No One Ever Told Us That - John D. Spooner

Скачать книгу

love me? Would I ever get married?

      Now I feel like I'm almost back at those beginnings long ago.

      My wife of 45 years, Susan, died of lung cancer in June of 2011. We were all alone in our house, looking out of our bedroom at sailboats, white against blue, rushing into harbor. “It's late, isn't it?” she asked, coming in and out of morphine-assisted sleep. Those were her last words to me.

      For years in my marriage, I counseled Susan about things to watch for after I got hit by the big bus in the sky. Things such as “Anything anyone wants to do for you, who can't explain themselves in a few simple paragraphs, should not be hired to help you,” “Anything that seems like BS to you probably is,” and, “You have to reach out to friends, not automatically assume that everyone is always going to call you.” Of course, everything you plan for almost never happens the way you plan. It may be better than you anticipated. But it won't be as you thought or feared.

      The first New Year's Eve I spent without her in 45 years was in 2011. That night, I was invited to dinner at an old friend's apartment in Boston, only about a mile from where I live, a walkable distance on the chilly, clear night. There is a grand fireworks display every New Year's Eve on Boston Common, where cows grazed during Revolutionary War times. It has been estimated that as many as 1 million people pour into the city to watch the show and stay for First Night festivities: mostly free performances for all the family, all over the city. I walked from my house, two blocks to Charles Street, a long thoroughfare bisecting the Common from the Public Garden, hundreds of thousands streaming toward the fireworks site. I said to myself, “How typical of my life, everyone moving toward the brilliant explosions. And me, moving in the opposite direction,” even thinking, “I care much more about watching people's faces than seeing the sky lit up by fire.” All of this, in my view, is part of the grief process. We were married for 45 years. But if anything is ever good in life, it's never long enough.

      One of the themes in our marriage was always after various pronouncements on my part, Susan would respond with.. “Grow up.” Let's face it; women are the adults. Men are programmed to go out, kill the Brontosaurus, and bring home the steaks. And men habitually believe they're frozen in time at 18, despite all the signs to the contrary.

      I never even looked back at the fireworks, happy to go against the grain. But I rejected all the clichés, such as “She's in a better place.” I don't think so. Or “Life goes on.” I say, “Define life.” Of course, I was feeling sorry for myself, and not proud of it. The crowd pushed against me, families oohing and aahing with every explosion of sparkling lights, excited by the show, warmed in the freezing night, staying close to strangers.

      Later that winter, I went to a birthday party for a high school classmate. One of the guests was a man, a doctor with the reputation of being the best internist in Boston: smart and caring. I knew that he had lost his wife some years before and had remarried. After dinner, he came up to me and said, “I'm so sorry about Susan. Of course we had heard. If you don't mind I'd like to tell you a little story.”

      “Sure,” I answered.

      “After my first wife died,” the doctor said, “it was obviously very hard. And then I threw myself into work, buried myself in it. One day a patient came in to see me, an older Italian woman who still spoke with an accent after years in this country and always wore a black dress. She gave me her condolences, went through her examination, then left. About 10 minutes later she appeared in the office again.

      “‘Just a minute more of your time, please,’ she said. ‘Something I forgot.’

      “She came in and asked me to sit down and I did. She stared at me for some time and then said, ‘I thought you should hear this. She's not coming back.’ Then she got up, pressed my hands briefly in hers. And left.”

      My initial reaction to what the Italian woman had said was that I wished the doctor had not told me that story. I didn't want to hear anyone say, “She's not coming back.” Of course, the message he gave me was one of understanding life. But you have to be ready for messages, and often have to step back to appreciate the words in full.

      I was almost 29 when we got married, and so much of what I know about life was drummed into me by my parents: history, standards, things to ponder and watch out for, and classics, such as “Debt can be a killer” and my mother's advice to my sister, “Never marry anyone prettier than you.”

      Most of you readers have never had to deal with a real personal loss, almost certainly not the loss of a spouse. But I will give you a life lesson that I have been preaching to people, clients, and friends, for many years. In a grieving situation, such as the death of a spouse, or more to your age situation, a divorce, it takes two years in your new incarnation to get used to the rhythm of that new life. No matter how prepared you are, how rich, how smart, how tough. It will take two years to understand what a life alone will mean to your daily routine and emotional stability. You cannot rush this process. And I have watched and counseled probably several thousand people in this situation. It will take two years to get a handle on your new reality. What you will spend? Whom can you trust? Can you reinvent yourself?

      I have never been divorced and Susan has been gone for three years; I now know that I was right about the time frame. I still have hundreds of condolence notes on the dining room table. I still have most of her clothes, especially dresses and tailored jackets. Scarves and sweaters have been given to family and assorted special friends. Jewelry is still in a safe, pending sales or family distribution. Slacks and shoes are off to charity. You cannot rush the process; respect and ritual rule and there is a rhythm to grieving as there is to living one's life.

      But after these two years, I now understand what the new normal is. And because I do not believe in retirement, it's as if I'm 29 years old again, only with some accumulated assets and many years of observing human nature: the good, the bad, and the occasionally very ugly.

      I run an old-fashioned pain-in-the-neck business, and it operates seven days a week. It's a pain in the neck because it involves advice and counsel, not just about financial matters, but about many life decisions as well. They have included arranging to deliver a dead body from Spain to the United States for burial, getting a new credit card to Kathmandu for a student, calling the boyfriend of a client's daughter in South Africa to urge him not to break up with her, and getting bank credit for a great mystery writer who couldn't even get a loan from a loan shark. A pain-in-the-neck business, as I said. But incredibly rich in people and their stories. Some of these instructive stories, I hope, will make you look at your future in different ways, help you travel your new lives out of that nest of parents and teachers, and give you a guide for the many things that lie ahead of you. There will be practical solutions to building your team of the people you will need in key areas – legal, medical, and financial – and how to deal with bumps, such as losing a parent, divorce, raising children, getting fired, getting into clubs, sibling rivalry, getting plumbers and contractors to come on time, dealing with nonprofit boards, and a lot more. If I feel like I'm 29 again, I'm struck by how much I was clueless about at that time. And what I've learned since then has been learned mostly by trial and error, the hard way.

      I hope I can make your journeys a little easier with lessons about many new challenges where you're going to need fresh advice.

      I want you to use this book as a plum pudding of ideas that may have never occurred to you. Reach in, pluck out a goodie, and tuck it away for your future.

      PART I

      BECOMING A PROFESSIONAL

      CHAPTER 1

      TAKE THE PRO TO LUNCH

      I work in a big office, more than 200 people on two floors in the financial district of my city. The rookies sit in the boardroom, sometimes 15 to 20 of them, almost all late twenties to early thirties, all out in life, and all anxious. Occasionally, as I wander around the office to blow off steam, I'll stop, sit on a desk facing them, and talk to the young people informally, off-the-cuff, about how the money management business has changed over the years, what they should be paying attention to, and how to plan their future in the business. No one tells them these things. They hear nothing about institutional memory, what makes markets move beyond daily news bytes and how to really build

Скачать книгу