The Less Obvious Life Lesson
My parents had no way to predict I would need this one
I cannot remember a time in my childhood when my Dad was completely well. I grew up in the 1960s and 70s and nobody talked openly about illness like they do now. I seldom talked about it with him. He tried to put on a stoic face and act like everything would be fine and he rarely gave insights into what was going on with him. He worked things out in his head, and he suffered silently. He was a private person and not prone to share his emotions, but thankfully this didn’t mean he was cold or unloving towards us.
My dad was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis in his twenties. By the time I came into the picture when he was 41, the disease had done plenty of damage to his body. He had times of flares and remission, but the pain was always there. His joints ached and he would have frequent days when he had to come in and lie down after work. There were also many doctor’s visits and treatments (like prednisone injections) where the side effects could make him feel worse and better simultaneously.
My mother is the one who translated what was happening. She would tell me when I needed to give my dad space or that he was having a bad day. He had more and more bad days the older we got. He eventually developed diabetes and heart disease on top of the existing symptoms.
My mother knew how to read the signs of what my dad was going through, and her life was devoted to trying to make things better for him. They married in the 1940s and she was a traditional wife and mother, but also just a saint of a woman. She was someone who tried to model what the Bible and Jesus taught and was a master of holding her tongue.
Chronic pain will mess you up. You cannot fully understand it unless you’ve lived with it. For those short on empathy, think about a headache or an injury you had that made you miserable. Now imagine that the pain did not go away. It might be better some days than others, but it never leaves. It is always there no matter what you take, what you do, and what you try. You’re not allowed to shut down and stay home; you must live your life with that pain always there as your companion. Day in. Day out. Would you be the same?
Some days my Dad lashed out at my Mom verbally and my young self always wondered why she put up with it. I thought he was just mean, but now I know that more likely, he had put on his happy face all day for the public and just ran out of his supply by the time he reached the house. He never yelled or overpowered her; instead, he snapped at her or was sarcastic. It was tough to watch when all she wanted to do was help him. I cannot remember one sharp disagreement they had in front of me. I’m sure they argued, and if they indeed did, it was never where I could hear it.
As a teenager, I thought the world revolved around me. I arrogantly considered myself smarter than my parents and could not understand what my Dad might be going through daily. The fact that he didn’t talk about it didn’t help, and something in me kept me from asking. I don’t know if I was born an introvert or became one after living with two intensely private people, but I assumed it would be uncomfortable for him to answer questions about his health. I didn’t want to intrude. I wish I had. If he was like me, he would have been happy to answer my questions as long as he sensed I truly cared enough to be interested.
I understood what my mom felt even when she didn’t tell me. I spent more time with her and believed I knew her heart. I could tell when my Dad would say something that would make her say “Ouch” inside even when she didn’t verbalize it. There was a lot she didn’t say. One of her hallmark phrases as I was growing up was “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”. It was her guideline for not criticizing and not gossiping, and she led by example in this one.
With all the subtext in our house and what I felt were too many “undiscussables”, I had a low tolerance for gentleness. Later in life, I learned the value of bubble-wrapping my speech with others in some situations. In my youth, I was primarily direct and blunt. It was my way of acting out. I resented what I felt was doormat behavior by my mother as my Dad walked on her. I also resented my father for not seeing that he hurt her feelings, or perhaps worse, seeing and not caring. I for damn sure wasn’t going to end up like her. I’m embarrassed to say I often treated both of them with what would be equivalent to a “Whatever” when they gave me advice.
I had one perspective of both of them as a teenager and young adult, and a different one now with some time and life experience.
I’m so much like my father, it is disturbing. Of course, I didn’t see that then. I’m private and do not readily share what is going on with me. I can also be short with my husband when I have used up all of my energy. I got my strong work ethic from my father. He was a creative person who enjoyed expressing himself behind a camera or on paper and so am I. I am sad that he passed away before I could truly get to know him as a person since I think I finally matured enough to have a good soul-searching conversation.
But, when I think of life lessons, my Mom has made the biggest difference in my life by setting an example I now try to emulate. Yes, that woman I didn’t plan to be like? I find my life eerily similar now and I appreciate the nuanced approach she took to get through it all.
I have been married for nearly 30 years, and about 8 years into our marriage, my husband started experiencing a high level of pain in his hips. It never left. He has been through back surgery, two hip replacements, degenerative disc disease, and arthritis. He is on daily pain management medication. His back is bent. When he is out and about, people routinely approach him and ask him if he has a bad back. He obviously has a bad back, but what half of them are really saying is that looking at him makes them uncomfortable and he should stand up straighter. The other half truly wants to help in some way. They offer him physiotherapy providers, suggestions to get surgery, a cane, or other things that serve as a constant reminder that people see his disability before they see him. It disturbs him even though many of them mean well. Nobody wants to be the object of someone’s pity. I contrast this era where people feel free to offer unsolicited opinions and advice (and consider everything their business) with what my Dad went through in his era — the silence and lack of acknowledgment. I’m not sure which is worse.
Our lives are deeply impacted by my husband’s health. It is not the life either of us envisioned when we got married. We thought we would be more active than we are. He didn’t see a future where he would have to leave dinners just because it hurt to sit for too long. He eventually had to go through a treatment program to get off of the harmful substances he was taking and some people in our life asked why I was sticking with him through this. It all seemed “too much” to some of them.
But here is what I learned from my Mom. You don’t quit on somebody when the part of your vows that says “in sickness and in health” ends up being the short end of that stick and nobody’s at fault. You don’t blow up small things and get offended about how you are being spoken to when someone is just doing their best to get through the day. You look for ways you can show love. You choose to speak gently and stop being blunt if that feels harsh to your partner. You pray a lot and ask for God to give you a compassionate and empathetic heart for what that person is going through. And the hardest part is mirroring the kind of love that Jesus models that puts that other person’s needs above your own.
I don’t believe it is an accident that I had the parents that I did. I think God gave me this example to live with day in and day out to see what it is like to hang in with somebody even when things are hard. He also gave me a role model.
My Mom worked hard at being a person who was there to serve selflessly, but that didn’t make her a doormat. You have to be strong to choose this path and not become a bitter and complaining woman. That’s another conversation I wish I could have. I bet she would have a lot of tips for me, but she has been gone for more than 20 years now.
My blessing is that despite my husband’s pain and some of the harder seasons of our lives, he’s a real pleasure to have by my side. He has a great heart, and he is good to me. A good marriage is hard work. He works hard to be a good partner and to not allow his physical ailments to define him.
The very best lesson was watching two imperfect people with good hearts who chose each other, stayed together even when it was hard, and let me see that it can indeed be done. Every marriage has mountain-top moments as well as valleys and partners don’t always traverse through them at the same pace. What matters is being strong while someone else is in the valley and knowing they will be there when you enter one, too.
