The Adults in the Room

please stand up

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I grew up, I gave up childish ways.

1st Corinthians 13:11

When I got my cancer diagnosis on My-Chart, I first sent it over to my doctor friend Anne. I texted “positive for carcinoma is bad, right?” “Yes,” she replied. I sat in stunned silence, grateful to be home alone. Then I called Ben. My voice cracked as I said, “I got my results and it’s not good news.” He came home.

By the time he arrived, I had composed myself. I made jokes about the plastic surgery I knew I was soon to be offered and mused on the potential for a tummy tuck and perkier breasts. “Do you have a cup preference?,” I asked him. I knew he could hold the bad news, but also, I decided I didn’t want to make it worse by being sad.

Within an hour I had reached out to Meridith’s brother in Georgia. He’d been with us for a month just prior and had, genuinely, been very helpful with our summer camp, which was still going. I told him I had cancer and asked him to come back. I asked him because we needed help and, also, because I wanted to have a plan in place before I shared the news with Meridith.

I’d had some time to consider all of this before that moment; weeks before I’d been presented with a questionable mammogram and went in for a biopsy. I’d asked a few people to pray for me. I knew if the results were positive my problems would ripple into the lives of those who depend on me: Ben, my kids, Meridith, the guests of Lydia’s House. Even though it’s OK to have a crisis every now and then, I also knew that giving into big feelings isn’t romantic, dropping the balls instills fear, and that it’s better to try to stay calm and just solve the problems. 13 years of co-directing a homeless shelter had been a good teacher on the benefits of avoiding implosion.

Mostly, when I opened the message that Thursday night, I knew that I needed to handle whatever I read like a grown up.

I knew this because, somewhere around age 40, I’d realized that I often was among the adults in the room. For years, I’d assumed that someone close by knew more than me. Despite having 3 kids and starting an organization, I still believed that I might be saved by an older, wiser person. But into the 4th decade, when major problems arose, Meridith and I or Ben and I would look at each other and say, “We are the people we’ve been waiting for.”

The question might be, “Where’s the money coming from for that?,” or “Should we file an eviction?” or “What do we do about the kid with a gun?,” or “How do we decline the request of the volunteer?,” and the answer needed to come from one of us.

Ben and I, trying to be grownups

I’d been implicated in some failures over the years where the absence of adults was stark and painful. Most notably, when I was 17, in my own family. That’s a long story, but I remember coming home from my first year in boarding school and realizing that there were no grownups around. My mom had moved to another state, my 12 year old brother was smoking weed, my father was drinking heavily and dating new people, my sister had gotten married, and I (literally) could do anything I wanted. Rather than feel liberated, I felt terrified.

The summer of 1998 I learned that, despite the many requests children and others will make for freedom, everyone wants to know where the adults are. They want to know that more than they want all the details or to be included in the decisions. This memory was formative. So when the window opened, last summer, for possible chaos to enter our lives all I could think was, “Meridith, Ben, and my kids don’t need this.”

Similarly, and in the spirit of mutual gift, Meridith and Ben rarely talk to me about their feelings regarding my health—instead, they go to licensed professionals or other friends. I’d argue that how, when and with whom to process hard things is like a lead chapter in the adult playbook.

The need for grownups continues to be highlighted as everyone in my circle ages into the magic years of (what remains of) legitimate adulthood: something like 40-70. This week I went to a funeral for the mom of a friend. Her father was still alive, but frail and seemingly a bit confused. I noticed her guiding him to his chair and patting his shoulder during the sermon. I knew my friend had requested the officiant, planned the wake, and probably done all of the work to lay her mother to rest. I think we can all agree: burying your parents is the domain of grownups.

Now that grownup behavior is expected of me and my age mates, I am acutely aware of its presence or absence. Ben, weekly, gets some kind of complaint about a new affordable housing building they are trying to build. Racism and classism disguised as parking concerns is not grownup behavior; responding to it and keeping the project going is. Grownups don’t engage in conflict on social media, present feelings as facts, or harass decision makers about their hard work without showing up to work as well. Of course, many of these difficult to deal with people are in the magic window of 40-65 years old; they are not, however, being called upon to be the adults in the room because that would be a waste of time.

A friend of mine, a bit behind me in parenting years, once asked, “What do you think it takes to raise a child to virtuous adulthood?” I mulled over it for a while and then I said, “I think it’s the work of moving our kids from guest to host.” When I was in my 20s I noticed that grown ups bring things to potlucks. Now that I’m 44, I notice that grown ups make sure people have a place to sit, give up their own seat, deal with the food and bathroom needs of everyone else, listen to the person that talks too much, find the person that’s uncomfortable, center the needs of others before themselves.

Since my kids have a lot of opportunities to host at Lydia’s House and at our house, I’m clear with them, “Step up to this.” I think it’s the best training I can offer, and if my training goes well, they will be able to be much needed adults in a world replete with middle aged children.

My children, hopefully moving from guests to hosts

I don’t always do this work or “adult” well. To be clear, it’s often un-fun and hard to manage consistently. A big reason so many “of age” people step back from being an adult is that it’s nice to bring nothing, be cleaned up after, externalize your feelings onto other people, and be listened to. It’s annoying, at times, to put the chairs out, stand through things, go hungry, listen, make decisions, endure friction, see hard situations to the end, and clean up the messes. It’s also the work that makes the actual world function.

Navigating breast cancer is something I will add to the domain of grown up things. In fact, every time I go to the oncologist I am told, “You are so young,” meaning I should have been at least 50 to get this mature diagnosis. After I recover from the flattery of being carded at the oncology appointment, I remember that I am old enough to have to deal with this bullshit and that, therefore, I am old enough to deal with it like an adult. After all, I’m confident, adults are needed in this room too.

And the update

My right leg is throbbing and I have a constant headache. Side effects from the estrogen blocker? Probably. I am especially perplexed by the throbbing leg, as this med was not supposed to impact my veins. I’m having some regrets about my treatment regimen and wondering if I should have just gotten the single mastectomy instead of doing this multi-step process. I can still decide that and start the process over. It’s a lot to hold but, noting today’s musings, I’m gonna hold it.

In better news

Annie won outstanding attorney at her mock trial regional competition

and

Ben won “ Most Outstanding Community Development Corporation Staff Member.” He was very amused with the award, which now hangs in his office. Glad the rest of the world knows what I’ve known all along, primarily that he’s “chiseled, charming and community driven.” So much to love here.

Also Sam’s soccer season starts Wednesday so I don’t have any pictures yet. It’s kind of crazy how much happens in one week in this family…

Still waiting to hear about boarding school

Finally

Join me for noon prayer this lent starting TODAY! We’ll be participating in a nation wide effort called “Catholics in Communion.” Our specific public-ish action is to have prayer on Tuesdays and Wednesdays in the Lydia’s House living room, using a prayer novena called “Mary Undoer of Knots,” praying to undo the knot of violence and indignity that seems to permeate every layer of society right now.