Surprises

I tried the technique of providing questions with answers and then asking for Mike's responses. It worked nicely, for now. I got some great quotes and perceptions from him.  No matter how much difficulty he has with the day to day items, Mike still has his typographic chops. I am going to rummage through the books I consulted when my Mama's Alzheimer's became apparent.  Mike's memory problems are not the same but some of the things I did to help her might help him.

When I arrived at Mike and Charlotte's on Tuesday night, they both greeted me warmly.  I will always be surprised that Mike's girlfriend is happy to have me around.  It is a very good thing because I would have a devil of a time with this book if everything were not cordial.  However, I only need to be there for a little while when I again realize she really does not understand I am his ex-wife.  I get the feeling she thinks I am a daughter. Charlotte's memory is really in difficult straits. But, if she can live with it, I can too.

I mention this because a flood of feeling washed over me during an interlude I will call 'Wherever may Charlotte have put her keys this time?' that interrupted the interview session.  Mike and I were moving right along with childhood and Army memories when, all of a sudden, Charlotte jumped up and began fretting about her keys.  Mike, very sympathetically, said, "Perhaps they are in the kitchen."  He, then, sprinted to help her search, and the two of them were scurrying around the kitchen, dining and living room moving things.  At one point, Charlotte looked at me and asked (begged) if I would check the bedroom. I felt funny going into their bedroom, but the activity was getting frenzied so I went. I did not move anything but just looked on top of furniture, book stacks and 'things'. No keys.

As I scanned the room for any other likely places, I saw the Donald Carlisle Greason paintings I remembered so well, the image of Barberhill that Mike's first wife Mary had done in watercolor, one of the posters from Mike's sister Ann's Caribbean photography show... and, our framed wedding picture..my Fiftieth birthday picture of our combined families...a shot of Mike and me on the Chicago Architecture water tour.  I stood staring for a long time trying to get a grip on what I felt.  I felt empty.  I know what he was to me but, I wondered yet again, what significance did I have in this man's life?

People always talk about the way men in general have no conscience about fidelity, however, I have known faithful men.  I have even know marriages that succeeded in spite of infidelity when the man is truly sorry, the wife forgives, and then they move on with their lives.  I had, at a very bad time, hoped for that, but he could not understand my unhappiness/upset/fury.  There was the obligatory apology but no intention to change. In this case, I felt the weight of centuries of his British noblesse oblige manners in our discussions and counseling sessions. This was one of those circumstances where there was an extraordinary sort of obliviousness that came with 'class-above' privilege.  I was still working and traveling during this struggle.  I could forgive-I was absent because of work so much of the time- but I had difficulty accepting. I ended the marriage.

Once the dust had settled, in my Twelve Step fashion, I made a gratitude list; it was a long list.  Mike Parker had peopled my life with his fascinating family, friends and associates, expanded my interests, overwhelmed me with Goddess lore, introduced me to exotic treasures and places, challenged my physical fears, made me laugh-often, gave me wonderful stepchildren and grandchildren, and through the high highs and the low lows made me examine what is important to me. Living was an adventure it had never quite been before.  However, the gift of which he is unaware is he gave me my voice.  I had not written anything but business reports, press releases or promotion puff pieces for decades until our marital crisis.  I wrote about that ad nauseam, and then, other stories started to emerge - stories of caregiving my parents and younger sister, stories of being an overweight fashion model and beauty queen, stories of my overly-responsible-for-my-pay- grade years with Cuban Refugee Assistance, stories of naiveté about dating in my sixtieth decade.  But the greatest gift Mike has given me: his trust in me to be his voice as his life winds down.  Non, je ne regrette rien.