I've been missing Christine as she's been back east for sixteen days, helping her mother move into an assisted living situation with her siblings. I know this time is very important, and it has helped her bridge the gap between her and some of her much older siblings, i think.
It's been hard for me to explain just what it is i miss about her until last night's readings from Kitchen Table Wisdom: Stories That Heal by Rachel Naomi Remen, MD. These are short meditations about life that acted as wonderful springboards for conversation. Two were selected by K from the section on connecting with others. One story contrasted "parallel play" with true connection, positing many of us go through life side by side with others, engaging in the same things, like toddlers sharing toys or a sandbox, but not connecting. The doctor-author commented on how sometimes the doctor-patient relationship is like that in problem solving, and i wondered about Christine and i. Is our life "parallel play"? The description meets observation: our doing fiber work together or spending time at the computers together, sharing activities. We're both introverts, and up until facing this week of missing her, i had framed in my mind that we both create a companionable solitude together.
The more compare our day to day with the description of "parallel play" though, the more i realize just how engaged with each other we are. We may be doing similar things but not engaged in the doing together, but we are very much engaged in each other. What i miss so much is how she listens to me. I realize how attuned i am to listening to her, how the small noises of shifting weight and breathing (and keystrokes) communicate "I am happily engaged in this problem," "I am going to throw this computer off the roof," "I am really worried about some relationship problem."
Christine is not a talkative person, and i can remember the mystery of the silence between us when we first started dating. "What are you thinking about?" I'd ask, and i'd discover how wrong i was. Over time, though, i learned the subtleties of her body language, and have a fine since of what she is thinking when we are sitting in silence.
What i hadn't realized was how she listens to me supports me. That's why, sitting here at the desk in the dawn light, when she might be dozing in the bedroom on a normal day, is different when she's a continent away. It's like dancing by myself. The actions of my day may be the same in her absence, but i'm not sharing that rhythm. We're not listening to each other. And that's what i'm missing so.
It's been hard for me to explain just what it is i miss about her until last night's readings from Kitchen Table Wisdom: Stories That Heal by Rachel Naomi Remen, MD. These are short meditations about life that acted as wonderful springboards for conversation. Two were selected by K from the section on connecting with others. One story contrasted "parallel play" with true connection, positing many of us go through life side by side with others, engaging in the same things, like toddlers sharing toys or a sandbox, but not connecting. The doctor-author commented on how sometimes the doctor-patient relationship is like that in problem solving, and i wondered about Christine and i. Is our life "parallel play"? The description meets observation: our doing fiber work together or spending time at the computers together, sharing activities. We're both introverts, and up until facing this week of missing her, i had framed in my mind that we both create a companionable solitude together.
The more compare our day to day with the description of "parallel play" though, the more i realize just how engaged with each other we are. We may be doing similar things but not engaged in the doing together, but we are very much engaged in each other. What i miss so much is how she listens to me. I realize how attuned i am to listening to her, how the small noises of shifting weight and breathing (and keystrokes) communicate "I am happily engaged in this problem," "I am going to throw this computer off the roof," "I am really worried about some relationship problem."
Christine is not a talkative person, and i can remember the mystery of the silence between us when we first started dating. "What are you thinking about?" I'd ask, and i'd discover how wrong i was. Over time, though, i learned the subtleties of her body language, and have a fine since of what she is thinking when we are sitting in silence.
What i hadn't realized was how she listens to me supports me. That's why, sitting here at the desk in the dawn light, when she might be dozing in the bedroom on a normal day, is different when she's a continent away. It's like dancing by myself. The actions of my day may be the same in her absence, but i'm not sharing that rhythm. We're not listening to each other. And that's what i'm missing so.
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