H.E.A.R.T. Check Up #2

Week 3: How to Have a H.E.A.R.T. for Your Kids by Rachael Carman

At the end of Chapter 2, in the Heart Check Up section, Rachael asks us to look at the marriage our parents had. I did, and what came into my heart is my post this week . . .

About 3 months before my father's death (nearly 4 years ago) I accompanied him and my mother to a neuropsychiatrist appointment. It was the day they were going to test my dad to see what type of dementia he had. Apparently, there is a way to identify Alzheimer's by the types of information the patient can recall.

Tears fill my eyes now as I remember my father trying to correctly answer questions, such as "What day of the week is it?" "Who is the President?"

He was at that stage of Alzheimer's when the patient knows something isn't quite right with their brain (and tries to hide it from others) and times when their brain completely succumbs to the disease. They go between moments of knowing exactly what's going on and knowing that they are slipping away to moments of having already slipped away. I saw my dad one moment as an 84 year old, lucid man and a few minutes later, he looked like a 10 year old child trying to answer quiz questions in class--caught completely unprepared. It was one of the most heart-breaking moments of my life. I can still see the look in his eyes, sometimes almost child-like.

He saw the signs, but we didn't--it wasn't until my mother made some discoveries after his death, that we realized he knew something hadn't been right for several years. But having always been the strong leader in our family, he didn't want to worry us.

My father who had been such a strong man--both physically and emotionally. His parents immigrated to the U.S. from South Africa--a wealthy family there, but once in the United States, my grandfather passed away, and the family fell into poverty.

A strong sense of family and a strong work ethic, along with the military and my mother, saved him from the tough streets he found himself in as a young man.

Looking back, it was a good marriage--steeped in love and God. My father was a very decent man. I never heard him swear. My dad had a wonderful sense of humor, was smart, and humbled himself before God and others. He drank the ocassional wine at Thanksgiving dinner. Worked his way up the corporate ladder and put up with demanding bosses. Despite working an executive job that took him into the office every Saturday, each Sunday we were at church. My father served on the church Board. My mother taught Sunday School.

They were a team. They respected each other. They loved each other. I don't recall nasty arguments or cold shoulders. We never sat down to dinner with my parents not talking to each other.

My dad worked hard. My mom respected every penny he made. She ran the household frugally, and we lived comfortably and with a home cooked meal every night, clean sheets each week, an immaculate bathroom every day--my mother served tirelessly (she still does).

She made every outfit I wore in elementary school. Each class picture K-8, I am in a dress my mom made for me.

My dad always said, "God gave your mother golden hands...yes, those are golden hands." He never called her names, he never criticized her.

When my father died, my mother was heartbroken. She lost her true love of 52 years. Her mission for 52 years had been serving him. Now she was lost. What would she do with her days now?

So, she did what the women in our family do when they are worried or upset--she cleaned.

As she began to go through my father's things, she discovered. . .

Notes. Love notes.
Tucked in folders he knew she'd go through.
Tucked in between clothing
Tucked on bookshelves in his office.

Notes that thanked her for making his life so wonderful.
Notes telling her how much he loved her.

Notes to each of us kids.

These were dated 2-3 years prior. He knew then something wasn't quite right. He wanted to write it all down before he completely forgot everything--who he was, who we were, how much he had loved us.

She would find one, call me, and read it.

At this time, my marriage was in a bad place. A hurtful place.

Rachael carries the theme of RESPECT throughout the chapter. One word, huge truth.

Not only do we need to respect our marriage, we need others to respect our marriage. We started our marriage with people very vocally expressing it would never work. I have news, that doesn't help the marriage--it silently builds a wedge between the husband and wife.

So, our marriage began with a cloud of disrespect hanging over us. Then, over 25 years we have dealt with being the primary caretakers for two family members who became seriously ill and passed a way, my father's dementia and death, my father-in-law's death, a medical malpractice and resulting death of our second child, a serious addiction, depression, throw in a job loss with resulting strained finances, the suicide of a family member, and some other stressors (moves, teenagers, etc.)--and you have a marriage in need of God's love, grace, and mercy.

So, to continue . . .

One morning after my father's death, I found a note my husband had written. It wasn't a love note. It was quite hurtful. As I sat stunned and angry, my mother called me.

She had found another love note. She read it to me. We cried. We talked. We eventually laughed, remembering something funny about my dad.

We hung up. I looked at the note in my own hand, and I wept.

Two marriages. Two notes from a husband to a wife. But two very different messages.

I wanted a love note. I yearned for a love note--short, simple, meaningful.

I wanted the notes from my husband to be ones that made me cry because they were written with words of love, not haste.

On page 71, Rachael writes, "What if we lived marriages worth defending, worth emulating, worth desiring?"

My parents had a marriage worth emulating, worth desiring.

And that is what I want.

On page 66, Rachael tells us that in order to have a whole heart that is ready to love our husbands, we need to " stop criticizing others...look inward and clean up ourselves . . ."

Youch. That's truthful.

When I read my husband's note to me, I wept because there was truth in his note. There were behaviors and patterns that had slowly built over 20 years that needed changing. These patterns crept in oh so slowly because there wasn't strong enough communication, there wasn't enough respect.

I am on a journey of continually moving out the selfishness in my heart and moving in the increased respect for my husband. I do respect him, but has it been enough? Have I shown that respect when he most needed it?

No, not always.