True intimacy attained through shared vulnerability.
I just watched Everything Everywhere All At Once and I am not sure I completely understand the movie, actually the only thing that I am sure of is that I don’t completely understand the movie. And, after reading a few reviews, I am also sure that most other people don’t completely understand the movie. However, the power of consistent relationships in an ever-changing universe translated loudly. I watched Evelyn, surrounded by love, radiate loneliness and regret. There were Evelyns in my world, who I stared at, intently, committed, believed they fed the connection only to realise their stare became lost in the chaos behind me. I welled up.
There is a line in there, something like, we are not meant to be alone. Maybe... probably not, as it would be difficult to survive alone. It is something that I have often wondered about. However, surviving with the wrong person can be pretty horrible too.
This weekend I had a hip replaced, ouch! and it was ouch! I hate all this be strong bullshit that accompanies stuff like this-especially when it shouts at me from my head, ringing out from some echo chamber, vibrating in my chest and belly, built during days when I had to be strong. I hear things like ...it's a very common surgery and that some people leave on the same day etc... and I imagine doing backflips out of the surgery doors. However, the surgeon did shift my attention by explaining, stone faced, about alignment mistakes, infections and death while slipping me a release paper to sign, both dad and I were a bit quieted after that meeting.
The surgery did go well, but my body retaliated, screaming from the inside out, demanding immediate attention, a proper fuck you to everyone involved, lengthening my stay. However, eventually, all parties calmed and it was agreed that I could be discharged.
Your father met me with warm gorgeous hands, I felt them as he pulled my hair back and kissed me. He guided my legs off the bed, helping me to stand. I looked at him and his eagerness to bring me back to our home. This is where his imagination sat. The day he heard them say all went well and I was ok to go home. His mind rejoined our co-created life of dinner table chats, silly jokes, running after the children, and racing after the hairy beast. Tonight, he fantasised about the warmth of a duvet that covered two bodies where skin touched. This day, he no longer missed me. He just looked to his side and he caught my gaze.
His relief paused in reaction to my shutter and words, "I just peed." He looked at the bed, " No, no... 5 minutes ago I peed. but what if I need to pee again and we are in the car and it is commuter traffic and I have to pee. What if I have an accident in the car?"
He smiled and said, "I have a plastic bag for you to sit on." This is actually true. They instruct you to have a plastic bag in the car for mobility ease.
"I can't pee on a plastic bag!" The nurse replied that men usually have bottles but she didn't think that would work for me." I thought about a shewee and wondered why I hadn't ordered that. While my mind escaped to picturing me using one and how that would work and if it would work... if I would have felt embarrassed in front of your father... if he would drive me past a trucker just for giggles... If a she wee would have been easier to use initially instead of a bedpan.
Your father interrupted my thoughts and said, "Would it make you feel better to try again. I looked at him and the nurse, ready and waiting to leave and I nodded. The nurse gently smiled and understood, saying "I am in no rush."
Eventually, we do get to the car. I look at the arduous task of moving my unmovable body into that tiny space. My foot stretched out, the crutches unyielding in shape, unable to help, a dip between the curb and the car for a foot that can’t lift, hips that can’t navigate. I freeze. Your father puts on his familiar brave face. He thinks that if he is calm and brave, I will be at ease and he's right. One part of my brain knows that he is faking it but the other part tells it to shut up and get on board. He smiles and gives eye contact and slowly, gently manoeuvres me. I feel the tenderness of each touch, the love.
As the journey begins, I tell him I am scared. My thoughts jump and catastrophise to scenes from Fast and Furious. Until he answers, " I am too, so let's take it slow." Then he changes the subject and I am caught by the bridges that stretch out over the Tyne and what looks like a slow movement of the Sage building, one of the first buildings used in your father's efforts to win me over to the North East. Lost in the reverberations of that memory, it takes a few minutes before I rejoin your father telling me about how you and your sister have tidied the house- the oldest absorbed in laundry and the youngest making the kitchen and dining room shine blindingly and I smile.
The world has become a game of Tetris. I need to get past the front door and up a few flights of stairs, meanwhile, your father runs up and down those flights several times to obtain that forgotten item, becoming items. His final journey up, he smiles, which he thinks camouflages heavy breathing.
“I am sorry,” I say to him, again and again, and when his breathing allows, he asks, " Why?”
"Because you have to care for me."
"Don't be silly." his face contorting while wrestling off compression socks. His getting me ready for shower reminds me of what we used to do for you girls but I am the mother and it doesn't feel right.
Your father, as if to dance, takes my hands and guides me upward, I take my crutches and he follows me to the shower. The first time we did this, it was accompanied by more giggles than the groans of today, trepidations existed but for very different reasons. Sorry if I made you girls blush.
I sit on my plastic shower chair, his hands pressed on my thick thighs that are layered by belly bags and I whisper, "I don't think that this is my sexiest moment."
He, on both knees, looks up at me, and smiles,’”You're beautiful.” I believe him, and for a moment I become shy.
Vulnerability breathes out every pour and because he loves me, he is quick to inhale. His hazel/brown eyes give kindness and I need that kindness. I need to know that I am safe. I can't defend or protect myself. The hazards in my world multiply rapidly causing my body to shiver. I need to believe in his strength but also his desire and compassion and I do. It comforts me when my body is absorbed in pain. He is my respite.
Now as the weeks progress, I cannot say that the euphoria of true love and patience also progressed. The drip drip of fantasises of my doing it better leaked in and the stairs began to creek, mimicking your father’s grimaces. I hated the feeling of dependency and that little tasks still remained stupidly challenging. But, at the end of my rant or his silent simmer, we would check in with each other, even when we couldn't look our hands would touch. There is relief when you burst and then melt like candle wax on to your best friend, and there they are, annoyed and a bit burnt but still there, fingers touching or a hand sliding across your back as you pass.
Life can throw a good punch and we react in ways unimaginable. I couldn't fathom reacting in unimaginable ways with anyone else but your father. I keep thinking about how difficult this would have been on my own. Or, how difficult it would be with the wrong person. There are some who might not share the vulnerability but take advantage of it by shaming, boasting superiority, crying about neglect and planting feelings of guilt. Maybe some would help due to obligation or expectation of payment, or maybe they would have left when I could no longer dance and entertain.
In the movie Waymond recognises and accepts life’s inevitable hardships but his resilience is fuelled by seeking goodness and play and simply enjoying a laugh. Girls, that is your father. Although his past job made him bear witness to tragedies, his innate nature continued to believe in good thriving and enjoying others. His humour drew me to him. I loved how he saw the world and I hoped it would be contagious. It was and because of it, life is easier and actually quite nice.
Relationships can be so complicated, but not as complicated as life. Your partner, needs to be like the air you breathe, calming, strengthening, enduring, and simply present and the assumption of presence should be a given. It should be the one thing you can count on in case all your other surroundings tremble. That partner holding you and you holding them is the constant. When that happens, stability spreads and, in that moment, you know that you two and the world you created, will be ok and maybe just a little bit stronger than the moment before.
