Speechless

I was eight when I met him.  I tried to vie for his attention, or at the least a nodded approval, with all the things I thought would work.  First my array of stuffed animals put on a parade.  Nothing.  Then my guinea pig dressed in her frock and resting in her baby carriage.  No reaction.  An offering of glass of Strawberry Quik.  Still no go.  I could see this man was entering our lives for a different reason. And I would likely be taking a back seat.

He and my mom had been dating.  He came to our apartment a few times, and I recall feeling more comfortable in my own room than around the two of them.  Perhaps I was resentful that my father was no longer in the picture. Or just uncertain of where I stood with him and them.  And likely it could have been I just felt better with my birds, my guinea pig, and my 73 stuffed critters.  Regardless, I kept my space.

Peter and my mom were eventually married.  And this uncertain, insecure, affectionate child tried to win over their love.  But at the same time, teenage years and angst were approaching-creating that huge rift between ‘I need you’ and ‘Get the hell away from me’.  Also, mom and Peter had a baby.  My brother. Danny.  And he grew to be the adoration of all our eyes.

Middle school. High School. Drugs on my part. Alcohol on theirs. Life moved along in its fractured family way.  I adored my baby brother, a decade my junior, making it the perfect opportunity for me to practice motherhood. Pete and my mom walked through careers, addictions, recoveries, parenthood, teenage rebellion…and all along, I was still curious about this quiet man in the house we shared. And all along, I mostly stayed in my room…still surrounded by animals, feathered and furred, along with my stereo, my phone, my television, and my racing mind.

At one point, Peter was deployed to the Gulf War.  I was a teen, a rebellious and manipulative one, but not without compassion.  I sent him a letter during his years away, where I admitted how he meant something to me, even though I hadn’t shown it over our years co-habitating.  And that I loved him and hoped he stayed safe.  He wrote back, expressing similar sentiments and emotions.  It was one of the roses from that war…to discover we shared a warmed connection.

College and life after followed.  We no longer lived under the same roof and words became brief again.  It was our comfort zone.  He is a highly intelligent, cerebral, analytical soul.  Doctor by profession.  He became sober on his merit and restraint. He remained intensely investigative as the internet took fire. My emotional and verbal brain were swept away with family life, kids, part time careers, animals and the chaos I seem to find. Our commonalities were few.

Regardless of our lack of intense contact or communication, what I told my mom at age 16 still rang true; if I was thrown in jail and had one phone call to make, it would be to him.  He would be the trusted soul you know would do whatever he could to intelligently find your freedom. He was dependable and trustworthy.

There is a beauty and bonding that occurs when people are able to share their weaker spaces and take in the help of loved ones. My bouts with depression and anxiety lasted nearly five years, but left me with wisdom and experiences and understanding that only a warrior would know.  Peter is a warrior. When this grounded, wise, emotionally unflappable man dipped into the same mental quicksand as I had, he reached to me.  We shared. Listened. Learned.  And this time it was me who was the educated one.  And his lack of ego allowed my words to matter as his intelligent ones always had.  And my heart grew even greater for this gentle and brilliant giant.

Now my life is on another bender.  I am leaving my marriage of 25 years.  I haven’t worked full time since I was 25 and am wading through understanding loans, mortgages, W-2s and Venmo.  Each night my brain of full of unsorted information.  And again, there he is.  This solid, quiet, loving force…busily researching to give me guidance and clarity in the making of this new chapter.

The other night we chatted on the phone.  Not a common occurrence with a man a few words but such a welcome one.  And again, he was there, offering a key to my freedom.  Letting me know I may not understand everything, but that he was willing to put people in place so I could feel grounded. The words weren’t many. but they were loving.  And trusted. They were thought through and clear.  And on the other end of the line, there I was, touched with such gratitude.  His words, his love, his compassion…they all left me speechless.

Thank you, Peter E.