I started dating with intention about a year ago because of a spectacular one night stand.
Actually, I thought I started dating with intention because of a spectacular one night stand, along with the encouragement of a couple particular friends. One of them was a woman who was enjoying it herself, the other a man who, more than anything, really likes to nudge people toward possibilities, which I appreciate. As for the one night stand, that was a surprise on all counts. Wherever he may be now, we were both in the right place at the right time last January. His vitality and ambition and attitude were a contagious marvel to my maternal single-hood. I credit him for reminding me it was time to renew my appetite for those cravings of youth.
As the year progressed and I met an assortment of men with varying talents, urgencies, quirks, idiosyncracies, agendas and experiences, I quickly found I wasn't in it to uncover the men reinventing themselves, the men high on themselves, or the men with ambition that fueled confidence but relaxed into arrogance. But that's who found me, on repeat. One notable guy had a particularly difficult time responding to No. In fact, he's a guy whose essay could be titled The Man I'm Not Dating Just Broke Up With Me.....Again for all the consternated emails he sent, except that I'm not sure I can fault him his delusions based on the simple handicap of not wanting to believe I didn't want to date him. I'm also not sure I'm not at fault for responding to the guy when he texted erratically over the course of several months, because hey, it's nice to know someone likes you, even when he's a little (or a lot) crazy and overuses emojis.
It occurred to me this week that the real reason I started dating could be summed up as diagnosis. More specifically, that recurring alone-ness that presents itself in force when things like diagnosis come along. The two years prior had carried diagnoses in my immediate family ranging through dementia, anorexia, depression and tumor growth. Most of those things came with accessories of anger, grief, confusion and hardship. They all suck. They all require maintenance and attention and priority at inconvenient times. Friends are good, but friends have their own families and accessories and schedules that always upstage an ongoing emotional drain and drama. The ultimately relentless daily alone-ness was taxing. I was certainly seeking a companionship that could withstand me and conjoin the factor of increasing matriarchy with his own whip-smart, fun, equally human coexistence. Funny thing is, a lot of people that are or seem to be good company aren't on dating sites. They are the musicians taking a set break, bagging my groceries, the servers at the restaurants where dates take you, the bus driver serenading its riders. It's funny how dating re-frames everyone into a context of potential date (and when those good-company folks are on dating sites, they are so often already in professedly wonderful open relationships looking to expand their hearts, which doesn't happen to fit my interests). So I've curtailed all momentum on dating. I opened my profile this month to find I am now liked by 900 people....the majority of whom I will never know what they think they like about me.
Any idea what the apropos diagnosis is for that?
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Last Night at the Hospital
Tonight on the cancer ward, two little girls reminded me of the power of truth in the process of grief for young children.
As I sat coloring with the 5 1/2 year old daughter of my cousin, her 3 year old sister suddenly looked up to us and stated "My Papa is going to die soon." It blossomed right into her big sister explaining that's why she was at the hospital, and the problem the size of a cupcake in her grandpa's brain, and how he would feel better when he dies, and it's okay because they will always love him in their hearts. She told me it makes her sad, but it makes her mom very sad and cry all the time. I told her it makes me sad and I cry too. I told her it makes me sad that my dad's brain is sick too, and when she asked if it would make him die, I said yes.
And then, that big sister asked me what would happen when her mom and dad die. I told her people would take care of her with the love from her mom and dad in their hearts. But she meant what would happen if they died and nobody else was there. In that moment, what I thought to say was that would be an emergency and she could call 911 for any emergency. "Oh yeah, she said.....can I also call you?"
I said "Sure. I can tell you my phone number. Would you like to call me right now? "
She 'called' me right up and said, "I just wanted to let you know we are in the hospital because my Papa isn't doing so well and he's going to die soon."
And it went from there. She alternated between a toy phone and a pretend phone all the while she colored and carried on a conversation blending the facts and some fiction ("we're just about to park now, we'll see you soon") and even asking if there was anything she could do for me.
Perhaps 15 minutes later, in the waiting room outside her poppa's door, a woman sitting with her husband in a hospital gown, overheard this big sister ask me how cancer gets in your brain. She proceeded to say hello and tell her she loved someone who was going to die very soon too. It was one of those times you have to trust that a complete stranger is going to say the right thing, a helpful thing, an explanation of something that even doctors can't always explain, because every moment makes an impression of truth. I am not certain, but I have a guess, that hearing she is not alone in this place of losing a love she has always known, was a gift for both the giver and the receiver.
If you've ever doubted the power of truth in the process of grief for kids, I wish you could have been there with me tonight.
As I sat coloring with the 5 1/2 year old daughter of my cousin, her 3 year old sister suddenly looked up to us and stated "My Papa is going to die soon." It blossomed right into her big sister explaining that's why she was at the hospital, and the problem the size of a cupcake in her grandpa's brain, and how he would feel better when he dies, and it's okay because they will always love him in their hearts. She told me it makes her sad, but it makes her mom very sad and cry all the time. I told her it makes me sad and I cry too. I told her it makes me sad that my dad's brain is sick too, and when she asked if it would make him die, I said yes.
And then, that big sister asked me what would happen when her mom and dad die. I told her people would take care of her with the love from her mom and dad in their hearts. But she meant what would happen if they died and nobody else was there. In that moment, what I thought to say was that would be an emergency and she could call 911 for any emergency. "Oh yeah, she said.....can I also call you?"
I said "Sure. I can tell you my phone number. Would you like to call me right now? "
She 'called' me right up and said, "I just wanted to let you know we are in the hospital because my Papa isn't doing so well and he's going to die soon."
And it went from there. She alternated between a toy phone and a pretend phone all the while she colored and carried on a conversation blending the facts and some fiction ("we're just about to park now, we'll see you soon") and even asking if there was anything she could do for me.
Perhaps 15 minutes later, in the waiting room outside her poppa's door, a woman sitting with her husband in a hospital gown, overheard this big sister ask me how cancer gets in your brain. She proceeded to say hello and tell her she loved someone who was going to die very soon too. It was one of those times you have to trust that a complete stranger is going to say the right thing, a helpful thing, an explanation of something that even doctors can't always explain, because every moment makes an impression of truth. I am not certain, but I have a guess, that hearing she is not alone in this place of losing a love she has always known, was a gift for both the giver and the receiver.
If you've ever doubted the power of truth in the process of grief for kids, I wish you could have been there with me tonight.
Thanks to their mama (my cousin) for her permission to share this story gift. I just wish I could have recorded the twenty minutes of precious, tender, honest love of it all for her.
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