THIS IS A STORY ABOUT LOVE, LEWY BODY DEMENTIA & ICE SKATING.
When do we truly become ourselves? I would answer it happens in stages. And we all have them…time being plastic, moveable, that feast of life that carries us forward, but often pulls us back. And the one thing that might help each one of us cope with the circus or circle of life: EMPATHY.
But also: the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.
A definition: EMPATHY, the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.
BUT WHEN AND HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?
Probably immediately, in the home, the place we are being raised. Someone is crying or we are crying, and someone comes, asks about the source of the tears. And thus we learn to go to another, discover what the event was that led to our sister’s, our brother’s tears…”Mom, Bill’s crying, he needs you.”
Maybe Mom scolded you; Mom grounded you…at school, a teacher, a student made you feel small or incapable. Sadness fills you. You share that sadness with your brother, your sister. Or you listen to the fears and worries of a friend. And as these actions repeat, you are listening, you are becoming empathetic. YOU!
It’s not a story of words said with forced cheerfulness before leaving a room.
It’s a story of truth, true actions. But when does this happen? When do we grow to feel sad for others; when do we begin to experience empathy? I would answer: from the beginning. Though sometimes we need others to show us the way.
PAIN IN CHILDHOOD
My mother was kind, loving. I thought all mothers were. But the boy at the end of the block was watched by his grandmother, who screamed at him constantly. And thus, this boy learned to scream back, and he did this so often, that he became known as The Screamer…so unfair. The child was unhappy. He wasn’t getting the love, the empathy he needed to grow, to love his life, his home, his very self.
We’ve all have known someone like that. Hopefully, that child might have created stories to sooth himself. We might see them as lies, but I would lie too, if every night I had to deal with alcoholism, cussing, screaming, being sent to bed with a slap on the head. I would create a story, a dream about a family of love and tenderness. Though for some….where would they find the role models?
FALLING IN LOVE WITH EMPATHY
Growing up, we lived with love. My mother read to us. My grandmother, my aunts gave us books. And we even had an apple tree in our back yard that we could climb. It was simple, it was wonderful. We hunted fire flies in twilight; we had red rain boots to muck around in puddles. WE WERE KIDS and WE WERE LOVED. And because we were loved, we learned how to love, understand others…maybe not perfectly, but at least we never made fun of the Screamer. We knew he was hurting.
MY BROTHER, MY OTHER SELF…WHERE DO THE MEMORIES GO?
If this were a story about a brother and sister, no editor would read it.
But this is a story about a sister and a brother and Dementia, so it’s not a comedy, and the strength we are all feeling prevents it from being a tragedy. Because Bill is strength itself.
But again, the story must ask: where will the memories go, though I am convinced people will read it, as day to day, I record and love all the memories I have shared with Bill.
I have already written a short essay about growing up in Chicago, about our walking to school together, coming home for lunch as latch-key kids, making tomato soup, sandwiches. And given such responsibility, we never burned the house down; never lost our house key. Day to day we built on our love for each other, so that he could run out to play catch after school, and I could walk to the park, hoping to see a certain “guy” play baseball. Many years later I married that guy; my brothers were in the wedding.
But living in Chicago meant winters and no walks to the park.
But there was Bill, a wild and crazy ice skater, using the declivity around our apple tree to create a skating rink. Truly! Bill got out the garden hose, and that determined kid stood outside for hours pouring water into this hole to create an ice rink. AND HE DID THIS, every winter. Wild child! Damn good skater!
And yes, the two of us were a pair. And we always will be, no matter what. Actually, he just called me. He and his wife are going to take a walk. I LOVE HIM SO, MY BROTHER BILL.
5 Responses
My heart always breaks for children who come from parents who don’t know how to love them properly. Like you, I came from a good home, full of love. I’m sorry about Bill’s diagnosis. He sounds like a wonderful man and a sweet brother. Where do the memories go? Such a great question.
Thanks, Laurie. Ironically, this post was not hard to write…because it is always there, in my heart, in my voice when I talk about Bill and what he has ALWAYS meant to me. HE IS THE BEST Thanks, Beth
A lovely reflection. I believe your memories will keep him alive. And you will always have memories of Bill. He has always been there. And always will. He is the best of us.
Thanks so much, Christie….family truly is everything and Bill was there for me always. Love you, Beth
Oh Christie, thank you so much for this. And thank you for your love of Bill. I tear up remembering how close you became…he sees you as a friend, but also as the daughter he never had. LOVE YOU, Mom