A Long Wait in the Rose Garden

“So, you waited 28 years for your wife to die. Did I understand you correctly?”

June Maxwell had stared at her notes so long without making sense of them that she wondered if she was ill. She read the words over and over, but no meaning formed from them. As her words echoed back to her ears, they sounded more accusatory than she intended.

“Well. Not exactly. I was trapped in a marriage, and I waited 28 years for it to end.”

“With her death?”

“Yes, from cancer. Cervical cancer. Actually, it had metastasized everywhere by the end.”

“When did you know your marriage would end that way?”

“Cindy was sick only for the last 11 months.”

“But you waited 28 years for her to die?”

“I was waiting for my marriage to end. But the death of one of us always seemed the most likely way it would end.”

June’s eyes glanced at the golden lilies etched into the diplomas on her wall then scanned down to the man sitting in front of her. “I’m sorry, Dr. Bennett, I know you tried to explain this to me during our first session, but I still don’t get it.”

“Call me Bob, please. Would it help if I told you our story from beginning to end? Would that help you understand what I want to fix about myself … and how I want to move forward?”

“I’m just trying to piece it altogether. You were in an unhappy marriage for nearly 30 years. But you didn’t seek a divorce or otherwise try to end the relationship, and now you want to understand what you did wrong in the relationship?”

“Not exactly, doctor. I want to understand how I got in that situation in the first place. There’s something wrong with how I size people up. At least in the beginning. I probably understand people too well over time. But in the beginning, I’m gullible or maybe too hopeful … or something.. There are answers.”

“Ah. Ok. We can explore that.” She reviewed her notes again. She still felt like she was staring at a map with no idea of where to go. “So, after your wife – Cindy – died, you closed your medical practice in Tulsa, Oklahoma down in the States and took a position with the First Nation Health Authority in Cowichan Valley. Not only a new job but a new country.”

“I wanted a complete change. I also wanted to do something where I might, well, make a difference. I know that sounds cliché but it’s what I want to do now.”

“Moving your household must have been a big job.”

“I took nothing with me. I wanted a new life.”

“Wow. Nothing?”

“Well, two boxes. An odd mix of stuff.”

June looked at her patient. She hadn’t noticed before, but all his clothes looked like they came straight off a mannequin. They were about as stylish as one might expect a fiftysomething pediatrician to wear. June guessed he might have spotted them in a magazine style article or an online fashion video. She wrote “New Clothes!” in her notebook and underlined “new” twice. She wasn’t sure how that might ever matter.

“Was Cindy as miserable in the marriage as you were?”

“I’ve thought about that a thousand times. I did a lot of thinking in Cindy’s rose garden over the years. If she did, she hid it well. She loved our big house … the neighborhood where we lived … the nice new car she drove.”

“So, Cindy was shallow and materialistic?”

“Not really. This might sound weird, but a part of Cindy was like an alien trying to fit in to our world and not be noticed.”

“An alien?”

“You know like in those movies where a spaceship crashes. She wasn’t clueless – but I would say she mostly had no idea what she wanted from life. She was just along for the ride. I remember her telling me about this guy she knew in college who kept asking her deep questions. I suspect he was trying to get into her pants by showing her how thoughtful he was … but she could never understand the questions he asked or the answers he gave.”

“So, did he ‘get into her pants’?”

“No way. He made her really uncomfortable. I’m not sure anyone ever shined such a bright light on Cindy. I knew this before we got married, and I thought it was kind of funny. She was young. I dismissed it, but I should have really thought about it more.”

“Cindy wasn’t materialist?” asked June, her eyes drifting again to a crystal bowl of cut yellow daffodils on a table next to her patient.

“The loudest voices came from people who wanted her to buy stuff. She loved Oprah’s Favorite Things. Cindy really loved the anticipation of a new purchase. She always ordered by mail since that gave her more time to imagine.”

“But you said she wasn’t shallow?”

“Cindy was very fragile. Like a test tube that had to be held very still or its contents would explode or disintegrate. I realized that early on. I just didn’t realize how important it was to her.”

“Being fragile?”

“Wounds were currency to Cindy. It’s like she wanted to be wounded and stay wounded and watch the wounds compound with interest. I think she learned this in childhood.”

“So, she grew up in difficult circumstances?”

“Yes. Very. Tragic, actually. I felt sorry for her the more she told me. I also knew this about her early on, but I didn’t recognize it for being as all-encompassing as it came to be. It occurred to me that she must have deliberately hidden this from me early on, too.”

“Deliberately?”

“Well, wait. I gotta say this. Cindy watched a lot of TV. Mostly sitcoms about families. The Brady Bunch. Full House. Urkel. Little House on the Prairie. iCarly. The Waltons. Boy Meets World. Suite Life of Zach and Cody. I think those shows taught her about ‘real’ families. She even watched kid shows as an adult. Remember how I said she was like an alien trying to fit in? I think she was trying to understand what families were.”

June scribbled down more notes. People twist themselves into such odd knots, she thought, and so often without uttering a single honest word.

“Again, doctor, what I want to understand is how I let myself get sucked into this marriage for so long. I want to know how to tell what someone is like – really – and as early as possible. And how to have the courage to walk away.”

“Did Cindy’s fragility hurt you?”

“Oh god, yes. Sorry. Cindy constantly complained about everything. Some of her criticism was maybe fair, I suppose. Much of it was unfair. Some of it was mean, really mean.”

“For example?”

“Cindy’s feelings could be hurt in so many ways, and the hurt wasn’t pretend. At least I don’t think it was. Here’s one. She was always looking for new recipes. Why, I don’t know, but this was important to her. There just so many truly new recipes. One year she announced that she would be making a salted caramel ice cream glazed turkey for Christmas dinner. I said nothing. I knew better than to say anything by then. But I guess my face said something. Cindy ran to the bedroom and spent the next six hours loudly crying behind a locked door. By now, I had learned the power of an apology, and I had learned how to convincingly give a fake apology. This was the only way forward. The funny thing is that the ice cream turkey tasted just about like a regular turkey. She announced that it was ‘crap.’ And that was my Christmas. I spent many holidays like that.”

“I asked in our last session why you didn’t get a divorce, and I still don’t understand.”

“I didn’t want to hurt Cindy’s feelings.”

“But what about your happiness?”

“Look, I almost got a divorce right after our honeymoon. It was miserable. Cindy cried at least once a day every day. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t do anything, that’s for sure. It was sort of like she had expectations that couldn’t be met. That nothing could meet. I think she had some vision of being the perfect bride that no bride could satisfy.”

“So, if the beginning of your marriage was so bad, why didn’t you end it then?”

“When we came back from the honeymoon, almost the second we walked in the front door, we learned that her grandmother had died while we were away. Cindy was devastated. If I left her then, everyone would think I was heartless … it seemed cold even to me … and back then, I still thought maybe she would change.”

“Make do and mend?”

“I guess you could say that. I eventually realized it was hopeless to think you could change anyone. People are what they are. They don’t change.”

“Do you really believe that?” asked June knowing what the answer would be and suspecting the reality was still the opposite.

“Yes, but I can be easily tricked, and that’s what I want to know how to change.”

“Why did you leave that city after Cindy died? The one where you had lived for so long.”

“Not to sound like a petulant teenager, but I hated that place.”

“Why?”

“Everyone and everything was perfect. But nothing was perfect, and most of them knew it. Their social convention built a prison for them and then they oversaw it as inmates, guards, gangs, and snitches. Life was as miserable, pointless, and dull as a superficial perfection can be.”

“That sounded almost rehearsed.”

“Yeah. You caught me. Every time I worked on Cindy’s rosebushes, I had plenty of time to think. Her rose garden had maybe 40 bushes of different types. Those roses were an obsession with her. She would cry if one of the plants died. Gardening is supposed to be relaxing but I was usually in a really sour mood the longer I worked on the roses and thought. Thought about everything. I guess I can’t blame the roses. Anyway, that was a thought that crystalized over many years in the rose bushes.”

“What did you think about?”

“I thought about the insecurities of people in that part of the city. They were jealous of each other. Their social code made it inevitable. They were jealous of people who didn’t live there who they didn’t even know. They were secretly jealous of the people who couldn’t afford their code – while saying the meanest things about them. They were well dressed, well groomed, and their sunny smiles matched their perfect clothes and teeth.”

“Sorry, Bob. To go back. I still don’t understand. Why didn’t you just get a divorce?”

“Like I said, with Cindy there were ups and downs. Over time, the downs outgrew the ups. Cindy was at her worst when Xavier was small. I think she was scared all the time, which made her mean. After Xavier was 12, she relaxed. A bit. Xavier is 19 now and in college. Every moment wasn’t dreadful. There were some good times. But they were just a tease.”

“I still don’t understand. There must have been some other reason why you didn’t get a divorce?”

“Well, I told you why I didn’t end it in the beginning. I told you that I didn’t want to hurt her. I’m not sure what she would have done if I had left. Maybe violence or self-harm. And after Xavier, I just couldn’t end things.”

“And that’s all? How much did you think about this in the rose garden?”

“All the time. Ok. Here’s a confession, I guess. I know I can’t say this without sounding shallow. I should say that I grew up kind of poor. Well, we were okay actually. But not well enough not to notice how fragile it all was. If Cindy and I divorced, she would get half of the money. Cindy’s job paid a small fraction of what my job paid. I had worked really, really hard building up my practice.”

“And?”

“If I had to give half of everything away, I’m not sure that I would have had the energy to do it all again. I’m not young anymore. The law is the law; it is what it is. But it’s a myth that spouses equally support each other. I’m sure this is true sometimes, but it’s not true every time. For every woman who puts her husband through medical school, there’s another who demands the med student massage her feet every night. Or cry about some latest torment from work. My grades in medical school weren’t what they would have been if I had been on my own.”

“Ok. And?”

“I worked as hard in my practice as I could within Cindy’s rules. She required that I spend a fixed amount of time at home, and if I worked too long, she punished me for it. She screamed. Broke plates. It never mattered what I had been doing. I once saved a small boy who came into our office late in the day. It took me a while to diagnose his problem and start treatment. He would have died if I had made him come back another day. Actually, he would have died if I had even just referred him to an urgent care center. I was three hours late coming home that night. Cindy didn’t talk to me for two days.”

“So, you stayed with her for the money?”

“Yes, my money. Almost every penny we had came from me. Much of it was earned against her will. I didn’t see why she was fairly entitled to any of it, apart from the legal requirement. The law is what it is. When we were young, I thought she might change. But she never did.”

“You just decided to stick it out?”

“I had sort of developed a plan to leave after Xavier was grown if she didn’t change. Then she got sick.”

“And?”

“I didn’t want to hurt Cindy’s feelings. She was dying after all. It didn’t seem fair or kind to tell her that so much of our marriage had been so painful to me. I tried to make her as comfortable as I could. When she was in the hospital, I brought her pictures every day of the roses.”

“And you were nearly free?”

“I guess. As she was dying, she told me where all the supplies were for the roses and everything that needed to be done to them. I knew anyway, but I listened as she spelled out the details. She made me promise that I would spend at least an hour a day taking care of them in the summer, and 30 minutes in the winter. I promised I would.”

“And?”

“Cindy died in the morning. I held her hand as she died. Her final words were something about the roses. As I left the hospital, I felt a weight lifting off my shoulders, from my spine. I felt a lightness in my step. I didn’t want to appear happy, however. What would people say? The hospital was large, and by the time I reached the parking lot, I smiled like the happy father of a newborn.”

“Did you go to her funeral?”

“Of course. I did everything I was supposed to do. That afternoon, I called a real estate agent to sell the house. I called some colleagues about selling my medical practice. I called the funeral home to arrange Cindy’s funeral. I thought about going to work, but I wondered what people would say. So, I stayed home. I began looking for a new city and a new job online.”

“Did Cindy ever talk about a divorce?”

“Constantly. But it was more of a weapon with her than something she would ever really do, I think.”

“Did you and Cindy ever have counseling?”

“When Cindy was a teenager, her family had gone for counseling. I don’t know what kind of counselor they had, but Cindy described counseling as a battleground. One opponent versus another opponent. Someone wins. Someone loses. She told me that her first objective had been to get the counselor ‘on her side.’ She had apparently succeeded at this as a teen. Or thought she had. It always struck me that it wouldn’t matter who we had as a counselor since Cindy saw this as a winner take all game. If she won, that would be the ultimate humiliation. If I ‘won,’ I would be made to regret it. If the counselor was neutral, Cindy would have felt cheated. So, counseling was not an option.”

“Do you miss her at all?”

“I mourn what could have been but wasn’t. Almost nothing was Cindy’s fault, really. But I was a fool.”

“Ok, Bob. This has been helpful.”

“The past is the past. It’s over. I played my part. I want to know about the future. How do I live so I don’t get in this situation again? Am I fated to always fail at relationships? Should I just give up? I enjoy my work. I can always just do more of it. Just bury myself in it. And now, I have more than enough money for the rest of my days.”

“I’ll try to help you find the answers you seek in our coming sessions. We'll focus on that going forward. So, what happened to the roses?”

“The new owner told me he was going to rip them out and replace them with a giant stainless-steel barbeque pit underneath a huge pergola. They like stuff like that in our old neighborhood.”