In her book, “Kitchen Table Wisdom,” Dr. Rachel Remen tells the true account of a father and son who used to go mountain climbing together. Once they began their ascent, all conversation ceased. It was the same after they reached the summit and descended by another route.
Dr. Remen called this “parallel play.” Both were doing their own thing, just at the same time on the same mountain. This is, she says, what 2- to 3-year-old children do when they play together in the sandbox. They share the sandbox, the sand, and even play with the same toys. But they are not playing together. They are playing alone, even though they share the same space.
I have known married couples who live most of their lives in parallel play. The go to the movies together but never talk about what they have seen. They travel in cars together but in relative silence. One may listen to the radio while the other sightsees or reads. They eat out together but discuss nothing of substance. They may even go on vacation but, for all practical purposes, they are vacationing alone, each doing his or her own thing. They share the sandbox but play by themselves. In essence, they are roommates.
I once knew a couple like that. Even after retirement, they continued to live a life of parallel play, seemingly content. But they weren’t. Both knew that this wasn’t the life they had signed on for so long ago. Both were committed and faithful but neither was terribly happy nor fulfilled.
Then one day something happened that offered to change the pattern of a lifetime. The husband was diagnosed with cancer.
As he endured several surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments, they began to notice each other. When he was able, they took driving trips together, dug up some plants from the nearby mountains for transplanting at the home, and she cared for him with devotion. But patterns are very difficult to break.
Several times during the week, he retreated to the basement to work on an unknown project. She was uncomfortable talking about the cancer and forbade family members to do so. Even when he eventually went into hospice, she monitored visits by his family so that no one would speak of his illness.
Both of them declined or refused to speak of his impending death. When she was out of the room, the man told an adult son that he knew he was dying but not to worry … he had made peace with God.
When he died, a letter was found that the man had written to his wife. In it, he told her he had always loved her. There were other personal thoughts that he shared with her — thoughts he never shared while he was alive. In the basement, the family found oil paintings that he had completed for members of his family — something by which to remember him.
After nearly 50 years of marriage, he died alone. She grieved alone. Parallel Play dominated until the very end.
The man and his son who climbed mountains were more fortunate. When the father developed cancer and could no longer climb, he and his son began to talk, to share, to finally really communicate. They moved, over time, from a life of parallel play to a life of real relationship for whatever time remained.
All couples start their relationship with the belief that they will have a good life and a happy marriage. Sometimes something goes awry.
No one plans to spend decades in parallel play to have years pass them by and then, at the end, wonder what happened and where it all went.
The fortunate ones — those who are willing to grow and to change — can leave the sandbox behind and learn to play and to live as it was intended: together!
[David Epps is the pastor of the Cathedral of Christ the King, Sharpsburg, GA (www.ctkcec.org). He is the bishop of the Mid-South Diocese which consists of Georgia and Tennessee (www.midsouthdiocese.org) and the Associate Endorser for the Department of the Armed Forces, U. S. Military Chaplains, ICCEC. He may contacted at [email protected].]
