I Thought You Said This Would Work

by Ann Garvin

Then he saw me and because I was staring, I saw him see me. When he did, his face turned from ice cap to sunshine. It reminded me of everything I’d lost when my husband died years ago: the recognition that you are visible and welcome. This was the kind of greeting that occurred between two people who were not a threat or in debt or in any way tormenting each other.

What activity would be good enough, knowing a handful of hours was all I was going to get? Should I shower, go to the grocery store, nap? Put a vegetable in the fridge? Sleep with a book on my chest and call it reading? What could possibly be good enough for a day of freedom, knowing I would be going right back to the gulag of baby care hours later? Wouldn’t it be better to just keep my head down and keep going?

Embarrassed by my need to be accepted by her while gifting her another reason to reject me, I sagged at the unfairness.

I decided I was going to practice a technique my grief social worker had taught me to use when dealing with well-meaning parents at Maddie’s school who wanted to fix me up. “Try repeating a phrase that doesn’t explain, defend, or justify,” she’d said. “If someone presses your buttons with judgment or aggression, try saying thanks.”

As I said, thanks is one. Also try, We’re different; Good to know; Hmmmm, I’ll think about that; and if they say something offensive, just say, Go Badgers and don’t follow up with anything.”

The answer was so simple. I wanted her to love me again. I knew it was piteous. Maybe it was part of that weird thing we humans do. We only want to be a member of the club that won’t have us. Maybe it was my almost-desperate need to be liked, and here this person was, wildly, aggressively not liking me.