My first marriage was unhealthy, unhappy, and I am lucky to have survived. For a long time I couldn’t imagine ever choosing to be in another relationship. But then I met Doug . . . We were both adults, and I warned him that, in Dr. Phil-speak, there were potential deal breakers. No abuse. No affairs. No lies, ever.
I’m not sorry we had those discussions, but I had no cause to worry. Doug is faithful, trustworthy, caring, and honest. He was when he was well; he is now.
It’s ironic indeed that I’ve had to accept that sometimes my telling him lies is the kindest thing for me to do. The contradiction of lies being more loving a choice than truth goes against much of what I believe. And yet . . . And yet . . . It has become shockingly easy to slip from truth to not-truth.
It surprised me (so much has surprised me) when he first asked about his parents. His Mum died before we met; his Dad passed away in 2011. It broke my heart (so much breaks my heart) every time he said, with sorrow, “Dad hasn’t been to visit in so long,” or “I don’t know where my Mum is.”
The first few times I made the mistake of telling him, as gently as I could, that his parents had passed away. I soon realised that that was news to him, raw as the day it happened, each time.
I started deflecting questions with non-answers like, “Oh, your Mum loves you so much! You’re her Golden Boy!” and “You’re Dad is so proud of you. I love that you both worked at the Star together.”
Later, when he went though a phase of specifically asking where his Mum was, I started placing her in realistic locations: “She’s probably working hard. I think she’s out for coffee with your sister. I bet she and your Dad are at St. Jacobs market - they both love that market.” I learned how to introduce an idea which would divert, and trigger (I hoped) a happy childhood memory.
Now his questions make less sense, I echo them back to him, in the hopes he’ll know I’m listening. If he asks, “Is the back-back a droopy Thane?” I’ll nod if it sounds like yes is the expected answer. “I suspect so. I think that back-back IS a droopy Thane.” If I think no is the better choice, I’ll shake my head. “Not today! Not on our watch! That back-back is NOT a droopy Thane.”
It’s the choice I’ve made, to lie, and it's the choice I’ll live with. I laugh at myself, sometimes, when I find I’m more truthful with our cat. “I’m off to visit Doug, I’ll be home in about 8 hours; you have lots of food in your bowl. I hope you see some squirrels today and have some good naps.”
(An aside: a note about this blog’s title. I can’t even write that quote (attributed/ mis-attributed to Benjamin Disraeli by Mark Twain) without hearing my Dad’s voice. He often reminded me that facts don’t exist in a vacuum, that numbers can be easily manipulated, that an impressive looking chart or table won't hide a weak argument. I chanted it with annoyance during the mandatory Statistics course I took for my undergrad degree, because it ended my run of straight A report cards, and it became a joke between us.
Today, January 20th, would have been my Dad’s 98th Birthday, had he survived a car accident in 1999. He and Doug would have adored each other - I’m so sorry they never met.)
Hello from your Cambridge UK fan club, hiding behind a Dylan character's moniker.
ReplyDeleteI adore Piper.
I have read the first and the last post and am now going to read them in order, one or two a day to savour the, slowly.
It's lucky I am as hard-as-nails and as tough-as-old-boots and any other cliche that comes to hand, otherwise you'd suspect that it was not flecks of dusts getting into my eyes and making them red and moist.
Andy! I have passed along your adoration to Piper, who is looking at me with pity. ("Well of course he does. Everyone adores me. I am a cat, and cats are adorable. Although, yes, me most of all.") Oh, I miss Churchill - and Cambridge - and you!!
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