Chapter 2 – Doris
At what point had I missed something so obvious...so basic? How was it that my own daughter had been so much smarter than I had about a relationship? Hadn't I been living with this man for over 40 years? So why was I sitting in this car silently looking out the window when the man I loved more than my next breath was sitting less than three feet from me – wanting me to let him know what had happened to the woman he knew? Because I had no clue what to say to him, that's why. Simple.
Yeah, right.
I had started it...then had pouted when it turned in a direction that I didn't like. When he started having a good time, rather than talk to him, support him, let him know what I was seeing and feeling, I had withdrawn, withheld, and played games. Stupid. I had behaved like a silly teenage girl rather than a mature woman. Way mature. Is that it? Was I regressing because I was tired of being a grown up? Oh, goodie. I have stepped beyond teenage girl and to asking questions all night long...to myself...without answering a thing. That's always a good way to work things out.
I know I did the right thing when I suggested George offer himself as a consultant to a friend who called, telling him about the problems they were having with the systems in their company. George hesitated, for quite a while. He wanted to spend time with me. He had worked hard all our lives together – overtime, traveling, never taking all the allotted vacation time. I knew he was at loose ends, though, not really happy, and talked him into it by telling him he was under foot. We could have it both ways, I told him. He could take consulting jobs and we could travel together and see the country. I wanted to do some traveling, too, and this could be a way to have it all. It was a very good idea in theory. Then he started getting more jobs, started working more. He was having the time of his life. Rather than doing it all because he *had* to, as he had all his working life, he was now doing something because he *wanted* to. There was no pressure. I found myself alone in the cities we had come to explore together. It wasn't as much fun alone. He was on his own trip...without me...and enjoying himself. So instead of talking with him about it, I withdrew. I told him that rather than stay in a strange city by myself, I would rather stay at home. I thought making that statement would make him see what I was feeling and cut back on time he spent on the jobs. I was wrong...in so many ways.
As weeks passed, rather than seeing that he didn't have a clue as to how I was being affected and confronting him with it honestly, I withdrew further from him. I punished him by denying myself. I was hurt – deeply. I wanted him to want me...to spend the time with me that he had said that he wanted...to get to know one another again...to share with each other without distractions. Hell, who was I kidding? I wanted him to prove to me that he really loved and wanted me. That he'd still want this old woman who had crept in stealthily and kidnapped the young body that still lived in my mind. Instead, I had been lonely sleeping in the same bed with him for the last 8 months. Sleeping in flannel pajamas, for god's sake. I hated pajamas! Silly old woman.
Hadn't he done that, though? Stepped in and proved that he desired me still, that is. I worked up the courage one night after my 60
th
birthday and finally talked to him about my fears. It scared the hell out of me, but I had to know.
I fiddled and fretted all evening long. George sat out on the patio with his wine and paper. Okay, it was now or never. I walked out, moved a chair directly in front of him and sat determinedly in it. He lowered his paper then, with only a brief look at me, handed me his almost full glass of wine. It was with great restraint that I didn't inhale the entire contents. Finally I looked at him, took a deep breath, and decided to jump right in.
"I'm so sorry that I'm no longer what I once was physically. I wanted so much to stay ahead of the aging game. I just can't, well, not physically at least. My body has betrayed me no matter what I tried to do to prevent it. My skin has drooped along with my butt and boobs. The muscles are there but they're so hidden they don't seem to matter for anything other than supporting my bones."
All he said in response was, "Finish the wine, I think you need it more than I do." All that and "finish the wine"? Jesus! And he was smiling! I am capable of exhibiting a little intelligence every once in a while. It did register on my feeble brain that it wasn't just any smile. No. It was that special smile – not tolerant, not indulging. It was the one that was amused, but in the way that said that he was happy I reminded him, once in a while, that life was more interesting when I tipped his world a little off balance. I drank the rest of the wine. He took it from me, then began to remind me that I had made the smartest decision in my life when I accepted the proposal from this most remarkable man so many years before. I've still yet to meet his equal.
He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead, the crow's feet around my eyes, the dimples that had somewhere in time past become "laugh lines", the jowls which used to be a strong jaw line....my mouth. He didn't just kiss my mouth. He made love to it...tasted it...savored it. His kisses continued down my neck, taking the loose skin lightly between his teeth and nibbling sensuously. I was turning into the proverbial pool of jelly. I so loved my neck to be kissed and tasted, but he had never done it like this. He didn't stop there. My clothes seemed to magically disappear as he descended further. The skin on my chest had gotten so much, ummmm, "softer" over the years. He rubbed his cheeks against it, smiling and murmuring words of endearment as he placed light kisses all over. His journey continued – my breasts, stomach, hips, thighs. He left no wrinkle unkissed. No sag untouched -- lovingly, gently -- I would even have to say, almost reverently. He made love to me slowly, completely, and without restraint right there on the patio, as though we were in the first stages of love and lust rather than in the twilight of it – okay, maybe only late afternoon instead of twilight.
That day, for the first time, I realized that the young have no idea how to truly make love. Well, to be honest, a lot of older people don't either if they've never experienced a true appreciation of their partner...in every way. George certainly showed his appreciation for me. I was completely useless for the rest of the evening...and smiled like an idiot for days.
Just how many hoops did I want him to jump through to prove himself to me? Good lord, woman, just how self-centered can one be? How in the world could I ever dismiss that evening so? Disgraceful!
I walked through the open area of our home toward our bedroom while George began the nightly ritual of preparing the house for nights' rest. I never said a word. I still didn't know what to say. Janet and Jay had reminded me so much of what I had cruelly denied over the last few months and I didn't know how to begin to heal the hurt I had caused.
Janet and Jay. There's not much worse for a parent than to see their child in the pain that Janet had endured 7 years ago. She had been deeply in love with Nick. They were as much in love as George and I were. We wanted that for our children – to find the happiness that we knew. Then the stupid, senseless accident. They hadn't even been able to say goodbye to each other, not really. He had been in a coma when she made the decision to remove life support. The children had been by her side and supported her decision. To have to let go in such a way has to be one of the most difficult things to do to someone who is so much a part of you. I had wanted so badly to help take away her pain, but knew it was her pain to bear, assimilate, then go on, not mine. Then Jay came along.
How many things do we learn from our children? We project so many of our own fears on them and sometimes, if we're extremely lucky, it doesn't take – they turn them back to us and make us accept the responsibility for them ourselves. As we should. Janet had given me the gift of doing exactly that tonight.
"You two have jobs that take you away from each other for weeks at a time. Who knows what will happen in that time apart. You loose touch with each other. You have no idea what the other is experiencing, thinking, feeling. In time, it becomes too much and you drift apart. Why in the world would you want to start a life together under those conditions?"
The silence was almost deafening.
"Mother," Janet said softly but firmly, "this relationship has happened very quickly. The time apart has given us breathing room. Frankly, I felt so much for Jay so quickly that it scared the hell out of me. I'm not a child, Mom. This isn't the first time I've felt love. I know what has happened between us and I also know that I'm an incredibly fortunate woman to have had it twice. Our jobs have helped us maintain a sort of equilibrium while we've ridden this roller coaster. As far as being apart, well, it works another way, too. We get to experience each other anew every time we come home. We don't take each other for granted. I get to ask him how his work is and it's not a perfunctory question. Now I get to come home from a few days on a trip and I have someone with whom I can unwind, use as a sounding board, someone to hold me and tell me how brilliant I am after spending days being professional and above it all. As for knowing what the other is thinking, feeling, and experiencing...well, there are these wonderful inventions called telephones and," she lowered her eyes and I saw that familiar wicked smile that I believe I have used a time or two, "phone sex can be absolutely incredible.
Phone sex indeed. Cheeky child. Hmmm, maybe I had been missing out on a lot more than I knew. I think I may still have a lot to learn in a few areas.
I walked into the large closet just past the bathroom vanity to dress for bed. Dress for bed? When would I stop doing that? I stood naked in front of the full-length mirror at the back of the closet. Lovely. There was that mature, good-natured, matronly grandmother standing there again. No, I had nothing against her really, but, with the way my thoughts were going and what I was feeling, I had expected to see the sensuous, sexy woman who still craved the feel of her husband's hands on her body. The woman who loved to dance naked outdoors, bathing in the moonlight. Who felt the tingle between her legs and tightening of her nipples when she thought of how her husband felt hard inside her. Who wanted to explode in orgasm as she felt his balls spasm against her, hear his groan at the same time as she felt his warm release against her womb. I shook my head. Mature, good-natured, matronly grandmothers don't feel that or think things like that, do they?
Oh, hell, yes, they do!
Instead of wrapping my robe around my naked body, I took the flannel pajamas from the hook. I had to talk with George before I just climbed into bed naked as I used to. We had to talk. I had to apologize – let him know how sorry I was for playing such games. Mature, good-natured, matronly grandmothers do things like that...I think someone put it in a job description somewhere. I would do good to remember that.
I would do good to remember that.
