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 that was the precursor to FaceTime and Zoom, but Bob never saw these 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 birth of our grandson, and he wasn’t there to witness my private practice begin. His absence is already being anticipated and discussed with the next family hallmark moment coming into view because Bob won’t be with us this June when Megan graduates from high school. 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 marital 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 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, we didn’t get to spend quality time alone together, and I was unhappy. 

     Working hard both at his job and home, Bob had little energy to spare. 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. 

     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-”. 

     Most of my grief therapy clients have experienced similar circumstances. Their relationships ended somewhere in the middle, too, during unresolved arguments, estrangements, experimental treatment trials, phases in relationships when there was a drifting apart or on the precipice of a wonderful growth spurt. Part of the healing that needs to occur is what to do with all the unfinished business because their person left “in the middle.” Part of that healing is acceptance of the fact that all of us exist somewhere “in the middle” and the sense of incompletion is unfortunately inevitable. And that lesson goes beyond losing people; that’s also part of accepting other aspects of our lives that will not be seen through as we had hoped. Bob and I never completed our journey to conceive biological children together. We never had biological grandchildren. And so on. 

     In 2024, I opened a rarely used drawer and came across a grief worksheet entitled “Unfinished Business” which was given to me by my college counselor, Lynn Taylor. I was working with Lynn when my mom passed away during my junior year at Hiram College and I was struggling. Thankfully Lynn was there for me, and part of my therapy was processing all that I needed to say and the important things that I missed out with my mother during her lengthy illness. 

     Mom’s illness didn’t allow her to attend my high school graduation. She never set foot on Hiram’s campus. During the spring break of my junior year, I helped with Mom’s hospice care at home. Within 12 hours of returning to campus from that break, my mother passed away and I returned to Erie for her burial. Mom left in the beginning of my life. She never saw me graduate from Hiram or be awarded my master’s degree. She never knew Bob or my children. Mom wasn’t there to coach me through the grief of my miscarriages. She never knew that I opened a private practice or that I got a tattoo. My mother and I were deprived of an entire adult relationship, only sharing a mere 20 years together. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even in the middle – it was in the beginning.

     I find myself wondering what my loved ones would have thought about certain things that have come to be after their deaths. I can’t imagine my mother using a cell phone. Bob would have bought a virtual reality game and taught the girls how to play. My father would have been a proud great, great grandfather if he were alive now. Marcella would have been fed up with how the world is nowadays but still fascinated by all the advancements. My brother Herb would have his head down, working hard, avoiding retirement. 

     Sometimes I wish I had another lifetime to learn all the things, see all the places, love with all the love that is overflowing in my heart. I’m learning to live in a way that leaves little to regret and to not take time for granted because at some point it will run out. Time is too precious to waste. I'm still trying to resolve the unfinished business with the people who are and were close to me during my time here. I accept this is an unfinishable task. I’m still learning to accept that this world without end will continue on without me, as it has without my deceased loved ones. And I’m still coming to terms with the fact that this life will always be somewhere “in the middle.”