Everything Changes

“How can both of our children be so different from us?” Elise is nervously tapping her teaspoon against the side of her coffee cup. It makes a monotonous, tinny sound that isn’t even registering with her husband Ben, who is engrossed in something on his iPad screen. “Ben!” Elise raises her voice, “Are you even listening to me?” She glares questioningly at her husband. “I’m sorry,” Ben murmurs distractedly. “I have to get this report out this morning. What did you say?” Elise emits an exasperated sigh. This is the usual dynamic between them. Elise gets upset about something and Ben, ever the calm voice of reason, finds a way to dismiss her worries. It frustrates Elise that Ben is not more emotional. On the one hand his calm demeanor is comforting during a crisis, but on the other, he rarely expresses empathy or validates her feelings. It feels dismissive and at times, isolating.

Since the election, which has once again polarized right versus left, their children have become ever more distant. Their political views are the opposite of Ben and Elise’s. They’ve had a four-year reprieve from the jabs pointed at them by their kids, but with the recent election the vitriol is back in full force. Ben and Elise do their best to ignore the snarky comments and insults regarding their political leanings, but their kids are relentless. A sarcastic text message here, an accusatory email there or a terse phone call is all it takes to set Elise’s teeth on edge. She rarely takes the bait, but it’s hard. She and Ben have become experts at changing the subject or ignoring their comments, but to no avail. Visits to their kids’ homes almost always start out well, but by the time the visit is over the mood shifts and darkens because of some veiled insult hurled their way. 

“I just don’t understand why it matters so much to them who we voted for,” says Elise. “Why do they care? It’s not like our two votes would have changed the outcome.” Ben looks at Elise, squeezes her hand and says, “Give it time, they’ll calm down. The election is still too recent.” Elise rolls her eyes. She and Ben aren’t extremists when it comes to politics. In fact, they categorize themselves as “centrists.” Neither extreme to the left or the right. And they rarely share their political beliefs with anyone, choosing instead to both avoid potential conflict and maintain their privacy. But the distance that her kids have created between them has left Elise feeling stressed and anxious. She misses them. To make matters worse, most of Elise and Bens’ friends have children who are politically on the same page as their parents. They simply can’t understand the divide between Elise, Ben and their children, and their occasional looks resembling pity almost always leave Elise feeling like a failure as a mother.

“Why do you even care what our friends think?” asks Ben. “Their kids all have problems. Most of them are too attached, and dependent on their parents. Hell, I’ve been out with some of them whose kids call them to ask them what to cook for dinner! At least our kids are both free thinkers. And they’re smart, successful, independent adults.” Elise considers this for a moment, but she still can’t shake the nagging emptiness she feels in her heart. “I just wish they could put family before their political beliefs,” says Elise. “I wish it more than anything. I swear, I would never mention a single word about politics for the rest of my life if we could just come together as a family. For God’s sake, Hannah won’t even visit us with the baby because we live in a state where she despises the governor!” Elise recalls her friend Anna, who after months of prying finally stopped asking her why her daughter and grandson hadn’t been to visit her in her new home. Elise, mentally exhausted from coming up with lame excuses, finally told her the truth. But that didn’t stop Anna from continuing to boast about how “close” her and her three children are, as though they’re the modern-day version of the 1950’s couple, Ozzie & Harriet. “You have to stop comparing yourself with everyone else,” says Ben. “It’s the people who always feel the need to brag about their ‘perfect’ kids who have the most skeletons in their closets.” Elise agrees. She knows that Ben is right, but the pain she feels when her daughter and son sling their arrows still draws blood.

Sensing Elise’s pain, Ben shakes his head, “It’s crazy I know, he says, “but hopefully in time the relationship with them will change and get better. Everything changes.” Elise feels that all-too-familiar welling up of tears in her eyes. She fights the urge not to cry. When did politics become so ugly and divisive? Elise thinks back to when she was a little girl, her late father, a staunch liberal, calmly discussing politics around the Sunday dinner table. In her large family, there was always a lively discussion, with the inevitable arguments and occasional raised voices. But by the end of the meal, disagreements would be put aside, and no grudges held. It was ok to have different political views. She shares this story with Ben who nods in agreement. “The world is just a hell of a lot more complicated today,” he explains. “People’s emotions are at an all-time high and they’re just very passionate about their beliefs…on both sides. Hopefully, in time, the pendulum will swing somewhere back in the middle. But I do know this for certain, our kids love you, and that will never change.” 

Elise takes in Ben’s words. She sits quietly for a moment and then looks directly at him. He puts down his iPad, removes his eyeglasses and stands. He reaches for Elise’s hand and pulls her out of her chair until they are standing face to face. Elise feels his arms embrace her and the warmth emanating from his body. She feels his steady heartbeat through his wool sweater, and the cadence soothes her. She likes this version of Ben. She takes a deep breath and exhales. “It will be all right,” she whispers softly to herself. “Everything changes.”