You and No Other

by Jane Weiss

  Chapter 13 - Reckoning Relationships

  Jane

  In May of 1985, Andrew asked me if I would put together an open house celebration for his high school graduation. I was pleased he asked me, and I immediately said, “Yes.” I would plan and execute the whole event from invitations through serving, and his father agreed to pay for it. My mother was coming out from Pennsylvania, and all of Charles’s and my old friends and neighbors were invited. But as the day approached, I became apprehensive about how I would feel being hostess in the Eagan house.

  I called my son to explain: “Andrew, I’m thinking that I won’t stick around after everything’s ready for your party.”

  Andrew nearly shouted at me: “I can’t believe you wouldn’t come to my graduation party after you’ve organized the whole thing! You have a chance to hold your head high to all your old friends, to show them you’re not ashamed of what’s happened. Instead, you’re going to duck out like a scared rabbit before anyone arrives. What are you afraid of? If anyone isn’t kind to you, that’s their problem, not yours. Don’t do this for me, Mom, ’cause I won’t be there much of the time. Do it for you.”

  The intensity of his response caught me off-guard.

  He went on: “The neighbors and many of our old friends have asked about you. Some have told me that they love you and miss you. What have you got to lose? Look what you could gain. I don’t want to embarrass you or me by having to say, “She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stay.”

  I tried to protest. “I haven’t shared with you some of the cruelties my ‘dear old friends’ have inflicted. Why would I put myself in a position for this to happen again?”

  “Mom, if you believe in your decisions, don’t betray yourself by acting afraid and, well, cowardly.”

  After taking a long breath, I had to admit, “You’re right, Andrew. I’m vulnerable if I stay, and vulnerable if I don’t stay. I’m willing to take the chance for both of us. Thanks for your wise words. I love you. See you Saturday.”

  After we hung up, I thought about how stating his opinion and stating it vociferously was out of character for Andrew. I wondered if his newfound voice had emerged and expressed itself, now that he was no longer under the shadow of his dominant brother Michael. Michael’s size, effusiveness, social ease, and desire to be the center of attention had seemed to intimidate Andrew. It had appeared to me as though Andrew assumed an opposite, balancing role, and was quiet, preferring to be an observer, and showing minimal emotion.

  Perhaps being away from the protectiveness of his older sister, Lynn, had made him more independent. Lynn had often been the buffer between Michael and Andrew, standing up for Andrew when she felt Michael was being unfair. I imagined also that Andrew’s now being the oldest at home and assuming some responsibility for little Marie had matured him, so that he could speak his mind with more authority and surety.

  Regardless of the psychological dynamics, I was pleased and proud of his strong man-child response.

  Andrew was our third child in as many years, and his birth occurred just three months before our major move from Chicago to West St. Paul. His infancy coincided with one of my most difficult periods, and I carried concerns that in my depressive state, I had not adequately tended to his emotional needs. As he developed, he showed great strength physically and mentally. His coordination and advanced motor skills allowed him to ice skate at three years of age, and his muscular, bandy body could perform gymnastics, and play soccer and basketball with graceful ease. His adept, logical mind and his motivation to be successful kept him near the head of his class, but not so close as to draw unwanted attention. He took piano lessons along with his brother and sisters, but took it a notch higher, and was able to play the piano by “ear.” He loved music, and sang in a church chorus, and an elite jazz high school vocal and dance troupe.

  Andrew and I were tender towards each other and close emotionally, as close as he would let anyone be. His preference to generally hold back from emotional involvement troubled me because it made life so uncomfortable for him. And his self-doubt seemed to cause great angst whenever he needed to make a life decision. In our separation over the past three years, his withholding emotions often seemed to me as if he didn’t care. So it was a relief to know now that Andrew was willing to speak his mind. His strong comments to me were a sign of emotional health for him, and of love for me.

  The open house went off without a hitch. The three years’ separation from friends and neighbors seemed to soften their opinions and responses towards me. I was relieved to be able to enjoy myself, and I was so proud of Andrew for having the wisdom to give me this opportunity.

  Shock and Shame

  Lynn stayed in Reading, Pennsylvania, after her high school graduation, and worked in restaurants and retail until she left in September, 1985, at age twenty to attend the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. Her boyfriend, Ted, went with her, against her grandmother and Aunt Carol’s wishes.

  They listed his vices: Ted had been married before, was “bullheaded” and opinionated, and seemed to be leading on our “impressionable” Lynn.

  I had a little more faith in Lynn. I saw how she had always managed to walk a fine line between pleasing others and doing what she needed to do for herself. I could see that Ted was a touchstone, offering the support she needed to be able to risk getting back into a school system, which had been so difficult for her in the past. Maybe achieving in art school would be the means to rebuild her confidence. Lynn and Ted wouldn’t be living together; they were devout “born again” Christians. I felt fairly certain she wasn’t in a sexual relationship with him. To my mind, Ted meant safety; he drove her to and from the Institute, which was located in a run-down section of Pittsburgh, and served as her escort wherever she needed to go.

  At Lynn’s invitation, I visited her for a long weekend at the end of her first year in Pittsburgh. Although we had not discussed accommodations, I assumed I’d be staying with her in the rooms she rented from an elderly woman she met through her church. But after our first day together, touring her school and downtown Pittsburgh, Lynn and Ted drove me to a cheap motel on the outskirts of town.

  Hoping it was more suitable inside than it appeared from the street, I didn’t say anything to them. But I barely slept that night. I was alarmed and frightened by the yelling I heard through the thin walls, and by boisterous people coming and going until dawn.

  I mentioned my concerns to Lynn the next day. So, at the end of the second evening, Lynn walked me to my room and explained that Ted was concerned about my sleeping with her in her room for fear that I would make advances towards her. I was stunned and felt dirty and humiliated. I told her I was shocked she could believe that about me and saddened she understood so little about who I was. We cried and held each other, as she softly apologized for my feeling hurt, and I apologized for creating a situation that would elicit these kinds of questions.

  After I left Pittsburgh, I wrote her a letter:

  My Dear Lynn,

  My love for you is a mother’s love, and to me, it’s unthinkable to assume that I would treat you any differently now than I have at any other time in your life. My expression of love to Bonnie is as exclusive to her as yours is to Ted. You don’t ever ask me questions about it, so how could you understand it?

  You and Ted have used Bible scripture to vilify me, but I know who I am, and my self-concept does not fit the image you have of me. I am God’s child and made in His image, just as you are. Lynn, as you decide what to believe in life and what actions to take based on your beliefs, it’s better to err on the side of love than to retreat into the church’s legalism. It’s better to love and trust than to hold back and judge.

  I don’t regret our time together. You’ve helped me realign my expectations with the unfortunate reality that it may take years, and maybe even my lifetime, for you to begin to understand, to forgive, and to accept my choices.

  As I waved from the bus window, watching you and Ted grow smaller, I though
t to myself, there is Lynn’s pathway for now. She’s chosen a partner who’s very much like the talented, outgoing, and decisive brother she respects and loves so dearly. She’s wisely chosen art school to develop her dominant talents that are so respected by everyone who knows her. She’s chosen to live here, separate from all family, to clarify her own values. She’s chosen fundamentalist Christianity as the basis of her value system. I respect your choices and the steps you’ve taken. I pray you will learn to respect mine. I’ll always love you,

  Mom

  Arm’s Length Arrangement

  “What would you like to do tonight?” I’d ask.

  “Well, we could go shopping,” Marie would say.

  “Now, there’s a novel idea!”

  She pleaded in a fake-whining tone, “Really, Mom, my old jeans don’t fit right. I need to find another pair.”

  “Okay, let’s grab a bite to eat first, and we’ll check out the mall.” I couldn’t believe she shopped just like me—trying on everything in several stores, never wholly pleased, but reluctantly buying and threatening to return it if she didn’t like it tomorrow. I was patient with this very-familiar pattern!

  Marie and I had begun this ritual nearly a year after Bonnie and I moved in together, and we continued this pattern throughout her junior and high school years. Thankfully, Charles did not interfere. Perhaps the family therapist told him it was a good idea.

  One night a week after work, I drove twenty minutes to pick up Marie, and we headed out for dinner and shopping. This routine accomplished two things at least: It allowed me to give to her in a way that was needed and acceptable to her, and it provided us some time together, especially as we sat across a restaurant table from each other, to talk about what was happening in her life.

  We were able to have safe conversations on neutral ground. Initially, it was all that Charles would permit. But this was never enough for me. My work was very consuming, so Marie rarely received my best energies at six-thirty on a weekday evening. Bonnie was not included, so there was little hope for their building a relationship. Sometimes, my tears broke through when we were talking—not connected to the subject in front of us, but to what went unspoken and what could not be.

  I had to watch from a distance as my daughter grew through puberty into a young woman—knowing someone else was going to be there—or worse, no one was going to be there—when she started her first period, or decided she needed a bra, or fell in love with her first boyfriend. We didn’t share these holy moments. The loss was unfathomable.

  I remember thinking how strange it was that this child who once allowed and wanted me to envelop her emotionally now held me at arm’s length. A sad, regrettable wariness had replaced the comfortable ease we had shared.

  Marie was my last baby, and I had planned to savor every stage of her growing up. She was born into a noisy, confusing household with three busy siblings, a cat, and a large dog, so she had to work hard to have her needs known and honored. For most of her toddler years, this beautiful child with long blonde hair and blue eyes rode on my hip to stay out of the family fracas—and I relished it. We both chaffed at the series of separations we endured—her going to kindergarten, and me to the university, and then my beginning full-time work.

  She was only eleven at the time we experienced the ultimate separation and no longer lived together, so I can only imagine her bewilderment about what had happened to me, and whether I cared about her after we had been so close. Who comforted her at night when she missed me? Was she angry at her father for what he was saying about me? Did she believe it? If she said she missed me to him, was she afraid he would punish her—or worse yet, that he would leave her, too? She must have been afraid of speaking up at all.

  Despite the emotional turmoil of those years, Marie moved into her teens with the same childhood lightness of being and sweetness that made people happy to be around her. She seemed unaware of her charm, beauty, and the positive effect she had on others. She was talented in art, music, and dance and developed a passion for dance-line gymnastics. A painting she completed in art class was actually purchased by the school and hung in their permanent gallery. The broken mirror, tears, and brilliant dominating red rose seemed to reflect her ability to be introspective and vulnerable.

  I was shocked when, about two years into our separation, my mother asked me if I had ever considered “taking Marie in.”

  I shouted back incredulously, “That has always been an option of hers, and any of my children.”

  She said she was going to talk to Charles about it. Marie was better off with me. She went on to say that Bonnie’s kids would be good company, and that Marie wouldn’t feel so alone and so free to pursue a “less desirable pathway.”

  I asked my mother if her guilt at coercing Carol to leave Marie behind had elicited that comment. Or was she aware of something going on in Marie’s life that I didn’t know about? Or was she concerned about how Charles treated Marie? She answered none of these questions, but seemed determined to appeal to Charles’s “good senses.” Apparently, to no avail.

  Often on Marie’s and my prescribed night out, Charles just happened to appear and make small talk as I was waiting in the foyer for Marie to join me. His presence brought into sharp focus the stark reality of how he was the victor in our divorce. He had retained the best of our marriage—our children. He had effectively managed to convince them that I had no right to leave him, and because I left, I had no rights in our family. He had sealed off the wound of my leaving by excluding me. I was ostracized, and the children were given full rein to take out on me their confusion, fear, and anger, just as he did at every opportunity.

  Sadly, Marie bore the greatest injustice and sacrifice, as he seemed to use her to punish me. He used money and shame to control her, just as he had tried to control me. She was the treasure, the prize he kept in a tower for himself. But his treatment of her was sometimes cruel from the perspective of some observers. After one incident, he grounded her for the entire summer. When she requested money for necessities, he drilled her to determine the exact amount and belittled her for considering things for school as requirements.

  With high school ending and plans to enter the University of Minnesota in Mankato, Marie was even more reliant on her father’s financial support. Charles’s decision to develop his own barter business after he left Western had been a good one. His net worth had increased, so that he could “loan” each of the children money for their education—with strings attached, of course. He stipulated ways that the kids had to limit and in most ways keep from spending time with me if Bonnie were present.

  I wish I could have visualized another way for Marie and me to have been together, but I couldn’t see past the restrictions, constrictions, and structures fear had created. Nor did it seem she could. Maybe we both did the best we could.

  Part III - Finding Our Stride (1985-1999)

  Chapter 14 - Another New Beginning

  Jane

  With each passing month and year, I gained more confidence in whom Bonnie and I were together, how to interact with her children, and how to handle my grief and emotions with my children—at arm’s length for Andrew and Marie, and long distance for Michael and Lynn.

  Brian and his new wife, Marilyn, shared with us care of Bonnie’s kids. I spent time with my children during the week, and occasionally on those weekends when Bonnie’s kids were with us. That left Bonnie and me with precious time together every other weekend. We attended seminars to further our spiritual development on subjects like psychism, healing and manifestation, goal setting and forgiveness. We held gatherings at the York house for friends, and we celebrated our togetherness by basking in each other’s love and undivided attention.

  On one of those delicious celebratory weekends while leisurely going through the Sunday paper, we noticed an ad for Hestia Homes. We were first hooked by the name Hestia, which means the Greek goddess of the hearth, and then we were reeled in by a sketch of a quaint new home with a wr
ap-around porch, old-fashioned wooden swing on the porch, and a black cat lying on the swing. We drove out to Eden Prairie, another suburb, that day to satisfy our curiosity, and found that although Hestia Homes were unique, any one of their models would be a stretch for us financially, and too small space-wise. But the Goddess Hestia opened us up to the notion of our building a home of our own, as further indication to us and others that we were sincerely committed to a life together. Some of our friends had held commitment ceremonies to honor their union, but Bonnie and I hadn’t considered that a viable option because of the sensitivity around same-sex relationships for our children and in our workplaces.

  In May of 1985, we had found a homebuilder in Chanhassen who would create the house of our dreams. The log cabin that had been taped to our apartment’s bathroom mirror in March of 1983 now manifested itself as a two-story, four-bedroom, cedar-sided home with a large first-floor family room and an elaborate second-floor “master” bedroom suite with a fireplace. Building in a suburb provided us much more house for the money—a house large enough to accommodate Andrew and Marie, as well as Bonnie’s kids.

  Bonnie and I decided we could come up with the down payment from the sale of her home, and my converting stock from the divorce settlement into this cash investment in real estate.

  With a completion date in October, Bonnie and I set about to make the York Avenue home sell quickly. Fortunately, all that needed our attention was redecorating the second floor. The house, located in a prime real estate area near Lake Harriet, was put on the market in midsummer, and sold within two hours after listing. Bonnie had to negotiate fiercely with the new buyers to allow us to remain in the York home the three months we needed to finish our new home.