You and No Other

by Jane Weiss

  I relived the pictures of David exiting the plane that brought him from Korea to Minneapolis, carrying a bouquet of drooping flowers he had carefully tended on the twenty-four-hour flight. He proudly thrust the flowers towards me as I knelt to greet him, then easily melted into a warm hug. His quizzical expression seemed to say, “Now what?”

  David had been a model son. He had never been a street urchin sent out to steal for his family, nor was he ever left to fend for himself. On the contrary, he was greatly loved and pampered by his mother. Her little prince had been fathered by the American soldier with whom she lived during his Korean tour of duty. But families and mainstream society ostracized Korean women who fraternized with foreigners, and children born of such unions were taunted by others, who called them “round eyes,” and spit at them. David’s written case study described him getting into fights at school due to his appearance and obvious mixed parentage. Knowing this, Brian and I assumed the reasons the children’s mother gave them up for adoption had to do with her struggle to provide support both for the kids and herself, as well as her pain at seeing the humiliation David was enduring.

  David was handsome, bright, capable, honest, and thoughtful. He was amazingly patient with his two siblings, who were six and seven years younger than he. He was responsible, dependable, and respectful. Outside of the usual teenage testing of not keeping his grades up, periodically ignoring curfews, and being caught with cigarettes, he simply didn’t present any problems. David was our oldest child, though, so even minor infractions of rules resulted in some type of discipline—like being grounded for a period—undoubtedly more strict than necessary. In comparison, several of David’s friends were youngest children, and their parents had grown more lenient with experience. As a result, Brian and I often didn’t measure up to David’s sense of fairness.

  This was compounded by David’s relationship with his father. Brian often seemed to resent the bond between David and me, much as I tried to explain that David was used to having a mother in his life, but not a father. Dinner table conversations sometimes grew tense as Brian admonished David to, “Look at me, not at your mother, when you answer a question I’ve asked!”

  Brian wanted David to work more seriously on developing his athletic prowess—hit tennis balls against the garage, or throw baseballs at a pitch-back when he had leisure time, as Brian had done as a boy. But David had little interest in such repetitive exercises. He tried out many sports in elementary grades and junior high, but given his small stature, he succeeded most at soccer and wrestling in high school. Since Brian had been a wrestler and coached wrestling earlier in his teaching career, this pleased him immensely. When David was named captain of the wrestling team his senior year, it was an important achievement for David and his father. But David still remained more bonded with me than with Brian.

  I asked David if he and I could go for a walk while we talked, hoping the conversation we now needed to have would be less intense, and hopefully more spontaneous. We walked along briskly to generate body heat against a crisp February windchill. David listened intently as I again reviewed that his dad and I needed time apart to rethink our marriage, and that I would be moving into an apartment with Jane, whom all the children knew by this time.

  He was quiet for a few minutes, then responded, “Look, Mom, I’m not going to be around home much longer, so it doesn’t make a lot of difference to me. Besides, I think people should be able to do what they need to be happy. If this is what you and Dad need, then do it.” And that was the end of his conversation.

  On one level, I was relieved that his response negated the need for any further explanation or self-defense, since I was totally bankrupt. On another level, however, I knew he was only giving me a “cool teenage” answer in that moment, and that there would undoubtedly be more reaction to come.

  Individual conversations with the other children did not differ significantly from David’s. Though Moria, age twelve, had more questions than Edward, thirteen, neither one indicated that they were overly upset or disturbed by what we were telling them. I knew that was too good to be true, but for the moment, I had to let it pass. Erin, then four, was another matter.

  “Mommy, why are you going to another house to stay?”

  “Because Mommy and Daddy need to live apart, right now.”

  “Can I come to your house, too?”

  “Of course, Erin. I expect you to be at my house as much as you’re at this house.”

  “Will Edward and Moria come, too? And David?”

  “Yes, I hope all of you will spend lots of time there with me.”

  “Well, then Daddy should come, too, ’cause he’ll be home all by himself.”

  No matter what I said, she simply couldn’t grasp what was going on. It was just too foreign to comprehend. The deep crack in my heart widened each time I tried to talk with her about it.

  Chapter 6 - A House Divided

  Jane

  Great confusion surrounded the weeks and months following our coming together physically. The stolen days and hours with Bonnie brought more joy than I had ever known. Sometimes, Bonnie took time off from work; more often, we’d meet on a Saturday and immerse ourselves in the luxury of each other.

  By contrast, the deceitful life with my family was painful and embarrassing. My children were now ages eleven through seventeen. Michael seemed totally consumed by his senior-year activities, so that I rarely saw him, although I suspected that his father had been confiding in him about Bonnie. Lynn and Andrew sometimes caught me entering the house as they were preparing to leave for school, probably wondering why their mother was behaving like a teenager. Marie must have sensed a shift had occurred in my emotional accessibility, as we spent lots of time together, running errands in the car and helping her prepare for piano lessons. Charles’s volatility rose and fell, corresponding to my coming home late or spending a whole day with Bonnie. I never trusted what form his anger might take.

  By mid-November, Charles confronted me just before we went to bed: “I’m not going to humiliate myself again by trying to make love to you. It’s clear you’re not here emotionally. If and when you want me, you’ll have to let me know.”

  I knew it was only a matter of time until the sex issue would come up. The few times he did approach me, I halfheartedly accommodated him, but felt dishonest to him and disloyal to Bonnie. But as long as I was in his bed, I couldn’t bring myself to deny him. So his pronouncement was a great relief.

  Before I could respond, he continued, “I’m certain you and Bonnie are involved sexually. I’m asking you to make a decision about whether you want to leave, stay here and maintain an infidelity within our marriage, or work towards regaining our relationship.”

  His uncharacteristic directness surprised me. I couldn’t say that I intended to leave, for fear he would force me out of the house right then. I told him, “I don’t know whether you and I can mend our relationship. And, if I stay, I’m afraid of what form your retribution might take.”

  He gave me a half-smile as he pulled back the sheets on his side of the bed and laid down, facing the wall in silence.

  The next morning, I was awakened by his angry challenge that if I want to work on our relationship, then I could not be unfaithful to him. He went on to say that Bonnie and I had twisted our relationship into something for ourselves and, in doing so, were bringing hurt to all those who loved us—hurt, challenge, fear, pain, sleeplessness. He wanted an answer today. But I couldn’t give him one yet.

  Despite these conditions, Bonnie and I lived in our family homes, trying to fulfill our “duties” in much the same way. But having my heart in one place and my body in another was becoming increasingly difficult.

  I had continued looking for a job, thinking that when I could secure one, I could support myself and possibly live with Bonnie somewhere, somehow, until we could manage having all our children under our roof. We had no idea how to make this happen. My thread of hope was the vision Bonnie had that told h
er we would be together “when the water flows after the driven snow.” Although the timeline was vague, I interpreted the vision as meaning we would be together eventually. I was encouraged. In the meantime, my family rituals of preparing meals, doing wash, carpooling for sports games, and attending school conferences pulled me through each day.

  To manage Charles’s escalating fears and growing resentment, he decided to have his own reading with Dr. Scolastico. Although he didn’t share the reading with me, I was aware of a decided and positive shift in his attitude and actions toward me. A pocket message to Bonnie at that time read:

  Something very significant has just occurred. Charles told me that he knows I don’t love him. That he can’t live without love. That he wants me to go, to be free of him. And that he wants me, but cannot have me, so he must find love elsewhere. He asked me what I want—that if I could visualize, fantasize what I want, what would that be. When he talks like this, he doesn’t want answers from me; I know, because he cuts me off when I try to respond, or laughs at me, or becomes agitated with whatever I say. So I let him go on. He told me I wanted to be with you, that it’s good for me to be with you, and that I only seem happy when I’ve been with or will be with you. That he can’t fulfill me, and you can. And he said he would support whatever I chose to do—emotionally and financially. He’s so angry, though. So hurt. Feels I’ve been yanking him around without sensitivity to his needs. That I’ve hurt so many people, and how can what I’m doing be goodness—where’s the God in it? Even though I felt pummeled by his accusations, I wondered if this is the freedom I’ve been praying for.

  Christmas Day, 1981

  Somehow, in the midst of my yearning to be with Bonnie and the intense drama Charles and I were engaged in, I found heart space to create a Christmas for my children. I lamented that this could be the last Christmas we’d all be together in that house as that family. Gathering presents felt like performing a sacrament, as I carefully selected my love gifts according to what I knew they needed and what each said they wanted. This would be the last time I could shower them with presents, for I knew whatever job I found wouldn’t come close to their father’s salary. In some way, I hoped that filling their tangible needs would ease the pain I may be inflicting on them.

  On Christmas morning, following our traditional holiday breakfast of homemade cinnamon coffee cake, fruit, and juice, we all headed downstairs to the family room to open presents. The new artificial tree looked lovely. After deciding that the old tree I had resurrected every year for the past fourteen years had to go, I purchased this beautiful, new one. Now no one else would be subjected to trying to arrange the old tree’s misshapen and missing branches. The thankless task would probably have fallen to Lynn. Carefully wrapped gifts amassed under the tree nearly reached the numbers we used to experience when my mother, prior to Dad’s dying, added to our mound five to six presents for each of us. Charles, who had fallen asleep early Christmas Eve, had left the gift wrapping to me, as usual. He looked askance when he saw how extravagant I’d been with gift-buying. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to him, but I knew he would choose to provide far less for their Christmases when he was on his own.

  I found myself sitting on a chair outside the circle my family formed around the tree. Older son Michael and Charles were next to each other, on the floor closest to the tree. I was sure that Charles had continued confiding in Michael, and had even told him about Bonnie and our sexual relationship as they often talked in hushed tones in the living room and ceased talking when I entered the room. Older daughter Lynn sat with her back to me, perhaps shielding herself from the emotional connection we shared. I liked “being at her back,” and focused on sending her calming energy. Most likely, she and Michael—and perhaps younger son Andrew—had discussed the issues they could see their father and I were having, although none of them questioned me. When it seemed they were tuned into Charles and my heated conversations, I remarked that their father and I were trying to work out some difficulties, but I hadn’t yet sat them down for the one-to-one discussions that we needed to have soon. Andrew sat on the fireplace hearth, a short distance from Lynn. He seemed excited about opening presents, as was Marie, who nestled close to my feet.

  Charles asked Michael to read the gift tag names and customary clues, which had been my role all other Christmases. I struggled to hold back tears as the family ritual I had created unfolded, excluding me. The prior tense months cast a pall over our family happenings. This morning, as I looked at each of my children’s dear faces, I shuddered to think about what was to come. I wondered if all the years of my tending to their needs had accrued enough, so that they could afford me room to take care of my own.

  The Job Secured

  Not long before that Christmas, I had realized that my hope of breaking into business advertising from healthcare public relations was probably not going to happen. There were few advertising positions listed in the classified ads, fewer that I was remotely qualified for, and my only business contacts were acquaintances I knew through Charles’s work at Western. I also discovered that many for-profit business employers considered themselves a cut above and more sophisticated than not-for-profit healthcare, so very few healthcare writers were able to make the transition into business.

  My grounding philosophy that assured me that “everything is evolving as it should and in its own time” guided me through this disappointment. I reread Richard Bolles’s What Color Is Your Parachute, kept writing in my journal, and meditated to uncover what I could be passionate about and what I needed to give to the world. What emerged was a strong desire to work with the elderly. I wanted to practice holistic, heart-based care.

  To learn more about the industry, I set up informational interviews with nursing home administrators who had a reputation for progressive care. Several administrators suggested I contact Dr. Joanne Morrow, who had created and successfully piloted a metaphysics-based wellness program for seniors within nursing homes. Following a lengthy meeting at her home, I eagerly volunteered to write promotional materials for Dr. Morrow to use for marketing the program to nursing home administrators.

  In late January, 1982, a job offer came through an unexpected source. Dr. Morrow was soliciting business at Walker Methodist, a large nursing home in South Minneapolis, when she was offered a position as director of Education. She gracefully declined the role for which she was greatly over qualified, and instead recommended me. The administrator called me the very next day, matter-of-factly stating that Dr. Morrow had spoken highly of me, that the position had been open for eight weeks and needed to be filled as soon as possible, and I needed to call the director of Human Resources to set up an interview.

  As soon as I hung up, I called Bonnie at her office. “I’m so excited, and a little scared! I’ve just been asked to interview for a job. I think this is what we’ve been praying for.”

  “It couldn’t be better timing. Thank God. What kind of position is it?” Bonnie asked.

  “Director of Education. I have absolutely no nursing education experience. The only qualifications I have that match this position are that I have a registered nurse license, and was evening supervisor in a nursing home ten years ago! But this feels so right,” I said breathlessly. “I’ll set up an interview for Monday, so we have the weekend to figure out what I’ll say.”

  Coincidentally, Bonnie had been director of Education at Methodist Hospital for nearly eight years. We spent hours together that weekend with her coaching me about the position’s role and responsibilities, how to best present my transferable experience, and what questions to ask about the company. Later, she was also my key referral, and attested to my “competence and creativity.”

  The director of Human Resources, who seemed more intent on my learning about him than determining my skills and fit for the position, offered me the eighteen-thousand-dollar annual salary at interview’s end. I was to report to work in two weeks. This surely was a sign for Bonnie and me to move ahead.

  Standi
ng Firm

  Bonnie was sent on a business trip to Texas for five days, and I wondered how I would do on my own without her easily accessible and frequently needed support. Charles was spending even more time away from the house. When he was home, he was agitated and surly—a great change from his mood just after the Scolastico reading. The evening Bonnie left, Charles and I talked for five hours. I mostly listened to his recounting what terrible mistakes I was making, and at one point he said he felt I must be possessed by demons. He believed I was destroying the family unit that I molded, that I had no feelings for anyone anymore except for myself. And that I had changed so much, that none of our or my old friends could accept me. He thought that this midlife change had my hormones so fouled up, that I may never be heterosexual again, or at least not before it was too late for our marriage. He was certain I was only turning away from him to Bonnie out of fear of failure for his and my relationship, and in my impatience to feel happiness.

  Charles called both Bonnie and me an assortment of names, and said my rejection of the Bible—especially the adultery, inordinate affections teachings—was the basis for our needing to separate. I interjected that I’d leave by mid-March. He ended his diatribe by tearfully admitting he was considering suicide in light of the tremendous responsibility of his managing the family alone. I begged him to let me share in their care, for both his and their sakes. But he wouldn’t abide my being involved with the kids’ care at all. He didn’t want them “tainted by homosexuals.” I wondered how I would bear that, and if he could keep me away from them.