She `does for' everyone else.
She stumbles out of bed every two hours to sit in the rocker with the
nursing infant, heavy eyed and hollow with sleep deprivation. In the
morning she juggles corn flakes and juice while packing lunches,
signing permission slips, and writing notes to the teacher. During
her lunch hour she runs errands for the household. Husband needs
fresh razor blades, daughter has a project at school requiring poster
board and special markers, and the cat can only eat a certain food
found only in one store which is, of course, inconveniently located.
Lunch hour is a misnomer – she doesn't really stop to eat lunch.
She works at a job she may or may not love. Her dream of making a
splash in the world has become more tied up with caring for family
than with being a superstar or Nobel Prize winner. Not that she
doesn't still dream, she does, but the sparks of her passion are now
tied up with her desire to uphold and nurture the dreams of those she
loves so deeply.
In the evening, she pulls together a meal from remnants of leftovers,
a little pasta, and a can of fruit cocktail. Because she retains a
hint of yesterday's values she insists the children put their napkins
on their laps and learn to hold their forks in ways that seem foreign
to their little hands. It's a nightly battle whose wages are whining
and excuses. She smiles through gritted teeth and pounding head and
distracts them from the whining with a question about their day.
On autopilot she averts disaster constantly scanning the horizon for
looming threats. "Is there enough money in the school milk account?
Do the boots from last year still fit? – It's going to snow this
weekend. We need to make a special stop for a birthday gift for the
child's friend – do you know what he likes?" She schedules dental
appointments, well child visits, eye appointments, and keeps the
immunization records up to date. She finds missing library books in
the final rushed moments before the bus comes so her daughter can
exchange it for a new one today at school. She knows the shoe, shirt,
pant, and hat size of every member of the family – and she has an
internal radar that reminds her to keep everyone in clothes that fit.
When she signed up for this thing called marriage and family she
believed she was joining a team. She had a dream, a vision, of
partnering with this man for life in a venture they would carve out
together. Certainly she knew that each of them would play different
roles at different times but always she thought of it as a team. A
team where both players and all their parts would be honored for its
importance and value. A team where the weight was shifted and
distributed as conditions and situations warranted.
If it was a second marriage that dream vision was tinged all at once
with loss and renewal, death and rebirth. She'd dreamed the dream
once before and watched it wither. But hope was strong and took root
once again with a new love, a new life. In his eyes she saw the
promise of being cared for in the way she cared for everyone else.
But she forgot, or never knew, that love and caring, nurturing and
guiding don't have a spot on the bottom line. They don't get counted
in the same way when the conversation about the "good of the family"
is used to deny her the sustenance needed to feed her spirit. Her
giving is a shadow presence – demanded of her without words –
unrewarded and overlooked in the urgency of doing what is "for the
good of the family."
And so as the years unfold and she finds herself alone and pregnant,
alone in the middle of the night with a sick child, alone with the
worry about the mundane trials of life, alone with her lost dreams,
conversations never spoken, and empty hopes, she begins to grieve the
loss of the dream.
Once she'd been young and vital staring with anticipation at all that
life could offer. Smart, talented, passionate, witty, quiet,
outrageous, brilliant, tentative and confident all at once she could
have been anything she wanted. She chose love. She chose to give of
herself to those who held the essence of her heart. Her husband, her
children, her parents, her friends, and even those far removed whose
cause she cared about. She volunteers, she works, she mothers, and
she does her best to support her husband. She gives of herself and
she gives herself.
She puts aside her thoughts of fame and fortune knowing the deeper
mystery. That fortunes in gold cannot compare to fortunes of the
heart. That fame and acclaim of celebrityhood pale next to being
Known by the loves of your life. That the deepest satisfaction of
life comes of sharing most intimately all that you are with another
person.
As a child she wished this from her parents and as she grew she came
to see that she must leave their embrace and pursue the dream
elsewhere. When she held her babies in her arms she knew that she
held them for only a brief moment in time and they too would leave
the nest – as she had done. With her friends and other loved ones she
gave of herself knowing that it was gift. She understands at the
deepest level that this is What Women Do – they give. And in their
giving they manifest the force that gives life to the planet.
All she asks in return for this gift of nurturance and life is that
she be loved and cherished, honored and held safe by one person. Her
husband. She doesn't ask that he sacrifice his dreams or aspirations,
she stands ready to support him in all those things. She only asks
that he look into her eyes, take the time and energy to know her
deeply, and that he engage with her as a partner in this life they
build together. She asks that her contribution be given a place of
honor and that he participate with her in crafting a home. This is
the food that keeps alive the Spirit of a woman.
But now her youth is faded, the fine lines show on her face, her
waist has thickened. She's tired and she's sad inside. She still
gives to family and home and she still wishes for knowing and
intimacy. But she is contemptuously told she's "unbelievable" when
she asks for engagement or support. Her pleas for partnership die on
her lips. She wonders if she made the wrong choice all those years
ago – if what she saw as the mystery of love was nothing but a cruel
trick of the light.
Until at last she finds herself one chilly morning in the darkest
time of the year sitting across from him in a coffee shop. The walls
painted in colors of earth, wood tables and mismatched chairs filled
with students and couples and families. Clattering and chattering
fill the air while the sound and aroma of grinding coffee make up the
background. And he says to her, this man who insists her desire for
teamship, for engagement, for true partnering is outrageous, too much
to expect of anyone, that he is excited to be back at work this week.
That not only did he do an exceedingly good job leading his
colleagues over the past two years but that he is motivated to do
even more this year. That he revels in his reputation as the
powerhouse who gets things done. That his participation and
engagement on several teams have made a positive and lasting impact.
And in that moment time stands still. The sounds and aromas colors
and textures of the little coffee house become flat and empty –
silent as if all life was suddenly sucked away. In the silent
emptiness that remains she hears it, the final dying sigh of her
spirit as it falls slowly, forgotten and alone, into the abyss.
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