Vulnerability

I recently had a renewed contact with a man, whom I will call Ted. I had an unusual relationship with Ted nearly twenty years ago. I had met his partner in a social situation. His partner and I became intimate friends for a couple of years. Then the partner died of AIDS.

I met Ted when he came to the hospice where I was working. His partner, my friend, came there to die, as one of my patients. Ted visited nearly daily for short periods. I was told he was incapable of caring for our dying friend, even though they had lived together for about ten years. This struck me as odd at the time, because Ted, who was perhaps in his late thirties, seemed healthy and was still working at a high-paying job, which entailed travel. In fact, Ted was a weight-lifter and sported a very muscular physique. He seemed to be socially popular and had many friends.

As a hospice nurse, I had learned that institutional care is better than home care in some circumstances. I simply accepted that this was one such situation. Our dying friend was blind and demented from his disease. He was gentle and childlike. He died in a matter of weeks. I last saw him just hours before his death.

I contacted Ted recently when I saw his ad on line for volunteer help to read to him. Ted too is now blind and lives alone. When I responded to the ad, I revealed who I am and how we had previously known one another. I suggested that I could read for him, if he needed help, as his ad indicated.

Ted's reply stunned me. He said he had no memory of who I had been in his past. His partner, our friend whose memory is still very present to me, had died so long ago, Ted said, that he really doesn't remember much about it. Ted explained that his life had been so busy and active since then. In fact, he had a regular group of readers who read for him. Finally, he said he had several other respondents to his recent ad, but he was willing to consider me as a helper. He recommended that I call him another day. I suppose I may be interviewed and rejected.

This interaction is not unusual to me, as someone who has worked for many years with people in distress and their family systems. Yet, each time it happens I am astounded at the willingness of people to remain invulnerable to intimacy or human connection, even when they themselves are in great distress and need. Their need to be in control trumps their need for mindful intimacy and compassion.

As a male in a society which is violent and alienating much of the time, I have had to struggle with my own resistance to vulnerability. Letting people in is very difficult when you have been conditioned to value self-control over intimacy. Learning to walk the middle path between co-dependency and invulnerability in relationships has been part of my practice in life. It requires mindfulness, compassion and a measure of meditative detachment. The result, I believe, is the development of healthier relationships with other human beings and a healthier relationship with myself.