Things we shared

Toward the end, my visits with her were timed to coincide with major golf tournaments. I would arrive Thursday evening at the airport, greet her with a big hug around the tiny, increasingly fragile frame, and she would drive us in the tiny white Saturn to Applebee’s for a snack. I sometimes would succeed in picking up the tab, but more often she insisted I take the proferred cash for her share.

            I believe our golf tournament viewing habit began when Tiger Woods first won the Masters in 1997. The timing of my visit then was a coincidence, but we were thrilled to see him win. He was one of her heroes.

At the same time, I began to realize our time together was growing shorter – she wouldn’t be here forever.

            And so I began to visit more often, timing my visits with the Masters Golf Tornament (my personal favorite – I will never again view those beautiful vistas on TV without thinking of her), the British Open, the U.S. Open and the P.G.A. Championship.

            She had her dislikes among golfers, too. She detested Fred Couples, because she heard that he had cheated on his wife. Remember, there were rules to live by. I didn’t bother checking whether he had in fact cheated – she was sometimes wrong about these things – because even if the man was truly a saint, I couldn’t have convinced her.

            She loathed Phil Mickelson, but that antipathy wasn’t based on his behavior or a bad reputation; in fact, it was quite unfair. She disliked Mickelson because he competed with Woods so effectively during that time. She admitted to me once that she would whisper “Miss It” as Mickelson attempted a key putt.

            Of course, we didn’t spend all our time watching golf. She had home improvement projects planned, projects that required my help, living alone as she did. In fact, she would prepare a list before my arrival.

            But she wasn’t a stern taskmaster. I have little talent or inclination for complex home improvement projects involving carpentry, plumbing or wiring, but I’ve a learned a few things over the years, and I can do the simple stuff.

            I’ve also learned, however, that I have little patience when such projects go wrong, as they invariably will. The right tool isn’t available, the instructions aren’t clear, or you drop the screw below you on the floor and can’t find it.

  

It was then that she shone. She encouraged me to postpone the project, relax, and maybe watch a little golf. There was no hurry – we could get back to it tomorrow. In fact, there were some visits that ended with my having completed very little, although we tried. What I viewed as failure didn’t bother her a bit – we’d get to it next time.

            Late in 2001 and into 2002, her health deteriorated. She had lung cancer and heart disease, and was hospitalized for a while. I visited a half-dozen times in 2002, at times hopeful, despairing at other times.

            Ironically, the woman who did so much for me was toward the end reduced to asking me for help. I will never forget making a lunch of grilled cheese for her on my last visit – it was such a pathetic little offering for someone who had done so much for me. I felt puny and ineffectual. I wished I could have made her one of those rare roast beef sandwiches on thick, hand-cut Italian bread, generously layered with sweet salad dressing.

I believe with bedrock certainty that the measure of a good mother’s love is infinite. It’s an article of faith for me, one of the eternal verities.

 It’s reaffirmed as I live my own life, by seeing my wife’s actions toward our children. I joked this week with my son about the embarrassing portions of food my wife jams into the storage container for his lunch – the effort to do this simple act is animated by love. My daughter received similar attention earlier this week. OK, I admit I get the same treatment.

This love is evidenced in acts, often small acts, not words, acts whose recompense for the giver is as simple as a little time together with the receiver. I was fortunate to have been the recipient of this love for so long, and have learned much from it, about others and myself.

Happy birthday, Jan

This column dates back a few years. But the woman who inspired it is unchanged, and still surprises me with her kindness and thoughtfulness. Here's to the nicest person in the room - any room.

The Nicest Person in the Room

A couple months ago, my wife Jan celebrated a birthday, and she turned 22. I say 22, because she tells the kids at school when they ask that she’s 21, and who am I to say?

Now, I think it a little puzzling that we will celebrate 42 years together later this year, but she’s pretty smart, and I’m gonna be a gentleman and give her the benefit of the doubt.

And I have been blessed for even a few more years than that by a partnership with a woman that, while it’s sealed by marriage vows, is a bargain I would freely choose again, and again -- and again.

Why? Because no matter where I go, and with whom I associate, if she’s with me, then I’m with the nicest person in the room.

She’s not perfect. She shares many of the behavior traits with other women that mystify and sometimes frustrate many men, including me: a passion for attractive jewelry, actually enjoying shopping (go figure!), a compulsion to get the house ready for the arrival of the cleaning lady and, of course, Oprah.

But that’s OK. I sure as heck don’t want to be with someone who is too much like me, and these minor liabilities are more than offset by the assets she brings to our partnership, things like a surfeit of common sense, patience with many things, including things mechanical, an ability to be up when I’m down, and, well, a gift for being so nice to other people.

Many years ago, she told me that she likes to end a conversation with another person with them feeling better about themselves that when they began the conversation.  

And based on the number of good friends she has, she must be getting it right.  “Good” is the key word here: these are people for whom she would perform big favors, but I suspect that these people would also be prepared to do big favors for her. I've seen the reciprocal nature of her friendships, many going back decades, and it's for real.

There was the co-worker last week who was having a difficult time: her sister had a serious illness that resulted in both of the sister’s feet being amputated, and the co-worker was understandably distraught. She was sent to Jan by their boss, and the two women talked for a while.

Jan carries with her religious medals that have been blessed by two different Popes, and, after trying to console the poor woman, gave her one of each to help lighten the load.

And as the woman left later that day to visit her sister in the hospital, she made a quick stop by Jan’s school room, thanked Jan for her time, confirmed what their boss had said to her earlier that day about Jan’s being a good person to talk with about her sister, and left for the hospital clutching the medals.

This is so different from me. I’m not an unkind person, but I typically don’t make an extraordinary effort to help or to console someone else. It’s so ironic to me that I’m paired with a woman who possesses gobs and gobs of empathy – no doubt God had something in mind. It can’t just be a coincidence.

In a Christmas Eve Mass a few years ago, the pews immediately before Mass began were very crowded. We had arrived an hour before Mass to score some comfortable seats, and to hold some space for others who arrived a little later.

A few minutes before Mass began, there was an older man and his family who appeared briefly in the archway leading to our section. They were looking for a seat or two.

Noticing our section was full, they moved on. But not before my wife arose from her seat to retrieve the man, and to assure him that, if we squeezed together just a little tighter, why, there was plenty of room!

Me, I figured he should have arrived earlier, like me, to get a good seat. Can you say “Bah, humbug?”

I got to watch her the other day run a few computer classes in the elementary school in which she works. Her young students range from Kindergarten through Fifth Grade. She manages the classroom like a drill sergeant if the kids don’t behave – she will not tolerate bad behavior or a lack of effort - but if they behave, she is patient, helpful and kind.

She has “adopted” different kids over the years, befriended them on a personal level sometimes outside of the classroom, and all teachers know the rewards and occasional pitfalls associated with that. But, despite having experienced some of her own difficulties with this, she continues to help when she sees a need.

She spent over $100 a few years ago on winter clothing for a young person, and worked with another teacher to concoct a story that the clothing was the result of an award sponsored by the school. She didn’t want credit for the kind deed; it was enough to do what she felt was the right thing.

If we visit a bookstore, she spends most of her time in the section for children’s books. As we check out, I am usually assured of at least a $50 bill for new books for the classroom. The “Froggy” series of books are among her favorites.

Years ago, we brought one of her young charges to an MSU-UM football game in East Lansing. The kid had so much fun, when we went to leave, he threw himself on the ground and had a tantrum about having to leave. I managed to pull him upright after some scolding from Jan, and we were able to go.

It was pretty shocking, but if you live with the nicest person in the room, you learn to live with all the consequences. I’ve found it’s worth it.