An Excerpt from Prayer, Laughter & Broccoli
In a marriage or any intimate relationship, silence is not golden. The strong silent type need not apply for the position of husband, lover, best friend, confidante and supporter of a woman with breast cancer. Your bride, your wife, needs and wants to hear from you. Actions may speak louder than words, and you may take all the right actions, but speaking words brings comfort, reassurance and knowledge of your inner feelings. She cannot read your mind. Being there for her is more than physical or economic security. Words have meaning. And the three most important words in the English language at this time, at this moment, when together you face her mortality, are: “I love you.”
The late Louise Crisafi, a saint here on Earth who always gave of herself for others in need, taught me this lesson on the Friday my wife, Shirley Ann, had her biopsy and was diagnosed. Shirley had opted for a two-step process for diagnosis and treat-ment, i.e., surgical removal of her right breast, a mastectomy. This meant we knew on Friday that she would have a mastectomy on Monday, a weekend together, scared, anxious, frightened. Shirley confronted death and loss of a part of her womanhood. I was clueless, at a loss, overwhelmed and scared. I didn’t know what to do, how to act or what to say.
Louise was an American cancer Society Reach to Recovery volunteer devoted to helping other women facing breast cancer diagnosis and treatment. She was a good friend. When I asked her what to do feeling as helpless and overwhelmed as I was, she said simply: “Tell her you love her.” I was off to the races. I spent the weekend saying those magic, powerful words over and over, as frequently as possible, perhaps more than I had done in weeks, months or years previously.
A year or so later in 1983 on a television talk show featuring three women with breast cancer, including Louise, Shirley reminisced about how verbal I had become that fateful weekend. Those words brought comfort and made a difference. Remember to say: “I love you.” It works. And I hope I am as verbal and loving today as I was in the midst of crisis.
Say “Yes”
We all know the joke about Moses and the tribes of Israel wandering for 40 years in the desert after their miraculous escape from bondage in Egypt. It took 40 long years to reach the land of milk and honey, the Promised Land. And why, why did it take so long? Moses was a man. He refused to ask for directions. Ten Commandments, maybe; asking for help, never.
If you’re married or even dating a man for any length of time, you’ve spent time in a car lost. You suggest, perhaps timidly and quietly, that it might be a good idea to stop and ask for directions. He is offended. He, after all, is a man. He has a good, no, a great sense of direction. That will become apparent to you, a mere woman with no sense of direction, momentarily. The moments tick by. He is becoming exasperated. Finally, in disgust, he pulls into a gas station and asks for help. It pains him to do so.
In my own life, the first time I truly asked for help from God and another human being, was the day I admitted to myself, to Shirley and to God that I was an alcoholic, that I had no control over how much I consumed once I picked up a drink. That was the beginning of what has become nearly a quarter century of freedom from the compulsion to drink. And perhaps set me up to be there for Shirley when needed, as well as to become a father.
Louise Crisafi re-taught this lesson when I was asking what to do knowing that Shirley and I were facing her cancer together, a cancer that we had little hope of beating. Her advice was powerful and insightful. When someone, anyone, asks if they can do anything to help, say: “Yes.” Friends, neighbors, colleagues and others want to be there for you and for themselves. I know, I know. You’re a man and never ask for help, not even simple directions. Understand that the people asking to help need your “Yes” as much as you. It gives them some sense of being able to do something positive about this insidious disease that seems beyond their control.
Shirley and I were blessed. We did not have to cook a meal for 3-4 months following her surgery thanks to the chicken dishes, casseroles, lasagnas and other assorted goodiies constantly flowing to our front door. Needing a brief childcare stint for our daughter, Alison, it was there. Thank you, Greenwich. Thank you in particular First Congregational Church in Old Greenwich. Thank you special friends, particularly Betsy, who taught me I could get through anything, even this. You are a compassionate community. You are a healing church. You are true friends. Your love, prayers and support made a difference for all three of us in our recovery.
Ask for help. Say “yes” when it’s offered. You’ll be better for it.
Peter Flierl, January 2004
