Sometimes I'm Afraid to Look

Sometimes I am afraid of looking at pictures of my children when they were younger.  Okay, most of the time I’m afraid.  I’m afraid that I’ll see things now that I should have seen then.  I’m afraid that I’ll they’ll look unhappy.  Truthfully, I’m afraid that Conner will look sad, and that Jackson will look like he was lost in the shuffle.  What I’m really afraid of seeing, is that I was a bad mother.  Maybe I’m still a bad mother, or at least not the mother that they deserve.

But when I let myself look, really look, I have yet to find any monsters lurking in the shadows.  In this picture, Conner has just turned four.  His spoken language was mostly “Mom” and “more” with a few other words here and there.  One of those was ‘(s)whim’.

At this time, Jackson was a toddler and Conner was chronically sleep deprived.  I know, young children often have trouble sleeping.  All of the books on autism were quick to say ‘children on the spectrum may have difficulty sleeping’, but they never said what that meant, or what to do about it. 

Eventually, someone connected us with the  Neurophysiology department at Children’s Hospital to understand what was happening.  Let me say, there is a real Dr. Richard Ferber and I think he may have helped save our family’s lives – or at least some semblance of our sanity.

But in the meantime, left to our own devices we had found a survival regimen, several nights a week, we would drive as a family to the YMCA after dinnertime.  We would swim for an hour, or more.  Then everyone would change into their pajamas, and sometimes the boys would fall asleep on the ride home.

Conner was a capable swimmer.  He wouldn’t tolerate the sensation of touching bottom.  It didn’t matter if it was a pool or a pond.  No Way!  So, before he was three he could swim unassisted.  His form wasn’t going to get him onto the Olympic swim team, but he could get from one side of the pool to the other.  However, we knew that statistics.  Drowning was, and is, a leading cause of death in children with autism.  So, Conner was only allowed to swim when he was wearing his ‘bubble’.

So now, when I let myself look back at this picture I can see how hard everyone was trying.  He was trying to be heard, and we were doing our best to listen.  The family got in the car and we went swimming.  No monsters, just memories of how things were, which was much happier than many families get... with only the faintest shadows left of how they might have been different.

Important, but not urgent

I was trying to hurry my way through the newest emails that had accumulated in my inbox when the phone rang.  “Hello”, I said.  “I don’t think I’ve ever called this number before” came the voice on the other end of the phone.  “Hi Dad, I don’t think you have” I replied.

My mother and stepfather had been together for nearly 18 years before they separated.  However, as I became a young adult, Dad and I had a falling out.  I was no longer angry with him, but we hadn’t had a father daughter relationship in over twenty years.  When Mom and Dad divorced, he was actually the only Dad I’d had for a very long time, and I haven’t had one since.  I have been pleasantly surprised by the generally good, if less than perfect, relationship that he has maintained with my younger brother and sister. 

Robert is three years my junior.  He was a toddler when Joyce and Mike started dating.  In any way that matters, Mike is the only father Robert has ever known.  Imperfect but present counts for a great deal when your biological father has never really been a presence in your conscious memory.  Lunden was “the baby”.  I was twelve and elated when she came home from the hospital.  It has been many, many years since we were a family, but I don’t think that even she knows how much she is the glue that keeps the other four of us family.

“I’m calling you, because Tom called me” he continued.  My Uncle Tom had been married to my mother’s sister, my godmother, Aunt Kathy for more than twenty years.  Then one day, Kathy’s best friend of two years explained to her that she had been Tom’s mistress for three years.  "They were in love..."   Tom had been my favorite uncle until then.

“… He said that he saw in the Lowell Sun Obituaries…”

Crap.  I know where this is going. 

“Your father died.  I thought you should know.  Would you call your siblings?”
“Sure”

“I’m on the road in …” Did he say Ontario? Indiana?  Does it matter?

“Sure I’ll call them.”

“I’ll see you this Sunday if I have the energy.  I’m travelling a lot.” For the past five year, he had been joining my family in support of a walk for autism awareness that we support, but that’s another story we can come back to later. 

“Sure, I understand.  I’ve been a road warrior before.  Travel safely and thank you for letting me know.”

So, there I sit.  My ex-stepfather has called to tell me that my ex-uncle wants me to know that my ex-father has died.  Can you make this up?  I don’t cry often.  I haven’t seen my father more than twenty years and I burst into tears, big fat blubbering tears. 

I look up the obituary on line.

Leo G. Murphy, Loving brother; 66

NASHUA, NH -- Leo Gayton Murphy, 66, a resident of Nashua, NH, and formerly of N. Chelmsford and Lowell, passed away on Friday, April 13, 2012, at St. Joseph's Hospital in Nashua, NH, following a prolonged illness.

Leo was born in Lowell on December 28, 1945, a son of the late John R. Murphy, Sr. and Esther H. (Armstrong) Murphy. Leo was a graduate of the Immaculate Conception Grammar School and attended Keith Academy before graduating from Lowell High School in 1965.

Leo was employed in the construction and roofing industry during his working career.

He was an avid reader and a devotee of many PBS series, especially Masterpiece Theater.

Leo is survived by his brother, John R. Murphy, Jr. of Hudson, NH; his sister, Leona (Murphy) Kerouac of Manchester, NH. Leo also leaves a longtime friend and companion, Barbara Davis, as well as many nieces, nephews, cousins, and friends.

Leo was the brother of the late Carol Ann Zincavitch of Dracut, and brother-in-law of the late Patricia A. (Barclay) Murphy of Hudson, NH.

I can only guess we got left behind so long ago that we don’t rate mention in the obituary.  I read it again.  No, I think it’s fair to say that he is survived by us.  I try to make myself feel better by rationalizing that his siblings didn’t want to presume that we wished to be included.  It would have been good to be asked.

I allow myself a few minutes to recollect myself and I call my brother.  I leave him a voice mail.  “Robert, please call me back.  It is important, but not urgent”.

I go back to the obituary.  No.  There is no trace of us.

Typically, when I think of my family, of where I come from, it is the stories of the women who jump to the fore.  They are the ones who were there.  They were strong, self sufficient and flawed.  Their stories fill the library of my family history.  First hand, second hand, legend and lore. It’s the women’s tales that build the chronicles of my family history.

The men, by and large, simply weren’t there, at least not that you’d be able to rely on.  The ones that were there had precious little good example to follow.  So many failures by their gender were laid at their feet and the burden of unrealistic expectations was laid upon their shoulders.  How could their success be measured accurately?

The irony that this moment presents me is that it brings forward the men in my family.  Many appear to me in their faded, incomplete portraits.  Of the men, there are more snap shots and short stories in this library than there are novels.

 

Written April 24, 2012