.

I had such a wonderful time with them today; I know I’ll be smiling every time I think of them for the next little or long while. Because I don’t have children of my own, I forget sometimes how spending time with children can lift your spirits and make you feel energized. I have to make the effort to see them more often.

 

Marcia Griffiths – Electric Boogie