Personalities

The conversation started innocently enough: just another discussion about cocaine and whether there’s such a thing as an addictive personality. How we stumbled on the broader discussion of how one acquires a “personality” is a bit puzzling, but then again, puzzling conversations with weird segues are standard for the Lawlers. Take last night, for instance. The waitress couldn’t help but laugh as we debated whether the phrase “throw back” was generational, and pondered alternatives to the word swallow. Oh, how exciting our little tête-à-têtes.

But, back to personalities. The other day, Diane, dad, mom and I launched into a lengthy debate on whether personalities are intrinsic, and if so, static, or, instead, given to us by others, as in personalities are applied based on another’s interpretation and filtering of the other’s behavior (the old sociology vs. psychology debate). The pseudo-esoteric conversation sustained us the entire thirty minute trip to Craig’s, who, unbeknownst to him, was serving as an example to support both hypotheses. We agreed that people may have a core temperament, which can change slightly, or sometimes drastically, based on life circumstances. And likewise, the “applied personality” – or the way someone may describe a person -- can also change. What, in the end, actually matters: the intrinsic personality, or how others perceive that person, and thus, the personality that is conveyed to others?

Craig is a tricky bird, you see. We all have different ways to describe his “personality” based on our interactions with him. To the sisters, he fulfills the older brother persona – complete with goofy expressions, bossy exchanges and “leave me alone looks.” He’s also a private person who doesn’t like to talk about personal things. Our parents would agree with the latter, but know him also as an intellectual and supportive son. To his friends, he’s someone else. Matching personalities to the roles we fulfill is no big surprise. What is interesting, however, is the variety of interpretations and perspectives we have of Craig (as example). Though he’s at the core “Craigery,” we all have slightly different ways to describe that “Craig” based on our interactions and the various layers we’ve been exposed to. It’s not uncommon for phrases like “he’s never like that with me” to crop up in our discussions. The same goes for mom. Though mom is still wacky ol’ “mom,” we all know her in slightly different ways based on our various relationships with her.

The plus side to a close family is that we get to experience all these layers vicariously through the stories we share. Our time with them is so brief – and often strained by episodes of illness – that we find ourselves desperate for the time we have. Strangely, living vicariously allows us to extend our personal time with mom and Craig. As their respective illnesses continue to take a toll on their energy and moods, storytelling – both with mom and Craig and between the four of us -- has become an important feature of our lives. We try to connect regularly to share our interactions and hear each other’s take on the two of them.

One interesting aspect to our storytelling is how different our experiences have been. Here, it’s useful to note the pecking order that influences our perspectives. Like most families, there’s a pecking order to the whole thing, and unfortunately for the babies in the family (the twins), we tend to get the scraps. If we had a nickel for every time D or C tutored us on something we had told them earlier, or a dime for all the profound teaching moments we’ve had to endure, we’d be living with pretty fat pockets. (I’m still waiting for my opportunity to ‘educate’ them, sans a hurrumph or huh (damned by feigned interest).) Like the teachings, scolding’s and tsk-tsks trickle down the totem pole rather than trickle up. I recall one “Craig lecture” back when I was helping with his meds. I had turned the heater on after he had asked me to, not knowing that he a) he didn’t want it on; and b) would never, ever, never in his entire life, ever want the heater on…ever. He told me that I needed to do a better job deciphering his actual wants and needs from his verbally expressed needs. He summed up the lecture with a moral for the day: better listening begets better comfort (for him). Erin had a similar experience, with similar scornful looks, criticisms, orders, exasperated sighs, and moral lessoning. (Erin just passed the med torch on to D; I have a hunch her experience will be different. In fact, Diane was just bragging about how C was patient with her while she administered his meds. She’s noticed the pecking order, too.) ;)

How we relate to each other helps sculpt our mental images of each other’s personality, hence the “they’re never like that with me” statements. Despite the differences, one thing remains consistent, and that is how much each of them has changed. No matter if there’s a core temperament, or an applied personality, cancer is clearly a game changer. Understandably, their energy is devoted to getting better; talking and smiling are luxuries reserved for good days. I’d rather they conserve their energy than worry about entertaining us. Still, it’s hard. We haven’t really addressed how this is impacting us individually, partly because it seems selfish to go on about our feelings when mom and Craig our fighting for their lives. But to paint a complete picture is also to reflect on how cancer has impacted our lives.

For me, how cancer has changed the “mom” and “Craig” I know is perhaps the hardest circle to square. It’s thrown a proverbial wet blanket on the vivacity and larger-than-life personas that once characterized mom and Craig. And in that way, we’ve had to slowly say goodbye to aspects of them (at least for now). While I’m discovering new things to love, I also yearn for the past, for the time when we were laughing through our sentences, and two-sided conversations were the norm. Call it the heartbreak of missing what was. We’re all finding new ways to relate to mom and Craig, and are adapting to the quiet exchanges. But nothing compares to having a mother as a confidante, or the familiar warmth of a mom’s embrace, or hearing words of reassurance from a mentor. Nothing can replace conversations between companions, or the wisdom of a brother, or the soft voice of interest that is no longer there. Our interactions are still rewarding, but to say they are the same overlooks the depth of mom and Craig that once defined them. It’s as though we’ve had to say goodbye to the life and people we once knew – if just for a bit.

This mostly reflects how I relate to mom and Craig, and how I feel as a cancer survivor (family members are also survivors); it’s honest. It’s important to recognize the changes, even if they are temporary. Though I note the differences, it’s not to say that I do not appreciate every single day I have with mom and Craig, or the beautiful opportunity we all have to peel off another layer, and discover news things to love. Capturing emotions as they are carries the risk of conveying a false permanence. Things change; they always do. As mom and Craig continue in their process, it’s not unreasonable to believe things will also change for them. And so too, the way we relate to one another. We'll continue to embrace the changes as they come -- as a family. -- J