Recently a friend broke-up with me.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. We really hadn't hung out together for quite awhile. But back in the day we were tight. I've always believed God sends you the people you need when you need them, and this was no exception. I was leaving the world of full-time employment and beginning my adventures in domesticity. She was new to town, also at home, and our daughters were in preschool together. We shared coffee, wine, and good conversation.
I should have seen the warning signs. We had some philosophical differences, but we were pretty open about discussing them. Our daughters started out as good friends, but they were pretty different from each other. I also was not particularly close with her other dear friends.
Our lives diverged as lives do. She was homeschooling, which kept her busy, and our paths crossed less often. I didn't think too much of it. We still chatted when we encountered each other but didn't carve out time to get together.
Not long ago we ran into each other at a yard sale and started catching up with each other. We've always had a certain cosmic similarity, and it turns out that we were both interested in the same graduate school program. We could be school buddies!
Turns out she had started working at the same place Brandon, my current charge and life project, attends preschool. One day I was picking him up and encountered my old friend. I told her I really wanted to get together. I pictured one of our traditional gabfests, catching up on what we'd been doing for the past few years, making plans to get through school together. Maybe this was just the boost I needed to get out of my current rut and get my life in gear. As we were making a plan and preparing to part, she mentioned that she also felt the need to explain why she had felt the need to put some space between us.
Wait. What?
Our estrangement had been purposeful on her part. I was blind-sided.
Most of our communication on this topic has been via the gift of e-mail, which from my point of view has been something of a blessing. It gives me time to measure my responses and edit my words, which apparently is what got me in trouble in the first place. As mentioned before, we did have some sizable philosophical differences, and at some point I apparently was disrespectful enough to hurt her. Enough that she felt the need to back away from me.
This is doing a bit of a number on my head. Oddly enough, I generally consider myself to be pathologically nice. I do, however, have strong opinions, and, when pushed, will be brutally honest about how I feel about something. My favored strategy is cutting humor. I guess I cut too deep.
This is not happening at a good time. One problem with childcare as a life calling is that it is pretty isolating. Working from home means no co-workers or general public to interact with. My social circle, such as it is, largely consists of other parents with small children and if you've ever tried to socialize with toddlers in the room you'd know it's not easy. Plus, I'm no longer the parent of a toddler. At the end of the day I'd like the chance to mingle with people of my own age who are also preparing to embark on the next phase of life once the children are grown.
So far I seem to be 2 for 2 in wrecking such relationships. (See "Looking Up to Reach Down" for the other unhappy saga.)
I've apologized. I've offered my olive branch. I've proposed getting together again to hash this all out but a plan hasn't come together for that and I think I'm done trying. I may have been insensitive and/or intolerant, but I didn't cut anyone out of my life for disagreeing with me.
The situation is made worse by living in a small town. As I already said, I have to go to her place of work to pick Brandon up from school. I find myself scanning the crowd and hanging my head when I walk in to avoid possible encounters. I was at the high school play last night, which her daughter was in, and again felt in defensive mode in case she was there. She wasn't. But to rub salt in the wound there were two other people there I used to hang out with and I COULDN'T GET OUT FAST ENOUGH.
Really? Am I that hard to get along with? Now I feel a little paranoid about everyone I've fallen out of touch with. Did I offend you? Am I more trouble than I'm worth?
I once suggested that Hallmark make a card for this. A little something that simply says "I valued our time together, I'm sorry it didn't work out."
Meantime I think I'll take a page from Simon and Garfunkel. I am a rock. I am an island.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Guardian Angel, A Story for Veteran's Day
This story begins, as most of them do, with the phone call that no one wants to get. Tom's father was sick, it was serious, and he had to drive out there right away. I ended up flying out a few days later with our daughters for the funeral. Sudden, sad, and surreal.
The girls and I left after school, and our evening flight had a sizable lay-over at the Philadelphia airport. We were tired, dazed, and had an hour to while away. We noticed the dogs as we were wandering to our gate.
They were puppies, really; big paws and ears and fluffy coats. Australian Shepherds as I recall. They were also playful and friendly. Good medicine for our bruised souls. Their names were Sadie and Levi.
I know this because we started chatting with the nice young couple traveling with the dogs. Turned out they were flying to the same small regional airport we were headed to. Their story unfolded as we talked.
They were from Colorado and on their way to her hometown in Pennsylvania to pick-up her horses and car. They had brought the puppies along because they had just adopted them and didn't want to leave them alone. Then they were going to hitch the horse trailer to her car and drive the 1000+ miles home, puppies and all. They only had a few days to complete this feat because the day after they were scheduled to return he had to report for deployment to Iraq.
He was a Marine. They were newlyweds. Just married. They had returned from their honeymoon trip and found the call-up order in the mail when they returned home. They were taking this crazy cross-country trip and then he would be gone for a year.
They were the sweetest young couple. He was all-American, clean-cut handsome. She reminded me of a little bird. Tiny, fair, with sharp features and lots of wavy yellow hair with seemed to hum with her nervous energy. They were happy to share the puppies with me and my tween-aged girls.
Our flight was announced and they stowed the puppies in their little mesh-sided carriers and brought them onto the plane. It was a small commuter plane that only holds a few dozen people. They sat across the aisle from us and I couldn't help watching them during the flight.
It was nighttime, and the lighting in the cabin was dim to allow us to nap during the short flight, I guess. She was resting on him, her head on his chest and her hands on his shoulder and side, like she was trying to absorb him through her skin, filling-up with his very essence before sending him off. His arm was wrapped protectively around her. It made a very touching tableaux.
Tom's Dad, Bill Reid (he eschewed titles), was a World War II vet. Actually, he was a conscientious objector, to me an unbelievably brave stance to take in those days, which also in those days meant he still served but in a non-combat role. He was a medic. He was captured by the Germans and spent about a year, I think, as a prisoner of war. When he was released he learned that his identical twin brother had died in the conflict.
My father-in-law was truly one of the greats of The Greatest Generation. His military service interrupted his college career. He and his brother attended the same college. Dave, apparently, was the outgoing brother. Bill was studying botany, as he had a life-long attraction to the natural world. When they were sent overseas they had each met the woman they intended to marry. Bill returned, a thin shadow of his former self, married, and finished college. He joined the track team to rebuild his physical body, and followed a call to enter into ministry, eventually graduating from Yale Divinity School and serving with distinction in the Methodist Church.
SIDE NOTE: My mother-in-law is no less impressive, enduring the sorrow and anxiety of the separation, finishing her own degree and also entering the ministry.
My heart ached for this young couple on the airplane. They were so sweet, so in love. I prayed for his safe return, but felt a renewed ache when I realized he would not come home the same person. He was being sent far away to an exotic locale where he would experience and see things that no person should see and experience. I prayed. I prayed for his safety, but I also prayed for his soul. That he should come home and still be able to enjoy his wife, and play with their dogs and horses, and still be the confident, happy, loving young man that he was then.
I entreated my father-in-law. Please be with him, you who understand his situation. Be with him in battle. Stay with him and guard his heart. Please help him to keep his humanity intact. Bless this couple and help them have the happy life they deserve. Be their guardian angel.
It was not a long flight. We were walking to the lobby when I found the courage to turn and ask his name. I do not have the best memory in the world, but I know that the first name was Sam. The last name is a little fuzzier, either Wineguard or Winegardner, probably spelled Weingart or something like that. Anyway, I shook his hand, wished them well on his deployment, and said I would pray for him. They were genuinely grateful.
God, please let him return safely. Grampsy, please guard his soul.
The girls and I left after school, and our evening flight had a sizable lay-over at the Philadelphia airport. We were tired, dazed, and had an hour to while away. We noticed the dogs as we were wandering to our gate.
They were puppies, really; big paws and ears and fluffy coats. Australian Shepherds as I recall. They were also playful and friendly. Good medicine for our bruised souls. Their names were Sadie and Levi.
I know this because we started chatting with the nice young couple traveling with the dogs. Turned out they were flying to the same small regional airport we were headed to. Their story unfolded as we talked.
They were from Colorado and on their way to her hometown in Pennsylvania to pick-up her horses and car. They had brought the puppies along because they had just adopted them and didn't want to leave them alone. Then they were going to hitch the horse trailer to her car and drive the 1000+ miles home, puppies and all. They only had a few days to complete this feat because the day after they were scheduled to return he had to report for deployment to Iraq.
He was a Marine. They were newlyweds. Just married. They had returned from their honeymoon trip and found the call-up order in the mail when they returned home. They were taking this crazy cross-country trip and then he would be gone for a year.
They were the sweetest young couple. He was all-American, clean-cut handsome. She reminded me of a little bird. Tiny, fair, with sharp features and lots of wavy yellow hair with seemed to hum with her nervous energy. They were happy to share the puppies with me and my tween-aged girls.
Our flight was announced and they stowed the puppies in their little mesh-sided carriers and brought them onto the plane. It was a small commuter plane that only holds a few dozen people. They sat across the aisle from us and I couldn't help watching them during the flight.
It was nighttime, and the lighting in the cabin was dim to allow us to nap during the short flight, I guess. She was resting on him, her head on his chest and her hands on his shoulder and side, like she was trying to absorb him through her skin, filling-up with his very essence before sending him off. His arm was wrapped protectively around her. It made a very touching tableaux.
Tom's Dad, Bill Reid (he eschewed titles), was a World War II vet. Actually, he was a conscientious objector, to me an unbelievably brave stance to take in those days, which also in those days meant he still served but in a non-combat role. He was a medic. He was captured by the Germans and spent about a year, I think, as a prisoner of war. When he was released he learned that his identical twin brother had died in the conflict.
My father-in-law was truly one of the greats of The Greatest Generation. His military service interrupted his college career. He and his brother attended the same college. Dave, apparently, was the outgoing brother. Bill was studying botany, as he had a life-long attraction to the natural world. When they were sent overseas they had each met the woman they intended to marry. Bill returned, a thin shadow of his former self, married, and finished college. He joined the track team to rebuild his physical body, and followed a call to enter into ministry, eventually graduating from Yale Divinity School and serving with distinction in the Methodist Church.
SIDE NOTE: My mother-in-law is no less impressive, enduring the sorrow and anxiety of the separation, finishing her own degree and also entering the ministry.
My heart ached for this young couple on the airplane. They were so sweet, so in love. I prayed for his safe return, but felt a renewed ache when I realized he would not come home the same person. He was being sent far away to an exotic locale where he would experience and see things that no person should see and experience. I prayed. I prayed for his safety, but I also prayed for his soul. That he should come home and still be able to enjoy his wife, and play with their dogs and horses, and still be the confident, happy, loving young man that he was then.
I entreated my father-in-law. Please be with him, you who understand his situation. Be with him in battle. Stay with him and guard his heart. Please help him to keep his humanity intact. Bless this couple and help them have the happy life they deserve. Be their guardian angel.
It was not a long flight. We were walking to the lobby when I found the courage to turn and ask his name. I do not have the best memory in the world, but I know that the first name was Sam. The last name is a little fuzzier, either Wineguard or Winegardner, probably spelled Weingart or something like that. Anyway, I shook his hand, wished them well on his deployment, and said I would pray for him. They were genuinely grateful.
God, please let him return safely. Grampsy, please guard his soul.
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