In the Middle

 Born in 1903, my cousin Marcella witnessed a vast number of inventions and discoveries during her lifetime. The rise and fall of nations, the sweeping changes in our Catholic faith, the narrowing in disparities across cultures and genders, disposable diapers – so many societal changes and advancements happened during her 92 years. By the time she passed in 1995, cars, planes, cell phones, computers, the internet, organ transplants, penicillin and so much more had been invented. Marcella was fascinated by how life fundamentally changed on this planet. She remarked once how blessed she felt being alive during the 20th century, being privileged to see all that came to fruition. However, Marcella felt that she was born “in the middle.”

     “In the middle” is where all of us are. We don’t get to pick when we are born or when we leave. “We didn’t start the fire. It was always burning since the world was turning,” says Mr. Joel. My late husband Bob entered at a time when his field of computer networking was just taking off. During his career he helped develop technology but Bob never saw the inventions roll out. He also missed out on Star Wars 7, 8 and 9 (unfortunately he didn’t miss out on JarJar!) and the bulk of the Marvel movies, all of which he would have loved. Bob wasn’t around for the girls graduating, the birth of our grandson, and he wasn’t there to witness my private practice begin.

     Bob left our family “in the middle.”

     Bob and I had some unfinished business when he left - quite a bit of unfinished business, actually, because there were four children to raise! Interpersonally, we were still growing and becoming better martial partners. We were in the middle of a relationship arc, and I wasn’t finished loving him. I certainly wasn’t finished learning how to love him better.

     The year prior to his death was beyond hectic. We added a fourth daughter to the rowdy brood. I was balancing 2 very active Girl Scout troops and volunteering at school and Church. Bob was assigned to some large government accounts which entailed a 2-hour one-way commute many days to Sacramento, which meant being on the road by 6:00 am and arriving home around 7:00 pm. Once home, Bob ate and then was present for the tail end of bedtime rituals with the girls. Afterwards he had to jump on his laptop to put out fires, then sleep so that he could repeat the same routine the next day. Weekends with four little kids were never relaxing either because Bob tried to fix a few things around the house and/or we would go adventure with the kids. Out of necessity, there was no down time in our house and that came at a cost. 

     Bob and I excelled as coparents.  We were philosophically aligned and shared frequent mind melds. We teamed well to keep the house adequately afloat. Throughout our marriage, we remained best of friends and never once raised our voices at one another in anger, never once name-called or swore at each other, and only had 1.5 arguments. Things were great between us. However, because the duties of work and childrearing required all our time and energy, the romantic aspect of our marriage waned considerably, and I was unhappy. 

     Working hard both at his job and home, Bob had little energy for that aspect of our relationship. Not once during our time with children did we ever go out on a date together. We attempted to have a “date night” on Fridays after we put the girls to bed. Around 9:00pm we would secretly share some ice cream on the couch in front of his favorite sci-fi show, “Battlestar Galactica.” Most times we’d fall asleep halfway through the hour episode, waking up a few hours later to crawl into bed where inevitably one or two children were found sleeping diagonally across the bed. 

     At that time in our marriage, I was growing into a deeper appreciation of Bob’s sacrifices and coming to terms with the trade-off, accepting what needed to be. I’m not sure he was anywhere near finding balance between work and home life because he was on the cusp of a big promotion. He was in the middle of that learning curve. 

     Every June was hell for Bob, the last month of the fiscal year. Inevitably he’d forget my birthday because it was so close to the finish line. Although it honestly did hurt my feelings, I tried not to let it show because I knew it wasn’t intentional. Bob needed my support during those times, not self-centered nagging or pulling his attention in an unhelpful direction. 

     One day during that last June together, I thought it would be sweet to surprise Bob at the office with a mocha latte. I was so proud of his hard work and knew that it was going to be another demanding day. Because I had the littles in tow, after we arrived I phoned him to meet me in the parking lot. Bob walked out of the building with a spring in his step, happily surprised. He poked his head in the Odyssey window and beamed.

     My gesture was a love language bullseye! I placed my hands on his massive cheeks, holding him for a moment. “Robert, just when I think I can’t fall any deeper in love with you, I find myself tumbling further.” It was such a lovely moment that thankfully has been locked in my memory. We smooched, he received his mocha and my heart-felt support. Things between us were shifting in a good direction.

     Bob unexpectedly died the following month.

     Our relationship was in the middle of some substantial and transformative growth that we were never able to see through. Bob and I were in the middle of a life together that was not designed to be for one parent. He was supposed to be my “Happily Ever After,” but he turned out to be just my “Happily-”. 

#lessonsfromanunexpectedlife