families, living and growing

Transforming Love

“It’s been a slow but steady change. Something that bordered on indifference had transformed into investment and caring. An awakening awareness. 6 years ago my Uncle Ed died. His death, which came a year after my Aunt Mary’s death, shattered my father. He was the oldest of 4 siblings. He had lost his youngest brother years ago. But it was the recent death of his brother and sister, that broke him. The man who had always played the role of the big brother had no siblings left to care for and protect. He struggled with the injustice of them going before him. The consummate big brother had lost his purpose.

My Uncle Ed and my Dad had for many years, lived within a 40 mile radius of each other. They got together often, talked on the phone regularly and were deeply invested in each other’s lives. Each had children of their own and tried to get these cousins together on a regular basis.

Some of my siblings developed, early on, deep and lasting relationships with these “Framingham Convery’s” as we called them. My relationship with them was different. There were six Framingham cousins in all. Three of them were quite a bit older than me, closer to my own siblings ages. But I had one cousin a year older than me, one a year younger and one two years younger. And for most of our childhood we had the type of relationship children have when they feel forced to play with one another. I liked them more than I disliked them and as we all got older we came to like each other even more and let our own insecurities go.

But the overall indifference I felt, remained. Until their father died. Having their dads brother as my dad, I knew what they had lost. I understood the impact. Both men were larger than life. Both left a huge vacuum that time and space could not fill. My dad died just over a year after his brother. And my understanding of exactly what their loss felt like, grew.

And as that understanding grew, my indifference began to be transformed into something new. The indifference had not been born out of dislike but rather stemmed from the busyness of life. For our entire lives, our fathers updated us all on each other’s lives. No real investment was necessary. I could listen as my father would recite to me all he had learned about each of my cousins from his latest phone call. I could smile or be sad for them, whichever was appropriate and then go on with my life.

Until there were no more updates to rely on. And these people, this small band of Convery Framingham’s began to grow in importance to me. Why? Because THEY KNEW. They understood the depth of my loss. We had a shared history that I could no longer allow to languish on the sidelines of indifference. Slowly and surely I began to care. Indifference gave way to curiosity. Not a gawking kind of curiosity but the kind that develops as one starts to see the value another holds.

Each year since their dad died, my Framingham cousins have held a fund raiser around St Patrick’s day to raise money for a scholarship in my uncles name. And each year I have gone. Our dads both loved their Irish heritage and the day that allowed them to celebrate it. It’s a warm time and as the years go by, it feels less and less sad and more and more of a tribute to exactly what those two men would have wanted. The tribute goes well beyond the Irish celebrations because the real tribute is the growing relationships. It would have delighted both of them.

This year I noted a change when I went. I always enjoy it and have looked forward to it from its beginning. But this year, I felt something new. I felt at home. Completely relaxed. No pretense. No walls built up from years of indifference. I felt a deep abiding appreciation and a deepening curiosity. These people MATTER! I need to know more about them. I WANT to know about their lives. I feel that I have been given a gift……a gift stemming from the love two brothers had for each other. Finally I was open to it being passed down in a way that transformed my heart. My cousins have experienced this too…I can see it and feel it when I am with them.

I know my dad and my uncle are smiling down at us….glad we finally understand what they knew, all along. These growing relationships reconnect us with a part of ourselves that was lost when our dad’s left this earth. But connecting with each other isn’t just about holding onto to something we have all lost. Its bigger than that. This connecting transforms us. It takes us off the path of indifference and puts us on a path of deep, abiding love. That’s a transformation worth celebrating and a tribute to the special love that began long ago. A love that transforms.

Standard
Me too, Uncategorized

“Me too”

The current “Me Too” movement and it’s focus on sexual assault, and harassment has had me thinking back.   Being born in the 60’s and growing up in the 70’s and 80’s, sexual innuendo permeated the culture.   Love American Style, Love Boat and Fantasy Island were the shows I grew up on.   Sex seemed to be everywhere and what is now understood to be harassment was in general, seen and accepted then, as ‘suggestive’ talk.

I am fascinated that the “Me too” movement has gained so much traction.   Fascinated and glad.  Growing up in the time I did, it never occurred to me that unwanted suggestive talk or advances was anything more than a troubling annoyance.   Something one expects and deals with (silently).   And as for dealing with abuse and abusers publicly, wow!  Today’s women are heroes.

So here’s my story.   It’s not truly a “Me too” story because it’s not related to workplace harassment.   Although I have had those experiences.   But it is related to the Me Too movement by a culture that encourages silence and a shared feeling of powerlessness.    It’s related by what can happen when people listen to others stories, believe them and take action.

All through my childhood we vacationed in a place called The Elms.   It was a cozy, little resort nestled in Goff Falls, NH.   I loved it there and counted down the days throughout the year until we would return for our week in the summer.   It was an idyllic place where children were allowed to roam freely, without supervision.   Parents were everywhere and everyone’s parents looked out for everyone’s kids.

But no matter what the time period or culture, kids left alone can find trouble.   And we did!  But for the most part, it was harmless fun or at least fun that fortunately didn’t end in harm.

Until that one night….  The Elms held a movie night, once a week in their dance hall.  The summer that I was ten, the movie was Disney’s, Million Dollar Duck.  Lots of people, both kids and adults would go. I went with a friend and we settled down to watch the movie.

At some point, two young men walked into the movie and one of them sat down in the chair right next to mine.  He was very tall and broad, with a short buzz cut.  He was not very good looking, but his friend was cute.  My friend and I giggled as they sat down next to us.   To ten year old girls, 20 year old men are quite exciting.

The guy next to me told me his name was Steve.   I knew he was a marine but I can’t remember how I knew that.  And then he put his hand on my leg.  It’s funny the things you remember in times like this.   I had worn a pair of yellow shorts with green trim to the movie.   On the leg was the words, “Girl Power”.   Ironic.  I liked those shorts.   In them I felt sassy and powerful.   More irony.

My first response was good.   I jumped up and dragged my friend to the bathroom.   I told her what he had done.   She was appropriately horrified.  But I was curious.  We went back and sat down in our seats and he got bolder, sliding his hand further up my leg and just for a moment, under my shorts.   At this point, my curiosity was replaced with fear and my friend and I fled.

But I didn’t tell anyone.   It was too embarrassing.

The next night, the resort had one of their regular dances in the dance hall.  It was a always a good time with young and old, together having fun.  And then Steve appeared.  He began to hang around where I was dancing.  A slow song began to play and he took my hand and said we should dance.   My parents were at this dance but weren’t alarmed by his dancing with me, I’m not sure if they even noticed.  After all, everyone got along with everyone here….

Fortunately one of my friends fathers noticed and cut in.   He said I looked uncomfortable and asked me if everything was alright?  Wasn’t he wonderful?!   I thought so.   He had saved me!   I don’t know what I said to him, though I am sure I denied there was any problem.   I stayed close to my parents after that.

The next day I was out walking alone when Steve and his friend approached me.   He asked me if I wanted to meet him that afternoon in the woods.   I don’t remember my response but I remember his friend with him saying, “Steve!  Come on!”  In a way that told me his friend didn’t understand Steve’s interest in me.  And his friend was right to be concerned.   I wasn’t only ten, I looked ten.   Pigtails, freckles….even too young for braces.   I was not some well developed ten year old who could pass for older.   I was clearly a kid.  I muttered something and ran off.

But the fear!   I was wracked with it.   Clearly he could find me anywhere.  He no longer seemed interesting to me but now, was very, very obviously creepy.   I was petrified.  And I did something that still amazes me to this day.   I went and told my father.

And here’s where the real story lies.

My father didn’t say much when I told him.   But as I write this, I am grinning at what I so clearly remember happening next.   My father went and found Steve (I watched from a safe distance).   My dad was in his 50’s, with the extra weight of comfortable living around his belly.  My dad, who was approximately 5’8” tall, went and confronted this 6 foot plus, big, buff, marine guy.

I can still see it.   I could hear my father say, “I want to talk to you, come over here.” And he led him away from where people were to a secluded spot by some trees.   I couldn’t hear anything else but I could see my father telling him something and I could practically see the sweat break out on Steve’s face.  The next thing I knew, Steve was getting into his car and tearing out of the parking lot.   I never saw him again.

I don’t know if my father ever reported it, but he wasn’t one to let things go easily.   Now I recognize that Steve was a pedophile.  I don’t think we had that name for it then.   I hope for other people’s sake, that my dad reported him.

Here’s what I do know.   My father loved me.   He was able to stand up to someone bigger and stronger than himself and come out the victor.  He never once made me feel bad for not telling him sooner.   When he was talking to that man by the trees, my father never looked taller!

So, yes, I also have “Me too” stories.   But I shrug most of them off as the time I grew up in. I didn’t know enough to be offended or to speak up.   I’m glad though that the times are changing.  Glad for my kids.   Glad for future generations.

And thankful, that even in a culture and time of great ignorance, I had a dad who believed me instantly, who stood up for me strongly and in doing so helped me to start to see my worth.  He didn’t know it, but he was teaching me to not only stand up for myself but for others as well.   That’s the part of the story worth remembering.

 

 

Standard
Uncategorized

Dad and Me

I had a revelation of sorts last week.

It happened while I was driving in my car. My brother made some cd’s right after my dad died. A collection of songs that my dad loved and ones that reminded us of him. Over a year later I’m still listening to them. But then I also have other songs I listen to. Songs that reflect my processing of his aging, dying and death.

So, there I was driving, my music was playing and I was thinking of my dad and I realized something had shifted in my thinking.

Before he died, I worried about how I would survive without him.

After he died, I discovered survival is not only possible, it’s the only viable option.

But I missed him. The loss of his physical presence was overwhelming. Some days it would be crushing and on other days it was and is, merely a dull ache.

Until last week. When I realized that through his death, I gained something I didn’t anticipate. When he was alive he was often on my mind. His influence was steady in my life. But there were moments, and stretches of time where I went about my life not thinking, consciously, too much about him.

Until he died.

As I passed the one year mark, I realized he is with me now in a way he wasn’t when he was alive. I feel him with me. Not in some sort of ghostly way. But somehow I feel like he has become a part of me, a part of my skin and my bones, my heart and my mind.

And I realize, that’s a gain.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’d take him back, in his old physical form in a flash. Without hesitation, I’d give up this new feeling for a more tangible one I can wrap my arms around.

But that’s not an option. The realization of what I’ve gained, despite the loss, is a gift. It’s one I think I don’t fully appreciate yet because it’s new. I was use to my old relationship with my dad. It was comfortable and safe and known.

This new relationship is more really, a relationship with myself. All that he has instilled in me, now seeks to be given life. He is not here to protect me, to save the day, to provide for me. I must do it without him. But he didn’t leave me empty handed. He left both my hands and my heart full.

I feel compelled to act where he once would have. I am still completely me, but now, I am also more.
And since the only choice I have in this matter, is how I respond to this gift, I choose to embrace it.

Even if the return of the embrace is only felt in my heart.

Standard