Rose

70 years ago, Rose Marie was born in a very poor Italian-American family in the ethnic ghetto of New York City. There is an interesting story about her that I heard many times in my growing up years. Rosie was a cheerful, talkative child who was your typical toddler. She had beautiful black hair and dark eyes, and a lovely olive complexion, just like her father. One day she fell off the stoop and broke her arm, only the family didn't realize that was what had happened. She favored her arm, but she used it. But after a week or so, she was obviously in pain. What to do with an injured child when there is no money for a doctor and no such thing as health insurance?
The parents did the only thing they knew to do. Medical interns from Bellevue Hospital had been allowed to set up clinics in underserved areas. And they were affordable and sometimes even free. So off they went with little Rosie to get her arm fixed. The intern examined her as she whimpered, held on her mother's lap. "I can fix this," he told them. "You folks just go on down the hall and I'll take care of this. She'll need a cast." He took the squalling child and sent the parents off. Before they walked around the corner, the father turned to look back at his child. What he saw enraged and horrified him: the intern had taken Rosie's arm and snapped it in his hands. "It needed to be rebroken before it could be set" was his explanation.
Rosie was never the same after that. She withdrew and hardly spoke. When she did, it was repetitious and irrelevant most of the time. Although her parents were heartbroken about her mental condition, anyone with mental illness in those years was considered an embarassment. She was often told to go in the other room when company came to visit. Hence, she was kept isolated and alone for much of her life.
Rosie is my aunt. I have often wondered how her life would have turned out had she received psychiatric services and had not been traumatized as she was. The image I have of her when she was an adult, is of a tall woman with dark circles under her eyes, wearing a loose house dress, and pacing the floor. "Oh well," was her refrain.

Neither my grandparents nor my parents taught us to respect or nurture Aunt Rosie. Nor were we ever encouraged to speak with her and give her the pleasure of a relationship with someone outside of her home. For many years I never thought about her. She was a non-person to me, I am ashamed to say. Then a couple years ago I awoke out of the family culture and realized that she is a real person who needs love, affection, tenderness, and relationships with her family. So I started writing her letters and sending her small gifts: stamps, pictures, cards, etc. As with many mentally ill people, she warmed to me immediately and began to write to me faithfully. Aunt Rosie lives in an Christian extended care facility in North Carolina. She seems to be happy there, getting the mail and distributing it every day to the other residents. Her sister and brother visit her several times weekly and she is very close to them.

Recently Aunt Rosie has had to be hospitalized several times for angina. She has heart disease, which runs in the family. I don't know how much longer I will have her. Rosie can't talk on the phone, so I can't hear her voice. And I haven't seen her in at least 35 years. But she has been a true gift. Why? Because there is something about her that is so innocent and trusting, like a child. Her love is guileless and pure. The tone of her every letter is positive and sweet, even though she writes in one-inch letters that have been sketched over several times. She has never met Sam but she asks about him in each letter. Rosie so much wants to be part of a family and be loved. And she is.

Dear Barbara,

I feel well today. How do you and Sam feel today?

I hope you and Sam feel well today.

I pray for you and him every day.

I love you and him.

Have a good day every day you and Sam and a Happy Thanksgiving and a Merry Christmas day and a Happy New Years Day when the days come.

You and him are nice persons.

Thank you for nice picture letter card.

From Rose.

Perhaps one reason that I especially enjoy my relationship with Aunt Rosie right now is that it feels to me to be a sign that I have reached a certain age. When we are growing up, through those troublesome teen years and the early adult struggles, we try to distance ourselves from anything or anybody whose presence we fear will define us. The nerdy people who are really quite nice but whom we dread being compared to, the boys who are clever or obnoxious who we secretly admire, the parent with the oddball behaviors. Indeed, I have had several men lose interest in me after they met my parents when I was younger. I have been compared to my siblings in ways that have made me cringe. A former boyfriend's arrogant opinions about my being a nurse made me deeply ashamed of my profession. But there comes a point in life where we realize that our family members contribute to the way we are: both positively and negatively. It's how we manage what we ended up with that matters, how we conduct ourselves in relation to others, and how we love. Then, the imperfections become only proof that we are cut from the cloth of humanity.

I keep a picture of Aunt Rosie on my desk. She is sitting on her bed, wearing a flowing house dress in a dark navy floral print. Her hair is dark and has fewer gray hairs than I have. She is smiling sweetly, even a bit impishly looking at the camera. Rosie is a dear, dear part of my family and I am happy to be her neice. I pray for her health and happiness. One day, we shall live in that great forever where we both shall be whole. I am grateful for that hope, and thankful for what I have learned by being her friend.

Selfness

Yesterday upon the stair

I saw a man who wasn't there

He wasn't there again today.

Oh how I wish he'd go away

There are many people who, when we look at them, appear to have no one home. No, these are not people who are sharing a joke with themselves and playing invisible drums on skid row. These are people who have not put down roots inside of themselves. Sound abstract and confusing? Read on.

One man I know comes from a family where he was not wanted. He couldn't create a strong sense of self since he felt he was defective. If he were not, his parents would have been kinder or more interested in him, he believed. So while he developed ways of thinking and doing things, he never really felt settled in how he did things because after all, his ways had never been valued or validated. He hoped that when he found the perfect woman, she would do that for him and he would then be a self. In fact, we teach couples this, don't we? "My other half" "One plus one equals one"?

He did marry a wonderful, beautiful woman. Being with her gave him a sense of purpose and strength. She believed in him and actually adored him. He became resolute and strong in his opinions and approach to life. Mostly. Unless she was not close at hand to run his ideas by or get approval for his thinking. Then he waffled helplessly and sank into despair. But as soon as she was available and gave her opinion (which she was wont to do quite readily), he was up and on his way again. It was a good deal for a few years. Then the children came. He was able to care for those children and receive their unbridled enthisiastic love. Those were wonderful years: a wife and children, all who made him feel strong in himself. When he left to go on trips for a long weekend, he often felt despondent and worthless. He was socially awkward, as he often tried to get the validation and approval he needed from strangers--something that called for him to be a buffoon or else an apologic attention-seeker. As soon as he got home and was surrounded by people who worked hard to affirm him, he perked right back up. It continued that way until his children became teenagers--the age all parents become "dorks"--and then he clung to his wife for validation once again. He eventually fell into despair when her needs prevented her from providing what he needed to feel worthwhile.

There are so many people in this world who have not started off in a positive home environment. They could not get the emotional or social beginning that could make them feel worthwhile and valid. They have gone through their lives trying to either prove their value by disconfirming the messages they received as children (which means grandstanding or killing themselves to achieve success), or challenging anyone whose message makes them think that in fact, the earlier messages about them were correct (beligerant and highly reactive. They become extremely high maintenance people because they are always trying to borrow "self-ness" from everyone else.

These unfortunate individuals see their children as possessions and are loathe to allow their children to form individual selves for fear they will be abandoned and without what they need to be a self. So the children become enmeshed with the parent, trying to provide for what becomes an emotional bottomless pit. When their children grow up, self-less parents do not celebrate their children's much awaited passage into adulthood. They grieve for a long time and feel that something unfair has happened to them. They become resentful for any achievement or advancement of their kids. The children in turn, feel guilty for any differentiation and sense of self they are able to form.
From somewhere far way on the inside, non-selfed people recognize that something isn't quite right. But there are no words for it, and to try to quantify it is too terrifying. They keep trying to stay attached to someone or something that provides them what they need. Sometimes that is God or religious adherence. Sometimes a spouse or child or sibling. But it is quite a painful situation, regardless of whether it can be voiced or not. Because if they lose their attachment object, they are back to being a nothing--a no-self.

So what does this all mean? Some people are like empty graves that we walk over. We tread lightly because it appears that someone is there. But only a few emotional parts are there. It is not their choice--the designation of a no-self person is almost as capricious as a throw of the dice. They are all around us: people who make scenes to get attention; who are always asking for affirmation; who may be self-deprecating or wildly narcissistic (they are attached to almost delusional notions about their value). But they are in pain, and often lash out in the most irrational, vitriolic manner. They may be diagnosed with a personality disorder, or just be someone who is just a bit socially off. And they fill the offices of therapists and social workers, who try to help them with attachment, skills, and meaning.

I imagine that while Jesus was on this earth, He had quite a following of no-self people. I wonder what He would have said to them. Probably something like, "Are not two sparrow sold for a farthing? And yet your heavenly Father loves you more than these." Or, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven." I wish I could have watched Him fill the unfillable and know what He did to help them feel more attached, valued, affirmed. Perhaps one glance could do it. I don't know. I only know that for us mortals, it's a process that occurs over a very long period of time: limitsetting, affirming, educating, attending. Whew.

Perhaps at the Second Coming, when Jesus comes in the clouds of glory and the dead of earth shall rise to go home forever, everyone will get a strong self along with their new body. An unshakable, attachment to God, a visceral knowledge that they belong to the One who will never leave them. There are so many people I know who struggle with selfhood. I don't think it will be long before all shall know as they are known, and have nothing to cause regret, fear, or pain.