Before Valentine's Day, I'm riding the BATA bus to go shopping to buy my husband a gift.
I'm sitting near the back of the bus, watching as we stop and pick up each passenger.
In the first seat is a young man with intellectual disabilities. We've just picked him up at his job. He inserts his ear plugs and begins singing. Soon, a young woman, also with intellectual disabilities, boards the bus and takes the seat behind the young man. He smiles at her. She doesn't acknowledge him. Then he shuts off his music and turns around to speak to her.
"How are you doing today?" he asks.
She says nothing.
"I have my own apartment ... you might not know that. And, I don't have a roommate." He emphasizes the later point.
Nothing from the young woman. She looks out the window as he speaks.
"Would you like to come over to my place?" He adds slowly, "I have a cat."
Silence.
Then, when it seems he's truly lost his opportunity with her, she stares past him and says, "Tell me about the cat."
On the other side of the bus, an elderly couple sit closely together in their seat. I can hear them discussing their day -- where they're going, what wine they'll buy for their dinner guests and what they'll wear. They seem so comfortable in their bodies, though they are clearly very old. They touch one another easily and affection flows freely between them. They have all three components of what Robert J. Sternberg describes in "The Triangle of Love: Intimacy, Passion, Commitment."
The last person onboard is a good friend of mine. She's an accountant who's been blind since birth. She walks with a cane. She sits near me and I gently reach out my hand to greet her and tell her I'm on the bus.
"I'm really glad you're here, Susan. I'm having a rough time. I'm in the process of breaking up with my partner. There are so few role models for 'disconnecting' in a healthy way. Everything is about 'coming together.' I feel so lost," she says.
I squeeze her hand to reassure her. I can feel her emotional pain. She and her partner have been together for a very long time. I always saw them as one of the most spiritual, sensual and loving of couples. I wait for her to tell me more.
She lowers her voice for privacy, and says, "She stopped looking at me during our physical intimacy. I could feel it. It's been building for some time. It's symbolic of our waning connection. I've asked her to move out."
Before long, everyone has left the bus and I'm alone with my thoughts.
My husband and I have loved each other for the past 29 years, almost all of our adult lives. I dated many people before and after my stroke. Like most people, I wanted to be like my peer group. I wanted to be really known by another. I remember people stressing that I should date men with disabilities. I did, but without other connections I lost interest.
My husband is able-bodied. We met after my stroke. He says he was attracted to me the moment he saw me. We are very romantic people. At our worst, we are capable of romanticizing everything. At our best, we are what a dear friend calls "worthy opponents." We get each other. The spark is there.
When we were first dating, I asked him how he felt about people staring at him when we were in public. I was used to the staring, but he was stared at by association. He said they were staring because they wondered how he got so lucky to be with me. At first, I thought he was really full of bull. However, the longer I knew him, I realized he was sincere. We had fun together right from the beginning.
When I watch people living their lives, I think of psychiatrist William Glasser. He says that we ALL have four basic needs: to be loved, to give love, to be of value to ourselves and to be of value to others. How we go about meeting those needs is specific to each individual.
I think Glasser is right. Even for those folks who haven't yet "woke up" to love.
I would never minimize any relationship by considering it silly or childlike or not worth it. Relationships take lots of work, including, or especially, the relationship we have with ourselves.
The bus driver jolts me from my thoughts with a sudden stop. I'm at my destination.
Susan Odgers, a resident of Traverse City for the past 21 years, has used a wheelchair for 32 years. She is a faculty member at Northwestern Michigan College and Grand Valley State University, at the University Center. She is a board member and past president of Michigan Protection and Advocacy Service Inc. Her column appears monthly. She can be reached via the Record-Eagle, 120 W. Front St., Traverse City MI 49684.
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