Eleven Months

I have been reflective lately, as I usually am as my birthday draws near. Aside from my birthday, I am approaching the one year mark of meeting the man formerly known as The Candidate, now known as The Boyfriend. I find myself reviewing the events of the past year, the conversations over wine and margaritas, the conflicts, the differences in goals and opinions, the little insignificant comments and actions that went on to produce huge implications.

This morning, I am thinking of one in particular. On a humid summer evening last year, Boyfriend and I nursed margaritas at a Mexican joint in Millington. We were still in the very fair phase of meeting halfway during the week. Boyfriend was all lathered up about his mother, her care, his frustration with her decline in cognition, his insistence that his mother's illness was somehow different than the hundreds of thousands that had gone before her. I now realize that he was simply blowing off steam. At the time, I mistook this for advice seeking. And, seeing as how confused little old ladies has been my specialty for most of my career, I doled it out. In fact, I might as well had pinned on a name tag that said, "Formermeangirl, Social Worker Extraordinaire". This advice, the standard pull yourself together and accept change variety, was not well received. After dinner, the night found us standing in the parking lot, kicking rocks, trying to figure out what to say to each other from our opposing sides. I believed that Boyfriend needed a big fat dose of reality. Boyfriend believed that because both of my parents were intact, I had no idea what he was going through. It wasn't the first time I have been accused of being too blunt, but it was certainly the most significant. The cold hard fact of the matter was simply this: Boyfriend had not yet reached the point of letting go and my insistence that he rush right along to this only formed a wedge between us. Bluntness is effective with clients, not so much with the people you love.

Throughout the past year, Boyfriend's mother continued to slide down the hill of inevitability. In eleven short months, she went from a chi chi apartment in a chi chi old folks complex, to an assisted living, to a rehab facility, to a full fledged nursing home; with several lengthy hospital stays as punctuations. Boyfriend took each leap in stride, but somewhere along the way...quietly and calmly, he came to the point of acceptance. Along the way, he left behind the belief that if he just sacrifices more of himself, she will get better. Boyfriend began to make plans. He began to look to the future without tailoring plans around what could go wrong with his mother. Boyfriend claimed a little of his life back. Somewhere along the way, Boyfriend fell in love with me and made the choice, not between his mother and I, but between a life of his own and a life on call. Boyfriend had previously decided that because he was charged with caring for his elderly mother, a relationship would be out of the question...it just wasn't worth the risk. Clearly, Boyfriend had selfish girlfriend drama in his baggage. It took some time, a lot of time, but eventually he found his way around to the reality that he could let me in and when things got tough, I'd still be there. Boyfriend decided that I was worth the risk.

His mother's decline continued and was further complicated by family drama. I began to detect the subtle differences between advice seeking and comfort seeking. Boyfriend began to consider some of the advice. And through it all, we were able to build a relationship based on mutual admiration and adoration. He trusted me to not abandon ship when the waves got choppy, I trusted him to not treat me as though I were about to. Just last week, as we were enjoying some sunshine, I looked at him and marveled how he had grown into a man who is invested in everything and in control of nothing.

Boyfriend's mother died last night. He got the call just as we were finishing dinner. He had been preparing for this call, but no one is ever really prepared to learn that their mother had passed away. After all my advice giving, I was truly at a loss for what to say. Obviously, this was no time for advice, not that I had any to give. I sat with him as he made the necessary calls. I turned off the tv. I looked up numbers for him. I fetched him a coke. And I hugged him. I can't imagine what it would feel like to receive that news.

It seems like last week that Boyfriend and I were sitting in the Mexican joint, discussing topics of dementia, long term care, and letting go. Has, Needs, and Will have become Had, Needed, and Did. Worry replaced by grief. Advising replaced with listening.

And finally, I Will Be There replaced by I Am Here.